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BOOK 3

'Get — up/Brand said through his teeth.

Isabella gave him what he could only suppose she imagined was her best Delilah smile. 'Brand, darling,' she drawled, 'that's not very loving. Come to bed. You look tired.'

'That,' Brand said, 'is very possibly because I am tired. Now, are you going to do as you're told, or do I have to—?'

'Come and get me?' Isabella suggested, giggling and holding out her hand.

Lord, give him patience—and a double dose of self-control. Brand swallowed the unexpected surge of bile that rose up in his throat.

A sudden burst of wind rattled the small window above the beds. Isabella jumped.

Ah. So she wasn't as sure of herself as she wanted him to think. And she was nervous. Good. Damn it, couldn't the beautiful little idiot get it into her head that he had no taste for silly games, no time for her juvenile manipulations?

'I'll come and get you,' he said. 'But if I have to, you may not like it.'

'But I'm tired too.' Isabella pouted.

Anger, as well as the frustration
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