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She woke up shaking and crying. She must have made noise, for Mike was suddenly sitting beside her on the bed, holding her tightly. Again, as on the other night he had held her, his chest was bare, and the hair against her cheeks and nose tickled pleasantly. The smells of soap and something minty nearly, but not quite, masked the wholly masculine aroma of him. The only light in the room spilled through the open door from the hallway outside, and Abby saw that Mike wore only blue, satiny short pants. |
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This time she only wanted to get closer. She recalled their kiss when he ran to her in the wash. She needed his lips, his body, against hers. As she pressed against him, she knew that was what he wanted, too. |
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"Hush, Abby," he whispered. "It'll be all right." After a moment, as he still held her tightly, he said, "I'm . . . sorry. All you've saidit's incredible. If only" |
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She knew how rare and difficult it must be for Mike Danziger to apologize, most especially if he believed he had done nothing wrong. Warmed by his effort to solace her, she stilled his agonized speech by placing her hand over his firm lips. |
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At first his hands roving her back atop her long but flimsy white gown were comforting, the way an adult eases a child's fears. But soon they reached the sensitive places at the base of her neck and behind her ears, creating small, sensual shivers each place he touched. His fingers ranged through the loosened mass of her hair, tangling, then releasing it to massage her scalp, and she |
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