‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. ‘Is it soft, the way you seize me from behind? Parbleu, my heart it is flown from my chest! Boom, boom, it goes, even now. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground.
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