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“With Let It Ride, Jillian Burns has written a worderfully steamy, fast-paced story that will keep you turning pages until the very end.” —Kwips and Kritiques
“Jillian Burns’s latest is an emotionally moving masterpiece with characters whose profound issues create convincing and formidable roadblocks to happiness. The tropical setting will delight. A secondary romance between Kristen’s friend and a Hawaiian native is icing on the cake.”
—Affaire de Coeur on Once a Hero…
“Jillian Burns is an author who can take an ordinary, everyday story and make it her own. Burns fans will love this beautifully woven story and new readers will become lifelong fans!”
—FreshFiction on Seduce and Rescue
About the Author
JILLIAN BURNS has always read romance, and spent her teens immersed in the worlds of Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet. She lives in Texas with her husband of twenty years and their three active kids. Jillian likes to think her emotional nature—sometimes referred to as moodiness—has found the perfect outlet in writing stories filled with passion and romance. She believes romance novels have the power to change lives with their message of eternal love and hope.
Relentless Seduction
Jillian Burns
MILLS & BOON
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This is for Alice, a dear friend, who was the first one to believe I could actually write a novel, and made it seem like more than a pipe dream when she gave me
How to Write a Romance Novel.
And for my mama, who is always there for me, no matter what.
As usual, it takes a village to raise a romance novel. Thank you to Charlaine Harris and her vampire bar, Fangtasia, for my inspiration. Thank you to dear friend and author extraordinaire Von for the plotting help, and to my amazing critique partners, Pam and Linda, for making sure my characters have believable motivations. And to my editor, Kathryn Lye, for her amazing patience.
1
CLAIRE BROOKS HESITATED at the door to Once Bitten. A sense of eerie foreboding made her shiver.
Nonsense. She’d read too many gothic novels in her youthful summer days.
There was no such thing as premonition, and it certainly couldn’t make one shiver. It was merely the cold, drizzly night. And her worry for Julia.
Despite the jazzy wail from a street musician’s trumpet down the street, the occasional clip-clop of horses’ hooves pulling carriages, and tourists still roaming the sidewalks, this area didn’t feel as if it was part of the French Quarter.
It was simply another New Orleans bar, the only difference being it attracted tourists with its singularly macabre theme. More importantly, it was the only clue she had.
Claire pushed the button on her phone and compared the picture Julia had sent her last night to the purple neon sign in front of her. Last night, Julia had been standing in this exact spot. So this was the logical place to begin her search.
That picture was the last communication she’d had from Julia. Despite leaving her dozens of increasingly frantic messages, Claire had heard nothing from her friend in almost twenty-four hours. What if she was already… dead?
She shook off the horrifying thought, swung open the door and stepped purposefully inside.
Creepy discordant music assaulted her ears. Her eyes stung and her nostrils itched from the smoky incense. But at least the temperature inside was warmer than the chilly rain outside.
She closed her umbrella, shrunk it to its mini size and placed it in her oversize tote bag. Searching for Julia’s mischievous smile and blond hair, Claire began to study the assortment of unique individuals gyrating around the dance floor—or in iron cages hanging from the ceiling.
In addition to people with multiple piercings, an overabundance of tattoos and unusual costumes, there was a man wearing only tight, black shorts and a leather collar around his neck. And working her way around the room was a naked woman with a large, very much alive snake wrapped around her torso. A large percentage of the patrons sported dyed-black hair, kohl-lined eyes and… fangs.
Whether they were fake, or real incisors filed to a point, the fangs didn’t disturb Claire. There was no such thing as vampires. But these people were all welcome to their eccentricities. The only thing Claire cared about was finding Julia. And if it meant questioning every vampire wannabe in this place then that’s what she’d do.
She lifted her chin and joined the occupants of the famous vampire bar, Once Bitten.
As she tried to make her way through the mob of sweaty people, she felt their stares on her as if she were the weird one. Actually, she guessed she was.
But she kept mingling, searching faces for Julia or the guy she’d disappeared with. Eventually she found herself in a darkened lounge with low, red velvet sofas forming an enclosed sitting area. Between each grouping of seats lay old-fashioned wooden coffins, on which people had placed their drinks. Coffins as coffee tables. Claire raised her brow. Clever.
