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"Why do you always do that?" Shea asked when she caught Teague staring at her for the second time in five minutes.
"I like the way you look when you're eating, as if every bite were an adventure."
She put her fork down. "But when you stare like that, I feel self-conscious. Like I have a milk mustache or something."
He stroked her upper lip with his forefinger.
She shivered in response.
"Nope," he said. "No full moon." He covered her hand, twining his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry if I make you feel uncomfortable, though."
Heat shot up her arm. She swiveled around to face him, intending to say, "Thanks for lunch. I'd better be going now." Only when she saw his eyes, smoky with desire, she swallowed the words and brought her free hand up to caress his cheek.
When he licked his tongue inside her mouth, a jolt of raw desire rocked her like a surge of electricity. Lightning strikes, she thought, dizzy with wanting him.
Kissing Teague was good, no doubt about it. Kissing Teague was very, very good, but kissing Teague wasn't enough. Not this time.