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She'd never been engulfed in such flame, never been so mindless over any man. She didn't even know where he lived or what he did for a living! All she knew was his name and that he had the most incredible effect on her and that he had the most kissable looking lips she'd ever laid eyes on.
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No one had ever kissed her like this before. Not Patrick. Not Gary. Not any of their predecessors. Cory's lips ignited fires deep in her belly, shooting fireworks through every nerve ending newport cigarettes supplier, and turning her knees to gelatin. If not for his strong arms encircling her waist or her arms latched around his neck, she'd have melted to the floor.
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His gaze smoldered into hers. "Let's check out the moonlight . . . . I'm getting claustrophobic." His teeth nipped her earlobe newport cigarettes website, and then his tongue lathed her ear.
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Jon Creighton, the bank bigot, added, "I understand we're going in on the Mexican rescue package for fifty million. Those wetbacks don't deserve a damned cent...."
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It was the subject on which she and Charles had had their first argument.
Tracy had met Charles Stanhope III at a financial symposium where Charles was the guest speaker. He ran the investment house founded by his great-grandfather Newport cheap, and his company did a good deal of business with the bank Tracy worked for. After Charles's lecture, Tracy had gone up to disagree with his analysis of the ability of third-world nations to repay the staggering sums of money they had borrowed from commercial banks worldwide and western governments. Charles at first had been amused marlboro gold cigarettes, then intrigued by the impassioned arguments of the beautiful young woman before him. Their discussion had continued through dinner at the old Bookbinder's restaurant. |
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