Alexander Knight’s Adam’s apple bobbed, every word of reproach dying on his lips as he felt my cold, trembling body pressed against his.Through the soaked thin fabric, the sharp, protruding bones of my spine dug into his palms—cold as ice.Fear clamped down on his heart like a vice.He swept me up in his arms, bridal style. Mud dripped from my dangling skirt, leaving dark stains on his hiking jacket.Alexander turned, his boots sinking into the muck, and strode toward the G-Wagen.The rear door popped open.He bent carefully, tucking me into the dry corner of the back seat.Then, he swung his long legs in after me, squeezing into the narrow space beside me.The door slammed shut, sealing out the howling wind and driving rain.The small cabin was instantly filled with the damp, earthy stench of mud—and the scorching heat of our mingled breaths.Alexander locked the door behind him, leaving the driver and guide
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