Sheila huffed out a breath and sat down at the booth with him. Leo the lunatic Lion.
You mean Leo the luscious, lip-smacking, long-tongued, lengthy if the bulge in his pants can be trusted, loquacious because yes, she had heard the man speak, limber, lithe, lusty, and lucky sonovabitch who made her panties wet, her heart race, and her she-Wolf howl like a banshee.
Shit.
She couldn’t think straight. That kiss had certainly thrown her for a loop. Loopy for a certain loveable Lion. Dammit to hell. Sheila was turning into Motherfucking Goose with all this rhyming and alliteration.
Grrrr.