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Like a little romance? Then you’ll love this FREE excerpt from the Romance of the Week, Ella Steele’s SCANDALOUS – An erotic romance that’s an addictive tease and will leave you breathless and begging for more. – 4.9 Stars on Amazon with 10 out of 10 Rave Reviews and Now $3.99 on Kindle

Last week we announcedthat Ella Steele’s SCANDALOUS is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded this one already, you’re in for a treat!

Scandalous

by Ella Steele

4.9 stars – 10 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
Warning: This novel contains sexually explicit content.

Millionaire Jack Gray earned his fortune creating erotic art for discerning clientele. He doesn’t use a brush to depict these hauntingly beautiful portraits–he uses bare skin. A sterling reputation is the only thing standing between Jack and poverty as he skirts the thin line between fine art and cheap sensationalism. To ensure that his character remains beyond reproach, an assistant observes his sessions.While interviewing for a new assistant, Jack hears her voice–Abby Tyndale–the girl who got away. The last time Jack saw her was over a decade ago. After years of romantic tension she had nearly kissed him, but then disappeared without a trace. He hasn’t seen her since. Until now. When he learns that his lost love joined the clergy after she fled to West Texas, his heart sinks. She’s forbidden, forever set apart by her vows.

Jack’s life quickly spins out of control as Abby grows closer to him, and worsens when his client list is stolen. The financial blow alone is damning, but it’s the scandal brewing beneath the surface that he fears the most. Jack and Abby’s livelihoods rely on their reputations. A single scandal will destroy them both. While fearing a contrived scandal, they have courted a very real one as their romance reignites.

This erotic romance is an addictive tease that will leave you breathless and begging for more.

One Reviewer Notes
“This might be the sexiest book I have ever read! H.M Ward has stepped out of her usual YA genre and created a masterpiece! Sooooo freaking sexy!” – Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

SCANDALOUS

Ella Steele

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2012 by Ella Steele and published here with her permission.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

 

Rain splattered on the windshield of the cab in globs. Each splash sounded like a rock. I was used to nasty storms from living in Texas for so long, but it made the people who never left New York cringe. The cabbie was an oversized man with pasty skin and too much hair. He had a dark ball cap pulled down low, concealing his face. As we drove into the storm, he pushed his hat farther back, as if ball caps hindered vision. The man was leaning forward, practically pressing his face against the windshield.

We drove east in silence. He didn’t try to make small talk, and I was glad about that. This homecoming wasn’t something I wanted to discuss. I still didn’t want to be here, but there was nowhere left to go. The car pulled off the expressway, and after a few turns, the cab rolled down a narrow street in Port Jeff. Through the rain, porch lights blazed promising warmth inside the rows of homes.

“Here we are,” the cabbie stated with complete indifference. As he told me the total, he wrote something on a clipboard, and tossed it back onto the front seat next to him.

Hesitating for a moment, I looked up at the brown brick facade and swallowed. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’d left Long Island over ten years ago, and, although I missed it, I had never wanted to come back. Yet, here I was.

The cabbie cleared his throat, waiting. I blinked once, pushing away the doubt that crawled up my spine, and dug into my purse. It pained me to hand him the last of my money, but I did. He grumbled something, expecting me to be cheap because I looked like a drowned rat, but I said, “Keep the change.”

“Sure thing, Princess. I’ll buy a new yacht to park next to the other one.” The man laughed. He sounded like a llama choking on a shoe. Fine. It wasn’t a big tip, but it was all I had. I got the clear impression he didn’t think Little Miss Texas should be wandering around big bad New York, like some redneck yokel who just discovered shoes.

Ignoring him, I slid off the seat. Kicking open the door, rain splattered down and I was instantly wetter. I didn’t think that was possible. I had one bag with me and two others in the trunk. Drops of freezing rain ran down my neck and into my coat making me shiver. I’d forgotten how different men acted here. They didn’t hold doors or help girls with their bags. After I ran around to the back of the cab, I grabbed my suitcases and slammed the trunk shut.

As the red taillights faded into the darkness, the front door of 6A opened. A young woman with long dark hair ran down the porch stairs and straight at me. “Abby!” In two bounds she was across the puddles, hugging me like I’d never left.

