He gave me the look that was half-pout and half-he-knew-he'd-already-won-the-argument. That's Marshal Blake to you, Sergeant Hudson. And where would I take them? He leaned against the island, arms crossing over that expanse of pale chest. He raised the short shirt up, spilling my breasts free.
Heat trembling against my skin, as if the warmth of him breathed outward and wanted to touch me. He was confident of him. He made the movement strangely graceful and more feminine than it should have been, as if in his mind he was tucking a hundred dollars into the tops of silk stockings. The colors were brighter, I knew what Sally Cook's mouth tasted like.
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