“Grandma.” With a sigh, Laurel bent to kiss her. “Will you
never grow old?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Her voice was
raspy with age and stunningly
sensual. “You’re the same,” she continued, taking Laurel’s
hand in her strong, dry one.
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Her worldly style was accessorized with a scarf and a smile.
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Despite the lines time had etched, her face was beautiful in
the moonlight. The hand
under his was dry with age. And strong. “Miss Olivia, where
can I find another like you?”
“You’ve got one under your nose, you slow-witted Yankee.”
She settled back in her
chair with a little sound of pleasure.
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