Whenever I get to a point where I’m sick of romance, I really should read the following paragraphs. They remind me why I love romance books so much. They remind me that words can truly be beautiful, when handled by the right person.

His mouth trailed over her like a benediction. Cheeks, throat, shoulders, then pressed delicately on the slope of her breast to linger where her heart beat.

‘I love you’. His lips formed the words against her breast. ‘I’m lost in love with you’.
Not lost, she thought, and smiled in the dark, even as her pulse thickened. Found. We’re both found.

He cradled his head there a moment – cheek to heart – and closed his eyes until he was sure he had his fiercer emotions in check, until he could be sure his hands would be gentle on her.
He had a searing need to be gentle.

She sighed, soft and sleepy, and was content, he knew, to be wakened like this. No matter what had been done to her, her heart was open for him, and that open heart lifted him beyond anything he’d expected to become.

Lovely, just lovely.

The book and author…?