Then they flicked to the sleeping, snoring man.The warleader slept naked atop his blankets, his body a dusky brown and so muscled his veins stood out ...gainst his skin. A shaved head gleamed in the lantern light. A black mustache, the ends long and drooping down to his chin, adorned a squat and chiseled face.The lamia shook her head in warning, an iron slave collar tight about her throat. She mouthed, “Run.”I winked at her.I crept closer to the sleeping warleader. A glint to my right drew my. In Washington one merely touched hands. Each of these women applied a very firm grip. As she shook hands, she realized that everything about these women was feminine perfection. Their hands were all slim with very long fingers. Moreover, she realized, none were wearing nail polish. This caused her to look at their faces even more closely. When she did, she realized that none were wearing any makeup at all — or certainly none that she could see.However, although her female friends in Washington. He wasn't sure anyone had been down in the basement for years. Between the clutter in the garage and the boxes in the basement, he had months of sorting ahead.The basement was dark, except for a 60 watt bulb that dangled from the ceiling. Cade wasn't about to sit in the creepy basement and sort through the boxes, so he carried a couple of boxes out to the garage where he had more light. He noticed that there was a light dusting of snow on the ground as he walked across the dirt driveway. Or something equally boring.” “I don’t have any plans either. Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner, and we’ll watch the tube together?” “That sounds nice, but…” “Shannon, I said ‘dinner’– nothing more. OK?” “Oh hell, why not?” She paused and looked down for a moment. “I’ll need directions, though. Actually, I’ll just take a cab. Don usually drives, so I never bothered to get a licence.” “Why don’t you let me pick you up?” I’d bought a new Mercedes CLK 430 coupe in September, and I.
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