Sophie's hips swung ever so gently as she shifted her weight to adjust the lessening of the load he'd been so kind to help her with. With her books in his arms, Sophie's surgical scar could easily be seen peeking out over the top of her dress, but the swell of her chest seemed to lessen the severity of that feature. She loved the initiative he had, loved the angularity of his face where the shadows played off of the features. His eyes were going to swallow her whole, she swore.
And she was just going to eat him up, Cajun spice and all.
His voice was easy on the ears and soul; it wrapped around you and was immediately captivating. "Baton Rouge," Sophie replied, her purse strap now hanging from her shoulder and her trunk now finally closed. "Born and bred, though I've been told my mama birthed me at my granny's house in the bayou durin' a devil of a hurricane." She took a small step closer. The hurricane wasn't the only thing the devil was in: The sultry grin that slid into view was all devil and the angel was Sophie Prideaux. "'Course, there are some things ya just can't leave behind."