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Pull Like a puppet whose strings were threaded through Sark’s fingers, Lauren’s lips curled just as he would have had them. She raised her knee, exposing her ivory thigh against the gray suit. Canali, he noted. Then she met Sark’s stare, tugged his strings. He understood that she had him where she wanted him. Still, there was nowhere he’d rather be. He raised an eyebrow—he controlled the show. Her acknowledgement was subtle, yet alluring. The dying man’s shirt was painted with her loyalty. She slipped into her seat wearing a smug grin and a new watch. “Next time, I drive.”
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