Jack looked towards the door. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. Alone; not even the dog to warn her, and Hoddy deep in the island somewhere. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. She looked 57 forward to when Sebastian visited. This won’t do.
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