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CHAPTER THIRTY

“An island?” What? All alone? With him? No. She must not think of it. Only for getting home had she kissed him last night. Only for getting home. And it hadn’t happened.

“Unless it’s a land spit? But somehow, right now, sweeting, I don’t think so. And believe me, if anyone should know, I should.”

She pushed the palm of her hand through the strands of hair flapping in front of her face like a bird and clasped the top of her head. My God. Why hadn’t it happened? Because desperation to get home had frankly ‘pillaged’ her veins? Or the thought she wasn’t just saying goodbye to him, she was saying goodbye to ever kissing a man again, never mind anything else? When actually kissing a man and everything else was rather nice?