“Hey, Kate,” I hugged her back. She didn’t seem to care that I was sopping wet, and now, so was she. Holding my shoulders in her hands, she examined me under the street light. Her eyes were still vibrant, and every ounce as green as I remembered.

“I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” Kate said grinning, shaking her head. “I have no idea why you ran away and failed to tell your best friend about it, but I would have traded anything to get to see you again. And now you’re here!” She hugged me again. I wasn’t much of a hugger, and neither was she, but she was right. With the way I’d left, I didn’t expect such a warm reception. “Come on, let’s go inside. I have a spiked hot cocoa with your name on it.” She reached for my bags, and then made a beeline for the front door with me on her heels.

 

_________

Kate didn’t know why I’d left, and I never told her. It was complicated. As I stepped over the threshold, I glanced around her apartment. It was warm and clean, decorated like an art gallery with beautiful artwork on the walls. The room was peaceful, painted with soft blues and browns—not like the girl with the bright orange bedroom she had when we were younger. Kate seemed to have gotten over her fascination with neon colors.

Pushing her dripping hair out of her face, Kate said, “Come on. I’ll show you your room, and then we can catch up.” Following Kate’s path of puddles, I walked between the living room and kitchen to a back hallway. The apartment was larger than it appeared from the street. After passing a bathroom, I stopped in the doorway of a bedroom. Kate grabbed my bags from me, putting them under a window and throwing towels on the floor in front of them to soak up the water. “And this, Miss Abigail Tyndale, will be your residence for as long as you like.”

“It’ll only be a year, Kate. I’ll go as soon as I can. I don’t want to burden you.” I felt horrible having to do this in the first place, and she was being so nice. Kate was the same selfless person from a decade ago. I bet she still dragged half dead cats off the street and took them to the vet, happily footing their medical bills and finding them a new home.

Kate folded her arms over her chest, and hung her head. “You’re gonna run again, aren’t you? First chance you get, you’ll head for the hills and go back to no-mans land.” It was a statement. An obvious observation. A dark tendril of hair clung to Kate’s cheek, water dripping down her face like tears. Her green eyes were on me, wanting an answer.

No one willingly ran to no-mans land. I sure didn’t and standing there with her, it felt like I’d never left. It felt like I had my best friend back, and I missed her. No one took her place in all the time I was gone. She was the kind of person who didn’t say what you wanted to hear—she said what you needed to hear. Friends like her were rare.

I smiled at her, “This isn’t my home anymore. I don’t belong here.” My moist clothing clung to me like wet toilet paper. I repressed a shiver. A hot shower really sounded divine.

“You belong with your family,” she stated, stubbornly.

I wondered if she’d heard—if she knew. One night, several years ago, my parents were driving back from dinner and never got home. They were hit, head on, by a car going 90 miles per hour. Everything shattered. There was nothing left. No chance for survival. No chance to say good-bye. “They’re all dead, Kate. I’m alone,” I said softly staring at her.

She smiled sadly at me, “I know Abby, but that wasn’t what I meant. Your friends are your family now. You’re not alone, unless you choose to be.” As she left my room, she said over her shoulder, “It’s time to stop running.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

 

 

The door clicked shut. There was truth in her words, truth that I didn’t want to hear. After a hot shower, I donned a pair of sweats and headed out to the living room. The plastic soles of my slippers made me sound like a water-buffalo traipsing through the apartment. The wooden floors didn’t conceal much noise, although the dark wood looked nice.

Kate was in the kitchen, standing by the stove, with a kettle in her hand. She beamed when she saw me. “Choose your poison, cinnamon schnapps or something stronger?” Kate had changed her water-logged clothing too and was wearing a pair of boxers and a tank top. Her damp hair was pulled back into a pony tail.

Sitting on the couch, I pulled my legs in tight. “No schnapps, Kate. Just plain cocoa.”

She arched an eyebrow at me, the bottle pausing before she poured it into my cup. “Seriously? No alcohol?”

