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“And then a masculine voice drawled virtually into her scalp, fluttering her hair and causing gooseflesh to sweep up her arms. "Do you think it's fair that you have seen every inch of me, and I have seen none of you?" Oh no, oh no, oh no. Her heart had recovered. It was now drilling away inside her chest like a woodpecker. The warmth of the man's body behind her was as penetrating as a sunbeam, though not one bit of him actually touched her---she pressed herself closer to the oak tree, to make bloody sure of that. But his scent immobilized her as surely as a net: sun-heated skin and the faintest tang of sweat, and something else, something rich and complicated and fundamental that started a primal buzz of recognition in her blood and made her peculiarly aware of how very female she happened to be. This wasn't the groomed-for-a-ball brew of starch and soap with which she was familiar. This was stripped-to-the-essence male.” — Julie Anne Long