Six Sentence Sunday

So, here's Breghan musing on life with Arran, from The Devil of Jedburgh...

   The two of them together were volatile and flipped each other’s mood at the turn of a word.
   Thank heavens he’s leaving in the morning and I have a few weeks grace before I have to worry about it.
   She closed her eyes to dream of a suitor who’d compose romantic poems in her name instead of roaring, who’d woo her with softly spoken promises instead of wicked innuendos, a man too sophisticated and elegant to overpower her with raw masculinity. But every vision she tried to conjure was eclipsed with the lean strength encased in those leather breeches Arran wore today. The way his golden hair fell across his face to hide the scar at his cheek but not the harsh nature chiselled in his jaw.
   The adventurous part of her thrilled at the dark desire he aroused while the sensible part warned there’d be no happy ending.