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... ot a good idea to leave them on.
Mirabelle squirmed when he reached for the bra clasp, but his voice cut through the fog again—low, steady, close to her ear.
‘It’s me. Ashton. You’re safe now.’
Her breath hitched, then she went still.
He stripped off the last of the soaked fabric, towelled her off again, and reached for the change of clothes.
A white dress shirt and suit trousers, both at least two sizes too big.
They were his.
There were w ...
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