She dressed quickly, pulling on white jeans and a red tee shirt. Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. ‘Because she, naturally enough, does not consider that it is in any way my affair. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself.
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