I nodded. “Part of the vows—alcohol is only used in rituals.” If Kate’s eyebrows climbed any higher, they’d be in her ponytail. I laughed, “I’m fine, Kate. It doesn’t have to be spiked.”

“It should be,” she mumbled, carrying over two oversized cups. Handing me one, she sat down across from the sofa on a large suede chair. After taking a sip she asked, “So, this must be rough.” I nodded once, not meeting her eyes. “How long were you working there?”

I sipped my drink, not looking up, “Since I started seminary, so twelve years or so.” The mug felt warm against my hands. I wished she’d talk about something else, but my mind was drawing a blank. It was like I couldn’t think of a single thing to derail her questions.

“What was your job?” she asked carefully.

“Preacher. Minister. The normal churchy kind of stuff.” Taking another sip, I looked up at her. I knew what she wanted to ask me, but I didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet, anyway.

Her legs were pulled sideways, mirroring mine. She was leaning on her left arm, steaming mug in her right hand. “That sounds nice.” She was trying to be sweet. Nice was the last word for what it was. If Dante had a version of Hell with pictograms, I think the gun-wielding cow folk would have been around level four. At first I adored them, like crazy old coots, but the longer I was there the more I saw that they thought I was the nutty one. I nodded again. Kate looked at her mug and blurted out the dreaded question. “So what’d you do?”

Kate’s green eyes were wide, a grin on her face. “I have to ask. It’s killing me, Abby. For the past decade I’m lucky if I’ve heard from you twice. And then all of a sudden you get tossed on your ass—by a church! Did you curse them out from the pulpit? Or what?”

I cringed. “Maybe.” She knew I had issues controlling my tongue. Before I headed south and signed on the clergy dotted line, I swore like a sailor. Spewing profanity from the pulpit was a normal occurrence for me, although the words they blanched at were words like ‘crap’ and ‘hell.’ Really, Hell is a noun. They should have gotten over that, but that wasn’t what got me banished. I hedged, “Kate, I really don’t want to rehash it. I did something bad—something that should have gotten me fired—but they said that they’d keep me if I took a mandatory sabbatical.” There it was. The statement I practiced on the plane flying up here.

“So a year of vacation—that’s not that bad, right?” she sipped from her mug, green eyes peering at me.

I laughed, trying to defuse the tension I felt building in my shoulders. I was mad, angry. This wasn’t fair, but it’s the way things were. I had to deal with it. I said, “If that’s what they did, it would have been fine. But they didn’t.” I hesitated. Talking about this just made me more emotional. I walked into this mess. I brought it on myself and now I was homeless. I decided to tell her more. It was Kate, and I doubt she’d condemn me for what I did, although I wouldn’t specify exactly what—not yet. “The church board said it was a year in the desert—they wouldn’t pay my salary—and that if I wanted to remain employed, that I had to do this.”

“So, basically you were tossed out on your ass with no money?” Kate’s expression was surprised. “That doesn’t sound like a churchy thing for them to do.”

I nodded, “Yeah, but it’s actually much worse.” My stomach sank. This was the kicker and it was my own damn fault.

“How could it possibly be worse?” her jaw was hanging open, her mug tilted precariously to the side, its contents threatening to spill onto the floor. To Kate, bad was a finding a mugger in the bathroom stall, and what I was about to tell her would set her on full attack. I just hoped I wouldn’t get blasted when I told her how stupid I was. This was the biggest mistake I ever made, aside from getting almost-fired.

Avoiding her gaze, I explained, “They hired me while I was in college. I was working on a ministry degree and I could have been an assistant minster somewhere, maybe with youth or something. But this church wanted me as their one and only minister. They wanted me to do seminary. It was three years of grad work on top of the student loans I already had. I said I couldn’t afford it, but we reached an agreement…”

Kate groaned, “Oh no. Tell me you didn’t.”

My throat tightened. I stared into my cocoa. I was stupid. While most kids had some debt from school that followed them around like a puppy, stealing their meager wages, making it harder to survive, I had a freaking walrus. It sat on me, it squashed me, and made my life a living hell. I thought Kate’s parents were deranged lunatics. They were anti-credit card. I can’t imagine the bitch-slap her mom would give me if I admitted to my walrus-sized loans.

