‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. ” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. I am sure. ’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. White, who held out her hand and beamed a welcome upon him. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood.
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