Availability date: 02/03/2016
With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, gorse fairy, Flora Hawthorne is up to her neck in flowers, chocolate, and all things romance. She has no time for love, until she comes face to face with her own personal Cupid and the sparks fly!
Looking to settle down, Cupid Tharin Terize wants fairy Flora Hawthorne to be his valentine, not just for one night, but for the rest of time. Now, all he has to do is convince her.
Tucking a few extra napkins in her coat pocket, Flora picked up her coffee, only to spin around and smash right into a cashmere-clad brick wall.
“Aw, snapdragons!” She exclaimed over a chorus of stunned gasps and excited squeals, the contents of her cup now soaking the shirt in front of her. Thinking quickly she dropped the near empty cup, pulled her scarf from around her neck, and used it to blot at the spreading coffee stain. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s my fault, I was too close.”
Flora looked up. All rational thought fled her mind. This was no elf, fairy, or nymph in front of her. Oh, no, this was a cupid! Gorgeous beyond description with tempting chocolate eyes a fae-kin could get lost in for days, he had a neatly-trimmed beard that framed a perfect white smile and dark shoulder-length hair that accented a face obviously carved by The Mother, Cailleach Bheur herself.
“Wow, you are ripped under there, aren’t you?” She admired without thinking, only to blush when she realized what she’d said. The man was in possession of a clearly well-muscled chest and the requisite washboard abs that went with it. “Not that I’m trying to cop a feel or anything,” she confessed. “But that’s nice. Kudos on the hard work by the way.” Shaking her head, Flora mentally chided herself. This was not going well.
“I hope I didn’t burn you. Or ruin your shirt. If you give me your number, I can buy you a new one, or pay for the dry cleaning. Not that I’m trying to get your number. Oh, gladiolus!” She continued to ramble, looking wildly about for a rock to crawl under, only to have her eyes land on his legs. Thick-muscled legs encased in a dark, hugging denim. Sweet marigolds! Flora continued to pat the man’s chest, only stopping when a large hand settled firmly over hers.
The action was enough to silence the nervous chatter and draw Flora’s attention back to his face.
“What is that amazing perfume you’re wearing?” the baritone voice inquired, sending shivers of lust down her spine.
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