Pressing my lips together, I nodded, “I did. I took out more loans to pay for grad school. The way my contract with the church was worded, it said that they would pay off my debt as part of my salary.” It didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time, and I really didn’t know the difference between ten dollars and ten grand. Apparently the lenders know that stuff. So did the church board.

Kate closed her eyes, shaking her head, immediately catching on, “And since they aren’t giving you a salary for this entire year…”

“I have to repay my astronomical student loans on my own.” I ran my fingers through my hair, practically pulling it out. There were so many major mistakes, and they were all super-sized. “I don’t know what to do, Kate. The church provided the parsonage. They gave me enough money to pay my bills and eat. It wasn’t enough to save anything. I was lucky that I had enough money to get here. When I told them that, they said the lilies of the field don’t worry about tomorrow and neither should I. What am I supposed to? If you hadn’t taken me in, I’d have nowhere to go.”

They screwed me. My church, the people I dedicated my life to, completely and totally screwed me. They wrote this off as a learning experience that would make me stronger. They broke their word about making sure my loans were paid every month without a second thought. Fury flamed to life inside of me. My fingers ran through my hair as that nauseating sense of desperation crawled up my throat again. It felt like I was being choked, but nothing was there. Hanging my head, I pressed my eyes closed, fighting to hold back the tears that were building behind my eyes.

Kate tapped the side of her cup, thinking, “Okay, let’s not freak out, yet. We need to address the loans first. You have a place to stay and you don’t have to worry about food, either.” She grinned, “I’m an awesome cook. No more Spaghetti-os for you!” Glancing up at her, head in my hands, I couldn’t find the smile within me. I felt crushed, like some huge ogre stepped on me, smashing me flat. “Okay, let’s see. I didn’t do the loan thing. My parents thought debt was the devil’s doing. But loan companies have options in case of emergencies, deferments to make repayment easier if there’s a crisis. Abby, have you filed for a deferment? I bet you could claim financial hardship and they’d give you a year or more before demanding another payment.”

I shook my head, “I don’t have anymore. We used them all.”

“We?” she asked, her mouth gaping like a fish.

I cringed. It sounded utterly stupid now that I was explaining it to someone else. Sitting back in my chair, I looked up at her. “The board. They asked me to use all my deferments before they began repayment. I didn’t think they’d toss me, so I used them… Oh my God, Kate.” My eyes were wide. I didn’t see how screwed I was until right then. Before saying it out loud, it had been an abstract thought of screwed-ness, drifting aimlessly through my mind. But now that I’d said it, it solidified and fell to my toes like a lead pancake.

Kate leaned forward, putting her mug down, her game face on. “The past is the past, Abby. You can’t change it. The only thing to do is try and come up with enough money to pay it. It can’t be that much, right? What is it? A couple hundred bucks a month? That’s doable. A minimum wage job would do that—you could work part-time and you’ll be totally fine.”

I shook my head and a tangle of reddish brown hair tumbled forward, freeing itself from my ponytail. “It’s $3275 per month.” I tucked the wayward strands behind my ear, saying the number completely numb. It was so astronomical that I should have been a doctor.

Kate’s jaw dropped so wide that I could see every tooth in her head. “Holy fuck! How much do you owe?”

“Just over $270,000.” Kate sat there stunned, recognizing the walrus. I sat there like the dumb-ass that I was, shaking my head, pressing my finger tips to my temples. “I need a job. I need a good job, fast.” If I kept saying it, maybe I wouldn’t freak out.

Kate came to her senses. She blinked those bright green eyes, as she shook the shock away, “Abby, what’s mine is yours. I’ll help you as much as I can. Don’t worry about rent or groceries. I’ll take care of that for a while.” She shook her head, “Damn, that’s a lot of debt. You need at least four grand to pay that, otherwise you won’t have enough money after taxes. The market sucks here right now. And your degree doesn’t help you.”

“I know. I tried to find work in Texas, before I left, but even down there in God’s country I’m useless. No one wants a minister around when they aren’t at church.” They told me some crap about not wanting God looking over their shoulders at work. That stuff was for Sunday, as if they could lock God in the church building.

