She sashayed towards him. Every ounce of her two tonne body issuing an invitation: I’m a woman – come get me.
He gulped, discovered he couldn’t move. He was incapable of thought, mesmerized by that great supple movement of her hips and felt her eyes pierce his soul.
He knew at once she had to be his, “what’s your name?” he growled, his eyes fastened on hers.
Stupid question he thought, it doesn’t matter, because this was one whole lot of woman and this time he was going to win the Grace Waltz. He was going to take her to the Hippopotamus’ Mud Ball in November or die trying.