Excerpt:

When the gentle rapping came on her back door, Sharon's heart stopped. She knew who was there, and she knew why he had come. She stepped to the door and opened it, watching Marc's expression as his gaze swept over her brief satin robe, her bare legs and feet, then back up to lock with hers.

He didn't smile, and she noticed dimly that there were lines of tension drawn from his nose to his mouth. He had changed out of his suit and tie, was wearing a flannel shirt, tight jeans, and grubby sneakers. He looked so virile, she thought briefly of slamming the door and running for her life, but knew it was ages too late for that. She stood there, lost in his gaze. She felt a newfound confidence in herself that she'd lacked before, a sureness of her own ability to cope with whatever came of this attraction she and Marc had for each other, one she had been fighting for months. Now, she no longer wanted to fight it. She just wanted . . . him.

His gaze never strayed from hers, yet she felt he was totally aware of her naked body under her robe.

"Your date didn't come in," Marc said finally. His voice was taut, low, throaty.

"He wasn't invited." Hers was thin and breathless.

There was a pause. Again, she watched his Adam's apple move in his throat. "Am I?"

After only a brief hesitation, she stepped back, giving him room to enter. As he kicked the door shut behind him, he reached out and gathered her close, holding her fully against him. He groaned, a deep sound of satisfaction, pulling her closer. She sighed, a long, tremulous sound of rapture, and burrowed into his incredible heat.

No, warm and comfortable she would wait for. Those were for when she was old. Right now, she could do with a whole lot of hot and wild and exciting. Right now, she could do with a whole lot of Marc Duval, and the devil with the consequences. Lifting her hands, she drew his face down and parted her lips as his covered them.

Moments later, he lifted his head and whispered, "What's the matter? Didn't he buy you dessert? You still seem mighty hungry."

"I didn't want the kind he was offering."

"Do you want what I'm offering?"

"How do I know, until you tell me what it is?"

He bent and murmured in her ear, his words so erotic they made her squirm, and she knew her face was aflame even as she looked at him. "I want what you're offering. Oh, Marc, I want it so bad!" she said tremulously.

Lifting her in his arms, he held her high against his chest. "Then come and get it, little one. I'm hungry, too.

Something jangled musically just at the periphery of her hearing as he swung her around and carried her toward the stairs, and into her mind floated the image of golden bangles sliding along a dark, slender arm as it lifted to encircle a man's neck. Yes, she said silently and with gratitude. Oh, yes. Now I understand

Author BIO: Judy Gill is a compulsive writer who confesses to having once strode through a campground in Germany begging sheets of writing paper from perfect strangers in her imperfect German. All this because she'd left her typewriter at home {this was a VACATION as her husband insisted}, and when the writing bug bit she was forced to use every scrap of paper in her trailer, including both sides of brown paper grocery bags before going on the prowl for more paper. The resulting book was the only one she ever did in longhand--and was the first draft of POCKETS FULL OF JOY, her first re-release from Awe-Struck.

To her great joy, she now does her "camping" aboard a 30' boat, and has a laptop computer for when the bug bites, which seems to be daily.