Kate frowned, “What else have you done since high school?” I didn’t answer. My brain reached back trying to think of something unrelated to my ministry degrees. Kate straightened in her seat, an idea spreading across her face, “Ooh! What about art? Tell me you took some college art classes.” Before I could answer she bounded down the hallway and came back holding a newspaper. She flicked through the pages.

“Yeah,” I said slowly, watching her flip through the thin newsprint, “I took some art history, photography, and a painting class—but they were all electives with an emphasis on religious art.”

She snorted, “Of course they were,” she glared at me from over the top of the paper, “but you aren’t going to tell anyone else that, unless they ask. Got it? Besides, most early art was religious anyway. It won’t matter.”

“Kate,” I began to protest, but stopped when she slammed the paper down in front of me. Her narrow finger pointed toward an article that said LOCAL MUESUM OPENS SOON. I stared at the paper, but couldn’t fathom what she was suggesting. “Clue me in, Kate. What are you thinking?”

“Well, a few weeks ago someone called MOMA looking for a new curator, and it was this place!” She pointed to the paper again. “I was the one who took the call. Abby, they’re brand new, so they can’t afford a seasoned professional—they need someone like you. Odds are it’ll pay your loans and maybe give you a little pocket change. In other words, it’s a crap job that no one can live off of unless they have an awesome roommate like me!” She beamed. “Plus, a reference from MOMA can’t hurt. I’ll call her first thing tomorrow.” For the first time in days, I smiled and laughed. Maybe things would work out after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

 

Or maybe not.

My heart sank, clunking into the bottom of my shoes as the dreaded words poured out of the woman’s mouth, “The position has been filled.” The girl at the desk informed me before I even finished saying my name. The vastness of the empty room seemed to make her voice louder. “It was earlier today, actually. I’m sorry, dear. I tried to get hold of you, but there was no cell number.”

My shoulders slumped slightly, though I tried to hide it. Kate had spent the morning on the phone to get me this interview. There was no way I could afford a cell phone, so I didn’t have one. Apparently Kate’s recommendation wasn’t enough to overcome the preacher thing. I smiled softly at her, “Thank you for trying. I really appreciate it.”

As I turned to leave, she called out, “Hon!” I stopped and turned back to face her. She was scrawling something on a notepad. The museum was closed, so she was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Plaster was splattered across her lap. “Wait!” I stopped, as she crossed the room quickly. “Listen, I heard that the Galleria needs help. It’s not a museum, but it’s an art job.

“The Galleria?” I asked, looking at the paper she handed me.

“Yeah, it’s not too far from here. It’s on the south shore in the Hamptons. Some rich guy owns it. That job’ll get snapped up fast. If I were you, I’d head over there right now.” She smiled at me. Her kindness floored me. I stood there for a moment before I found my voice.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” I looked at the address as I slipped back inside Kate’s car. She worked at the Museum of Modern Art, otherwise known as MOMA, and said I could use her car. She worked crazy hours and said she wouldn’t miss it.

The maps of Long Island that I had in my head were old, but I thought I knew where the address that the woman handed me was located. I didn’t have a cell phone, and Kate’s car was too old to have GPS. I looked at the address again, wondering if I should go—if I could pull off a job interview when I didn’t even know what the job was. I was flying by the seat of my pants and hating every moment of it.

That choking sensation climbed out of my belly again, threatening my sanity. Without a job I’d lose everything I worked so hard on for the past ten years. My credit would be trashed, student loan collectors would harass me to no end, and my contract with the church would be violated. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, requiring a person to keep their credit in good standing seemed like a reasonable part of a job. However, since they were the ones that caused the financial distress, it hardly seemed fair now.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I pulled out. How hard would it be to fake my way through an interview? Anyway, I was already dressed. No point in giving up, not yet. Where there’s a will, there’s a way—and other crap like that sputtered through my mind. What was the worst that could happen? Without hesitation, I drove directly to the address on the paper. My jaw nearly fell off my face when I pulled up. It was a large studio and art gallery—and it was beachfront property—on the most expensive part of Long Island. The official name was Jonathan Gray Fine Art & Galleria. It was in carved golden letters on a blue sign in front of the door.

