"You're beginning to sound like your father."
"No, Daddy calls you a thug. I called you a skirt chaser."
Nicholas released her hand and slapped his own over his heart. "You hurt me."
Georgia sucked her teeth. "Be serious."
"I am." He took her hand back into his, ignoring the curious glances from the patrons who had joined them on the dance floor. "How could you say such harsh things?"
"Because it's true. You'll chase after anything in a skirt."
"I do not."
"Oh, forgive me. I forgot your two prerequisites."
"That's not true." He glanced at the mounds peeping from the top of her dress. "I enjoy all breasts."
The room suddenly grew warm. "Stop that." She lowered her eyes, trying to maintain her composure. "People will get the wrong idea."
"What idea? That you're a beautiful woman men can't help but look at?"
"No, that you're interested in me. We both know that's not possible."
"I've already told you." She huffed. At times, talking to Nicholas was like talking to a mule. "You're a womanizer." She raised her eyes. His, dancing with amusement, stared down at her. "So do me a favor and stop brushing my cheek, kissing my hand, and calling me amore, 'cause I'm not your love."
"...this story of love, heartache, struggle, and triumph will leave a reader soaring with a heart full of pride and justice." ~Mary-Nancy Smith, InD'Scribe
"If you're looking for a sweet read that teeters the line of sensual, then A Bookie's Odds may be up your alley." ~Natalie, Romance Novels in Color
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