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His gaze travelled down me, then zipped back to my face. Sorry. Focus, Rafe. I am. Just on the wrong thing.
Kelley Armstrong
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Kelley Armstrong
Age: 55
Born: 1968
Born: December 14
Novelist
Writer
city of Sudbury
Sarah
Thing
Travelled
Gaze
Sorry
Focus
Face
Wrong
Faces
Back
Rafe
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If you say ‘we’re in this together,’ I’m going to hurl.
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He rolled his eyes. First, my Dad's Korean and my mom was Swedish. Second, I totally suck at math. I don't like cuckoo clocks or skiing or fancy chocolate either. I sputtered a laugh. I think that's Swiss.
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Do I pass, Dr. Saunders?
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Derek lunged. He hit me in the shoulder and knocked me to the floor, landing on top of me. His body jerked, like he'd been hit with the spell, and I let out a yelp, struggling to get up, but he held me down, whispering I'm okay, it's okay until the words penetrated.
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When I glanced at the chair, it started to shake. I’d like to think it was scared of me, but I rarely invoked that response in living things, let alone inanimate objects.
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When I leaned a little too close to the doorway, my inner voice piped up, telling me not to be stupid. The guy with the bionic senses was better equipped for this.
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I didn't need to be rescued. Sorry, but my sword outranks your… she glanced at my hand, sock puppet.
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They found me at the kitchen table. Derek said, There's something we need to tell you, and from the look on Andrew's face, I think he expected Derek to say he'd gotten me pregnant.
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Hello, Aaron, Brigid said, sliding up to him and running a finger down his chest. You're looking good . . . as always. Aaron lifted her finger off his shirt and let it drop. Put some clothing on, Brigid. She smiled up at him. Why? Tempted? Yeah, to cover my eyes.
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How long could we do this before you started bitching? Simon said as we turned down another street of apartment buildings. What? We've been walking for two days now, and you haven't complained once. It's damned annoying, you know. I looked at him. If you don't complain, then I can't complain. Not without sounding like a whiny little sn
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He balled up my discarded sweatshirt and put it against his shoulder. “Go on,” he said. “I don’t bite.” “And from what I hear, that’s a good thing.” He gave a rumbling chuckle. “Yeah, it is.” I leaned against his shoulder.
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Remembering. Forgetting. I'm not sure which is worse.
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If it gets too bad, go. I’ll understand.” I won’t.
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Derek picked the spot? Had he been hoping I'd be blinded by the morning sun and stumble off the edge?
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