These sitting areas were occupied with similar-looking patrons. Goths, freaks and vampires.
But no Julia.
A glance to her right revealed a surprisingly normal-looking bar with neon beer advertisements flashing above a mirrored wall stacked with shot glasses and bottles of liquor. Cocktail glasses hung upside down from a rack above the bar with more patrons perched on black wooden stools.
She headed there, pulling out her cell phone and bringing up the picture of Julia on the way. Snagging a lone stool, she leaned forward against the scratched, worn oak to catch the bartender’s attention.
He was wiping a tumbler with a pristine white towel, while at the same time conducting a flirtatious discussion with two coeds in low-riding blue jeans and halter tops. The girls were engrossed in whatever he was saying, and who could blame them when he wore such a dangerously sinful grin.
She summoned her inner Julia and raised her hand and waved. “Excuse me?”
The moment the man turned her way a quiver of desire shot through her. Slate-gray eyes fringed with dark lashes bore into her, freezing her in place. His collar-length black hair wasn’t dyed, nor was the thick stubble darkening his angular jaw.
His grin softened as he leisurely replaced the tumbler on a shelf behind him before sauntering over to flatten his palms on the bar before her.
“What you need, cher?” His voice was as smooth and as deeply Southern as Spanish moss hanging from a Cypress tree. He wore a wide leather bracelet on his left wrist and a thick onyx ring—a bat with its wings wrapped around his right ring finger. She lifted her gaze to his hard chest outlined by a tight black tee.
Claire opened her mouth but nothing came out. “Have y-y—” She felt her face heat and her throat close up as he stared at her expectantly. Two decades of therapy and determination to overcome her stutter destroyed in an instant of anxiety.
Anxiety for her friend, of course. This breathlessness was in no way attributable to the proximity and attention of the bartender. The only true friend she had was missing. It was natural to be distraught.
Remembering her purpose, Claire drew in a calming breath, lifted her phone to the bartender’s eye level and clicked the button to bring up Julia’s picture again. “Have you seen this woman in your bar tonight?
The bartender’s gaze shifted down to her phone and back to her eyes without the rest of him moving a muscle. “No.”
“But you r-recognize her? She was here l-last night.”
He moved his weight from one foot to the other, causing his hips to shift, as well. “Cher, I’ve got hundreds of customers coming through here.”
Claire gritted her teeth, biting back a stinging rebuke. “Please.” She shifted her phone in front of his nose. “She’s missing and I have to find her.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If she’s missing, call the cops.” He turned away.
As if she hadn’t already tried the police first thing this morning. Julia was an adult, they’d said. Must be missing for forty-eight hours, they’d said. They hadn’t taken Claire’s fear for her friend seriously at all. As if Claire didn’t know when something was really wrong with Julia.
She’d known Julia since third grade and Claire knew without a doubt that this was not just a case of Mardi Gras hangover. Sure, Julia had ditched her last night to hook up with that weirdo with the tattoo. Claire was accustomed to Julia’s free-spirited ways. Even when she hadn’t returned to their hotel room by this morning, Claire had calmly packed their things and gone to the airport, assuming Julia would come racing up to her at the last minute, full of false chagrin and a scintillating account of her adventures with the “vampire.”
But she hadn’t.
And Claire wasn’t leaving New Orleans without making sure Julia was alive and well.
“She might’ve been with a guy who had three blood drops t-tattooed down the corner of his mouth,” Claire called after the bartender.
The bartender froze, and several people at the bar around her quieted and stared at her. He turned back and leaned in close, conspiratorially. At last, she would gain some useful information. She leaned forward and caught a hint of his spicy intoxicating cologne.
“This is a vampire bar. Lots of people have that tattoo.”
Hope deflated. And irritation flared. He was taunting her. Then understanding dawned. She yanked her purse open, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slipped it across the bar toward him. “Perhaps this will help you r-remember the man or my friend?”
His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened, harsh and cynical. “You want a drink, I’m your man. Otherwise, I can’t help you.” He gave his attention to the waitress who’d stepped up with an order.
Claire fumed. “I’ll have a strawberry d-daiquiri,” she called out.
He glanced at her, brows raised. “A strawber—” His lips curved up at the corners. “Coming right up.” As he shook the hair from his wary eyes, a tiny silver loop in his left ear gleamed in the light.
He moved gracefully, spinning back and forth, grabbing bottles and pouring alcohol, and drawing beer into mugs with speed and precision. Tall, but slim, except for his wide shoulders and large biceps, he could’ve been a member of the Boston rowing club. Yet, unlike those privileged boys, this man seemed unaware of his masculine good looks.
Finally, the waitress left with her filled tray. Then he bent to lift a clear plastic bowl from under the bar.
Her gaze shot straight to his behind and the worn jeans outlining his impossibly sexy derriere. Wait. Was she actually checking out a man’s bottom? In her twenty-eight years as a female, she’d never understood why other women noticed things like that. But, now, now that her best friend was missing and possibly in danger, now she… noticed?
He peeled off the lid, grabbed a handful of large, red-ripe strawberries and dropped them into a blender. As he prepared her drink, he stole a strawberry from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. He glanced at her and she looked away, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment.
She should be searching the bar for her friend or that guy, showing Julia’s picture around. Claire spun, putting her back to the bar, and scanned the room.
“Here you go.”
She jumped and turned back as he set the fruity drink in front of her and took the twenty still lying on the bar. He sauntered over to a computer, touched the screen and made change when a drawer popped open.
Digging a business card from her purse, she scribbled her hotel’s name and her cell number on it and shoved it into his hand as he offered her the change.
“Please. Keep the change and if you see my friend, would you call me? My cell’s on here and where I’m staying—the Les Chambres R-Royale.”
Before he could refuse, she snatched up her drink and plunged into the crowd.
His fingers had been hot and rough. Claire swallowed back the tingle she’d felt at the brief contact.
Bringing up the picture of Julia, she began stopping each person and asking if they’d seen her friend. Someone here had to have seen Julia last night. Or that creep she’d left with during the Mardi Gras parade. It wasn’t even eleven yet. The night was young.
RAFE WATCHED THE WOMAN stop his patrons one by one and show them the picture on her phone. That couldn’t be good for business. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to throw her out. Her big brown eyes behind the thick lenses had sparked with intelligence, and… authentic concern.
Not your problem, Moreau.
He eyed the card she’d forced on him, debating whether to pitch it in the circular filing cabinet.
Dr. Claire Brooks, PhD Senior Scientist/Group Leader Cell Line Generation Cambridge, Mass 555-496-4949
Doctor? He whistled. What the hell was cell line generation?
He glanced at her again. She was still grilling his customers.
Boy, was she out of her element. The frizzy chestnut hair and decades out of style clothing couldn’t have stood out more if she’d been dressed like a nun. All it would take was her asking the wrong person… Plus she was corrupting the vibe. Tourists came here to enter a different world, and the freaks and true believers came here to get their crazy on.
If he looked up the word sensible, there’d probably be a picture of this woman. And yet. She’d braved this place to look for her friend.
As he watched she stopped one of his regulars, a die-hard vamp who had the three blood drops tattooed down the corner of his mouth. The guy tried to brush her away, but she moved to block his path.
He scowled and shoved her into another dude Rafe didn’t recognize and her drink splashed down the front of his T-shirt. The fact he was wearing a collar with sharp metal spikes was not a good sign. Dog Collar Guy grabbed her by the throat, his face inches from hers, his teeth bared.
Her eyes widened and filled with fear.
Damn it. Rafe leaped around the bar, shoved his way to the altercation and inserted himself between the collar-man and the good doctor.
“What the—?”
Rafe got in his face. “You lay hands on a customer of mine again, you’ll leave in an ambulance,” he snarled. “Now get out.”
The psycho hesitated and Rafe signaled his bouncer, Bulldog.
Why the hell he hadn’t let Bulldog handle it from the beginning he had no clue. Collar-man saw Bulldog headed toward them and raised his hands. “Okay, okay.” He made a beeline for the door.
The woman began coughing when collar-man released her. “Thank y—”
Rafe gripped her arm and dragged her toward the door.
“What are you d-doing?” She struggled, but she was no match for him. “Let go of me.”
“You’re disturbing my customers.” Once outside, he whistled for a cab down the street and tugged her to the curb as it pulled up. “Les Chambres Royale,” he bent to inform the cabbie, and then opened the back door for her.
“I’m not l-leaving without some information.” She managed to fold her arms over nice-size curves that had been hidden before by her crocheted… whatever she called that thing. At the same time, she hitched her huge purse up onto her shoulder and pushed her eyeglasses higher on her nose. Why did he find that appealing?
“Look, this isn’t the kind of place you want to be hanging around.”
She rolled her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m staying here to find my friend.”
“It’s my bar and I say you’re not.”
“Hey, is someone getting in or what?” the cabbie yelled out the window.
Rafe leaned in the front window. “Start the meter.” When he looked back at the woman, she was biting her thumbnail and he could’ve sworn he saw the wheels and cogs turning as a plan formed.
“If you don’t let me inside, I swear I’ll come back every night, stand outside your d-door and ask everyone before they enter—”
“Okay, okay.” Damn it. “If I say I’ll see what I can find out, will you get in the damn cab?”
She smiled and Rafe blinked. When she smiled it changed her entire face. Softened it. Brightened it. “You promise? You want Julia’s picture? I can make copies. I’ll b-bring them tomorrow.”
He took her elbow and guided her into the backseat of the cab. “Don’t come here. I’ll call you if I learn anything.” He slammed the door and bent at the waist to look her in the eyes. “Just don’t get your hopes up.”
She scowled and might have responded, but the cab pulled away.
As Rafe watched the checkered cab disappear into the mist of the chilly night, the back of his neck itched. After a lifetime of getting into it, scheming to get out of it and learning to avoid it, he knew trouble when he saw it.
And that woman was going to be trouble.
2
THE NEXT NIGHT CLAIRE slipped unobtrusively onto a low red velvet sofa in the back of Once Bitten and scanned the crowd around her.
No sign of Julia tonight, either. Or the guy she’d taken off with.
Panic was invading Claire’s psyche like the bacteria she studied under a microscope. Experimenting with different cell lines for the production of recombinant molecules seemed like child’s play compared to dealing with this mess. In fact, she’d conference-called her team back in Boston this morning to check on their latest cell culture development, and it seemed they were doing just fine without her.
That had been somewhat… disconcerting.
Then she’d placed a call to her mother and father to update them on her progress in finding Julia. At least they took her concerns seriously. Unlike the police force here.
She’d waited around the French Quarter station almost two hours this morning before a detective finally spoke with her. Of course, he’d told her the same thing the officer had told her yesterday. It was Mardi Gras, lots of people go missing and show up a couple of days later, hung over, and with a great story to tell their grandkids, etc.
Officially, Julia wouldn’t be considered missing until tomorrow morning when she’d been gone for forty-eight hours. And Claire had looked up the statistics. The chances of finding someone after the first forty-eight hours lowered dramatically. Anything could’ve happened to her by now.
It was obvious Claire couldn’t wait for the police.
A familiar ball of frustration roiled in her stomach and she clenched her fists. If only she hadn’t agreed to go to Mardi Gras with Julia.
No. If she’d refused to accompany her friend on this trip, Julia would’ve just gone to New Orleans alone. And then no one would’ve even known she’d disappeared.
Julia was impulsive, and even sometimes foolish, but she would never just take off without eventually checking in. Something was wrong. And she had to find her friend before it was—statistically speaking—too late.
Worst case scenarios kept flashing through her mind. Julia robbed and beaten. Or maybe that guy she’d gone off with had drugged and raped her. Maybe she’d been left for dead in some alley. Or kidnapped and sold into white slavery—
Okay. Maybe that was just too far. The best way to help her best friend was to remain calm and breathe deeply. She resumed scanning the crowds for Julia.
“You the one caused the trouble here last night?”
Claire shifted on the sofa and her vision was blocked by a silky, floor-length black dress molded to a petite frame from ankle to bosom. The woman’s jet-black hair was spiked out on the left side of her head and shaved bald on the right. She had so many piercings, rings and studs through her lip, brows, nose and ears, that Claire couldn’t count them all.
“Listen.” The woman crouched before her, bringing their eyes level. “We don’t need no trouble in this place.” She poked her finger at Claire. “I saw your friend here the other night and she was fine when she left. That’s all you need to know about Once Bitten. So you should get your big ol’ a—”
“It’s okay, Ro. I’ll handle this.” The bartender from the night before spoke from behind Claire.
Startled, Claire jerked around and fell off the sofa, landing on her butt. Oh, geez. Maybe she could just crawl into one of these coffins.
The woman, Ro, straightened, slapped her hands on her slim hips and flattened her lips at the bartender. Then with a shrug of one shoulder, she sauntered off.
“You all right?” He bent to take her elbow and helped pull her to her feet. She could hear the smirk in his tone.
“Fine. I’m fine.” Her face felt on fire and she couldn’t look at him as she brushed off her corduroys.
“I thought I told you not to come back here.”
The back of her neck tingled as she felt his stare on her. She knew what he saw. A frumpy, frizzy-haired, nerd-head. And he was impossibly handsome with his perfectly unshaven jaw and his tousled dark hair and his intense gray eyes.
What did it matter? She was here to find Julia.
“Come with me.” He grasped her arm and tugged her along behind him to the bar, confident that she would obey. She almost yanked out of his hold, but he might have information for her.
“Drink this.” He grabbed a shot glass and filled it with brown liquid from a bottle that read, “Wild Turkey.”
“I don’t need whiskey.”
“It’s bourbon. And you definitely look like you need it.”
Claire took the glass and brought it cautiously to her lips. Then she glanced at the bartender.
He folded his arms over his chest. “If I wanted you gone, I wouldn’t need to drug you. I could just throw you out like I did last night.”
True. But she still didn’t trust him. She took a careful sip. Fire. Burning the back of her throat, all the way down to her stomach. She gasped, grabbed her throat and glared at him.
“It gets better. Take another sip.”
She was feeling less tense, so she sipped again. “Mmm.” She nodded her agreement.
He raised a smug brow. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you’d call.”
He shook his hair away from his eyes. “I said I’d let you know if I learned anything.”
“I’m not disrupting your bar. I’m just watching to see if Julia or that guy comes in.”
“And then what?”
“What?”
“What’ll you do if the guy does show up? You think you can appeal to his sense of honor and he’ll just confess to whatever it is he did with your friend?”
Her stomach tightened as his soft Southern accent contrasted sharply with images of Julia fighting for her life, being tied up and throw in a trunk, injured or… dead. “Well, I’ll—I’ll call the police and tell them to bring him in for questioning.”
“And what if he says he left her alive and well the other night?”
She folded her arms, mimicking him. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on my own side. I don’t want another scene in my bar.”
“Fine. Then I’ll question him once he leaves your bar.”
He shook his head. “You got a death wish, cher?”
Cher? The Cajun shorthand for cherie? Darling in French. Something in her stomach fluttered and tingled. No one had ever called her darling before. Not that he meant it as an endearment. He didn’t even know her. He probably called every woman that so he wouldn’t have to remember her name the next morning.
She straightened her spine. “My name is Claire.” She offered her right hand. “Claire Brooks. And you are?”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “You gave me your card last night, Doctor, remember?”
“Oh.” She could feel her face heating again. Another dorky move. But what was new? She kept her hand extended, and… he took it.
“Rafe Moreau.”
She smiled. So silly to be happy over a handshake. “Mr. Moreau.”
“Rafe will do.” His hand enveloped hers in warmth. Her hands were always so cold, it felt wonderful, the heat, the roughness of his palm and the wave of awareness that swept over her. Skin touching skin. His very maleness so close to her, exuding some sort of sexual heat.
She snatched her hand away.
He probably wasn’t even conscious of how sexy he was.
“Listen, Claire. Why don’t you go back—”
She gasped.
“What?”
Ignoring Rafe, Claire shoved away from the bar and strode across the lounge area. She stepped in front of a punked-out bleached blonde. “Where did you get that?” Claire pointed to the necklace draped over the blonde’s black leather bustier. Hanging from a thick silver chain was a pewter pentacle about two inches in diameter.
She screwed up her face in a look of disgust and turned away. “None of your business.”
