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Page 88

| The sky was darkening and the noise of the cicadas was almost deafening as Stanford Sidwell sat by a campfire pitching his pocket knife over and over again into the ground. A smile played on his lips. From a distance, he had watched Ashton York's perilous adventures at the river. He had hoped that Ashton would lose everything, forcing him to uncover the hiding place of the chest filled with coins and jewels. That would have been the only way for him to survive had he lost everything in the river! |

| Somehow, some day, Stanford or mother nature would force Ashton's hand. |

| "You find something funny?" Bianca asked, seeing the evil glint in Stanford's dark eyes. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hoping that Stanford would be too occupied again tonight to approach her sexually. She had grown to detest his hands, his lips, his manhood. . . . |

| Stanford folded his knife and slipped it into its sheath. With a firm grip, he wrapped his fingers around Bianca's wrist and drew her onto his lap. His tongue sought her lips and teasingly tasted them, as his free hand roamed beneath her low-cut, white drawstring blouse. He circled his hand around one of her breasts, and the soft feel of her flesh started a fire within his loins. |

| "What am I finding funny?" he said, brushing a kiss across her lips, his gaze taking in the loveliness of her dark face. "Do you really care?" |

| "Bianca is always ready to laugh if given cause to," she said, hoping to avoid what was beginning. Although they were not alone, he was touching her |

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