“Sir John!” Annabel gasped. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. Other times, the Buick was host to intense make-out sessions that lasted until the sun rose. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. She had been forced to buy herself that pair of boots and a walking-skirt, and the pearl necklace at the pawnbrokers’ had yielded very disappointingly. ’ He quirked an eyebrow. Her faith in human beings revived. There is worse to come.
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