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His cop, he thought as he toyed with her hair, with her dark corners and terrifying courage. His wife, with her nerves and her needs.
And if Roarke ever decided he wanted out, she’d probably let him live. In a permanent body cast.
The things she’d seen and done and felt were there behind those dark, serious eyes.
She couldn’t imagine what it was like to be that connected. So meshed that the brush of fingertips over your hair was a simple and absolute declaration of love.
