Unraveled (The Turner Series) (Volume 3)
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Smite Turner is renowned for his single-minded devotion to his duty as a magistrate. But behind his relentless focus lies not only a determination to do what is right, but the haunting secrets of his past--secrets that he is determined to hide, even if it means keeping everyone else at arm's length. Until the day an irresistible woman shows up as a witness in his courtroom... Miranda Darling isn't in trouble...yet. But she's close enough that when Turner threatens her with imprisonment if she puts one foot wrong, she knows she should run in the other direction. And yet no matter how forbidding the man seems on the outside, she can't bring herself to leave. Instead, when he tries to push her away, she pushes right back--straight through his famous self-control, and into the heart of the passion that he has long hidden away...
back, I hope.” “Oh no,” Smite said slyly. “He has other plans.” Mark frowned. “Other plans?” He peered around dubiously. “I can’t bring myself to believe that, on Christmas Eve of all times. After all, I—” He was cut off by a snowball thudding into his chest. “Guess again,” Ash called out cheerfully. “I’m fortified.” “You distracted me.” Mark stared at Smite. “You distracted me intentionally so that Ash could get me.” Smite laughed and ran away, just as his younger brother ducked behind the
temple—nothing more—and he was transported to a darker place. He was spitting out cold water, his hands rigid and aching from holding fast to wood. The light above him danced and dazzled— “Ouch!” Her cry brought him back to the present. He was warm and dry, no matter how quickly his heart raced. He wasn’t there. He was in a garret room, sitting next to Miss Darling. She’d touched his face, and he’d grabbed her hand. He hadn’t squeezed too hard, thank God. She was breathing quickly and looking
and some silk thread. The simplest of the prophylactics she knew. Somehow, readying herself in that final way brought home the fact that she stood on the verge of something irrevocable. His body would fit where her fingers dipped. That sponge, soaked in vinegar, was lodged inside her because he was going to have her. She could scarcely wait. A scratch sounded at her door. She jumped to her feet, patting her skirts back into place, and rushed to open it. The maid blinked in surprise when Miranda
crop up. I’ve been told I’m not the easiest individual to care for.” “And who told you that? A former mistress?” “My brother. Mark.” He twined his hand with hers. “There is no former mistress, Miranda Darling. There have been affairs, mind, but they never lasted long. Usually, she decides I’m stoic and cold only because I have been unlucky in love. She thinks she’ll be the one to melt through my defenses. She thinks that she can fix everything that is wrong with me by simply weeping over me. It
you…you don’t want to talk, do you?” He made no effort to hide the unsubtle horror in his voice. Miranda shook her head once more. Her grief was rolled up inside her—more for Jeremy than herself. It was Jeremy, after all, who grieved most for George. It was Jeremy who hadn’t yet comprehended that one of his best friends was gone forever. Miranda had known George only through his friendship with Jeremy. Still, young people weren’t supposed to die. “Smite,” she asked softly, “do you have any