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Reader reviews wispywillow. Okay, I read one Sandra Brown novel, didn't like it. So, I thought I would give the author one more chance.
I can safely say that I am not a fan of Sandra Brown novels. Weak plots, weak and pathetic female characters, uninteresting and cliche male characters. Brown is a successful author, so I'm sure there are lots of people who like her stuff She yearns for that lover whose unbridled sensuality more resembled… Cage.
For Jenny, Cage is willing to give up his wild ways. But to get on the straight and narrow, he must sin again. Suspense Romance Contemporary Fiction. Original publication Publisher Class Ebook Editions Ltd. Related books All. You've reached the maximum number of titles you can currently recommend for purchase.
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He crossed one booted ankle over the other and eyed his brother from beneath a shelf of dust-colored eyebrows. She hated these family scenes. Cage could be provoking, but she felt in this instance he was right to bluntly point out the risks of Hal's involvement in this venture. Cage relented by erasing the smirk from his handsome face, but he continued arguing.
Why is he risking his neck in some banana republic where they shoot first and ask questions later? Cage sat up straighter and propped his arms on the table, leaning forward for emphasis. But I don't think this is the way to do it. Where will they live? What will they do? Have you thought of jobs, shelter, food, medicine, clothing?
Don't be naive enough to think that everyone will welcome them with open arms just because they're from a strife-torn country. They'll be thought of as wetbacks just as all illegal aliens are. And treated as such. His steadfastness always faltered under Cage's pragmatism. Just when Hal thought one of his convictions was unshakable, Cage shook it—to the core. Hal prayed about it often and always came to the conclusion that God used Cage to test him.
Or was Cage's astuteness a gift of the devil used to tempt him? His parents would no doubt opt for the second theory. Cage hunched his shoulders and propping his elbows on the tabletop, carried his coffee cup to his mouth. He didn't use the tiny handle. Jenny doubted his long finger would fit in that narrow china crook.
He held the cup by folding both his hands around it. He was out of place in the parsonage kitchen. Cage shrank the kitchen until its coziness became clutter. And it wasn't that he was inordinately muscular or tall. But there the similarity between the two ended.
The main difference between them was one of attitude. An indefinable something surrounded him like an aura and was as much a part of him as his darkly tanned skin. Indoors he was like an oversized body straining at the seams of clothing that was too small. He seemed to be squeezed into most rooms, as though what he needed around him was wide open spaces, earth, and sky.
An essence of the outdoors clung to him, as if he carried the wind inside on his clothes and in his hair. Jenny had never gotten close enough to him to find out, but she thought his skin must smell like sunshine.
The ravages of long hours in the sun were evident on his face, particularly around his tawny eyes. Those web-fine lines made him appear older than he was. But then he had crammed a lot of living into his thirty-two years. And tonight, as always wherever Cage went, there was likely to be discord if not downright warfare. Mischief and malcontent followed him like a shadow.
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