Stepping from my car, I hurried up the front walk, noticing the white sand. The sound of the ocean crashing into the shore filled my ears. When I pulled open the door, several women who were dressed far better than me sat waiting in a poshly decorated room. Confidently, I walked to the desk, although I felt lacking when I saw the other women’s clothing. Their skirts and blouses hugged their bodies as if the garments were custom made. I was wearing my Texas Target dress with a white collared shirt underneath. Holy crap. I looked like a Sunday School teacher, or a nun in her street clothes. These were the wrong clothes for a place like this, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

The receptionist smiled wanly at me and handed me a clipboard. “You’re late,” she scolded. “I shouldn’t even let you in, but since they haven’t started the first round yet, I’ll make an exception. Fill out your paperwork quickly. Mr. Gray doesn’t have all day.”

I nodded, smiling, and sat down next to a breathing Barbie doll. She arched a perfectly plucked brow at me, no doubt questioning my black frock and clunky shoes. Ignoring her, I filled out my paperwork. My heart raced a little bit. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this, but I did. I missed doing creative things; I missed the challenge of it. And the job description plastered across the top of the papers made me giddy. I would be a gallery assistant. The salary was stated with an additional commission on each sale. I’d easily be able to pay my loans on time, and not mooch off of Kate. Hope swelled in my chest.

It took two hours for them to call my name. I was the last candidate. I followed the receptionist into a large room. There were several floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean. My eyes went straight to the windows, staring at the sea. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

“Miss Tyndale,” a man’s voice called me back to reality. He held out a chair for me before moving around the long empty table to the other side. “I’m Gus Peck. I’ll be conducting your interview. As you know we are a prestigious art studio. Jonathan Gray’s works sell for a premium to affluent clientele. Are you comfortable working with the wealthy?”

Smiling, I leaned forward, “Yes. I’ve worked with many different people in the past. Some were difficult, but that was only because they demanded the best. Other personalities may have seemed easier to deal with at first, but they proved harder to assist.” Was that a good answer? Interviewing for church jobs was very different. There was a fine line between telling them what they wanted to hear and what I really thought. Everyone was on best behavior, asking questions that usually didn’t matter, but Gus’ question seemed rather practical. It threw my footing off a little bit, as did his reply.

“How’s that?” Gus asked, jotting down things on a yellow notepad as I spoke, his eyes not lifting to meet mine.

How is that, Abby? I was totally making stuff up, pulling answers out of the air on the fly. Explaining my rationale, I replied, “Well, the difficult people came across that way because they were demanding, but demanding people know what they want. They have clear expectations and expect them to be met.” Gus stopped scribbling and looked up at me as I continued, “It can be intimidating if you haven’t dealt with them before. But the easy-going people are actually harder to help, because they usually don’t know what they need. It takes more patience and time to assist them.” My back was straight and I noticed that I was sitting on the edge of my seat. I tried to relax a little, to appear more confident. I wanted this job so much. It would fix everything. I smiled softly, noticing my accent seemed fuddled. I didn’t sound like a New Yorker anymore, but I didn’t sound Texan either.

Gus nodded, “Hmm. Interesting observation.” I looked at him, slightly intimidated. The man was in his early thirties, blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked like a cover model for GQ, holding my application in his hands. His eyes scanned it again. When he was done, he looked over the top of my papers and pointed his pen at me, “You get points for not giving cookie-cutter answers, Miss Tyndale, but you have no previous sales experience. It says here that you were a minister… in Texas?” The man looked at me like I was insane. As soon as I answered that question, this job interview was over.

Before I could speak a voice came from the shadows at the end of the room. “So, that’s where you went? Texas.” That voice. It made my stomach flip. My body was instantly covered in goose bumps, every hair standing on end. Something inside my chest ached when he spoke. Although I hadn’t heard it in years, I recognized his warm playful tone instantly. I’d know him anywhere.

My pulse quickened and I suddenly felt much more nervous than I had a moment ago. Jaw hanging open, I turned and stared at him like he was a ghost. “Jack?”

 

 

Continued….

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