“If there was one thing Jericho King could recognize, it was trouble. Fifteen years in the Marine Corps had given him almost a sixth sense—a sort of internal radar. He could spot potential problems coming at him from a mile off. This particular problem was a hell of a lot closer. Jericho squinted into the late afternoon sunlight and watched as a short, curvy woman with long brown hair bent over and reached into a neon-green compact car parked on the gravel drive. “Still, not a bad view,” the old...er man beside him muttered. Jericho chuckled. Sam had a point. Whoever the brunette was, she had a great butt. His gaze moved over that behind and then down and along a pair of truly sensational legs. She was wearing a pair of bright-red, three-inch heels that, even as she stood there, were sinking into the gravel and dirt drive. “Why do women wear those idiotic shoes, anyway?” Jericho asked, not really expecting an answer. “Generally,” Sam Taylor mused, “I think it’s to get men to look at their legs.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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