Looking at her watch, Karen withdrew the iron and teased the bounce of pale red. “Perfect,” she said, lifting her hair deliberately away from her ears. Karen turned and looked at her profile, the sharp slope of her nose, the round blushing bulbs of her cheeks, the tight purse of her lips, the gentle cascade of her unnaturally curled reddish hair. She smiled broadly, pushing a few loose strands behind her naked ear. “I can’t wait,” she said, bubbling. Karen shook her head with a provocative, saucy grin and flicked off the light.
Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov