The door flew open as Hamish reemerged, out of breath and drenched from the rain. “The lass is in here!” What happened next felt as if June were out of her body. Behind Hamish came someone else. The man rushed to June’s side, a familiar object in hand. “I need to unbutton your jeans. It’s more effective that way,” he said in a Scottish accent that was, thank God, understandable. June noticed the man’s shirt, which clung wetly to his chest: Knockmoral Fire and Rescue Service. “It’s a bit early in our relationship, don’t you think?” June said, though the swelling in her mouth muffled the words.
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