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Thorn's response surprised him as much as it did the others, judging by their stares. Still, he clutched at the sharpened knife he'd been using to cut the squirrel meat. He raised it as though preparing to skewer Mariah Walker with it. |
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She couldn't leave. They had unfinished business between them. Hadn't she insisted that he hire her? |
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The fact that her leaf-green eyes besotted him, that her body drove him mad with its lithe, sensual grace, that she'd the courage to stand up to him, to work hard despite her obviously coddled upbringingthey had nothing to do with his demand that she stay. |
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He had half risen from his seat at her words. She stood across from the table beside Rafferty's chair, still holding the supper plates she'd been carrying into the kitchen. She looked every bit the serving wench she was, in her brown dress beneath an apron, yet the spirit within her remained untamed. |
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Now, there was surprise in those spellbinding eyes as she |
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