Belleâ€™s entire body surged with excitement as Niallâ€™s large,
long, strong, jeaned thigh brushed hers. She swallowed and
forcibly resisted the urge to run her long, manicured
fingernails along it.
Her nostrils filled with an unfamiliar scent. It was, she
realised, the unadulterated essence of man. Christian and
most of her lovers before him had doused themselves with so
much cologne you could smell them coming as their car turned
the corner of the street. They had had more facial products
in the bathroom than she had. But this â€“ this was natural
allure. Musky, sweaty, salty, darkly intimate. She was
almost shuddering with desire now. This was what she had
been waiting for. One hundred per cent solid, muscled,
masculine, red-headed, mouth-watering, nipple-stiffening,
gasp-making, rootinâ€™ tootinâ€™ prime beefcake.
Meanwhile, with a paparazzi flash of memory, Niall had
recognized her. This was Belle Murphy the American film
star. The ultimate Hollywood bimbette.