Claire grabbed her arm. She’d finally found a lead to Julia and she wasn’t about to lose it. “It most certainly is my business. I know for a fact that necklace couldn’t possibly belong to you.”
The woman yanked her arm from Claire’s grasp. “You don’t know nuthin’. Now, get out of my face before I—”
“Is there a problem here?” Rafe appeared beside Claire and stepped between them.
“Yeah, this bitch is bothering me.”
“Rafe. That necklace.” Claire pointed to the jewelry on the chain. “It belongs to Julia. She would never part with it willingly.”
Rafe glanced from Claire to the necklace, then back to Claire. “How can you be sure?”
Claire narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Maybe I should just call the police and let them look into it.”
“Man, she’s crazy. I’m outta here.” The woman spun to leave, but Rafe clutched her shoulder.
“This will just take a sec.” He stared at the woman and whatever she saw in his expression convinced her to wait. Nice talent to have.
The bleached blonde shrugged. “Whatever.”
Rafe looked back at Claire.
“I gave it to Julia for her graduation from Cosmetology School. It’s engraved on the back. My name and her name and the date, 5-27-04.”
Rafe raised his brows and turned toward the bustiered woman. “Free drinks the rest of the night if you let me see the back of your necklace.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Sure!” She wrenched the chain up and over her head and dropped it in his waiting palm.
Rafe turned it over and Claire leaned in to look.
As she’d known it would be, there on the back was the engraving that proved it was Julia’s.
“I TOLD YOU!” Dr. Claire Brooks tried to snatch the necklace from him, but Rafe was quicker, dodging her grasp.
Undeterred, the stubborn woman gave her attention to the blonde. “Where did you get this?”
The blonde sniffed. “Why should I tell you?”
“I could pay you.”
Whoa. Rafe almost warned the good doctor against offering money, but hey, he’d done enough already.
Blondie hesitated. “Yeah? How much?”
The doctor’s brow crinkled and she lifted her huge purse to her chest, dug around inside it and finally produced a couple of bills. “Would you take twenty dollars?”
“Make it fifty.”
Heh. Blondie was no fool.
“I’ll give you seventy-five,” the doctor shot back, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “For the information and the necklace.”
The blonde’s eyes glittered with greed. “I got it at the Blue Bayou Flea Market.” She held her palm out expectantly.
The naive doctor set her chin. “Which stall?”
The blonde pursed her lips and scowled. “I don’t know! Hey, are you gonna pay me or what?”
Dr. Brooks turned her back, hunched over and pulled something out from the neckline of her shirt. Turning back around, she slapped the money into Blondie’s waiting hand, who made a beeline for the bar.
Shaking his head, Rafe handed the necklace to the doctor. “You paid way too much for that, cher.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause another disturbance in your bar.”
Rafe blinked. Had she truly been worried about his business? Right. She probably just didn’t want to get thrown out again.
“Well, thank you for your help.” She extended her hand. “Offering that woman free drinks all night was extremely generous of you.”
Rafe stared at her right hand. He should shake it and get her out of his life forever. “Tell the police. Let them check it out.”
She dropped her hand. “Of course, I’ll tell them.”
Good.
“But I also intend to search the flea market myself.”
Of course she did. He shook his head.
“If it’s anything like the flea markets back home in Missouri, this place will have hundreds of stalls. I doubt the N.O.P.D. will have the manpower to question each one of the proprietors.”
Rafe shrugged. He didn’t need to get any more involved.
She placed her hand on his forearm and he tensed reflexively. “Really, thank you.” Her lips curved in a small smile before she turned toward the front door.
“Hey,” he called after her. When she looked back he folded his arms across his chest, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. “Don’t stay out after dark.”
She frowned. “I can take care of myself.” Her expression became smug. “I have my trusty can of pepper spray.”
Pepper spray? She thought that would deter a gang during a turf war or stop a junkie jonesing for a hit? Damn it, what did he care what this woman did? He stared after her as she walked out of his bar and his life. Good riddance. He didn’t need her causing him any more trouble.
He went back to his bartending and didn’t give her another thought the rest of the night. Except for the times he glanced down at the tub of strawberries. Or when he had to pour Blondie another free drink. Or when the front door would open and he’d look over expecting to see her walking back in.
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