Kansas City Cop. Julie Miller
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Not exactly the clear-cut agreement he’d been looking for. But he’d take it. If Gina saw this as a competition, he’d give her a run for her money—and then make sure she won. He reached across the desk with his right hand, purposely challenging her to respond with the hand that rested limply in the sling.
A light flashed in her eyes, like a sprinkling of sugar dissolving in rich, warm coffee. Not the sour kind Frannie made, either. Then she thrust her hand out of the end of the sling. Her thumb and forefinger latched on to his hand with a decent grip, but the last three fingers simply batted against the back of his knuckles. Mike stretched each limp finger back, checking the muscle tone, before he finished the informal assessment and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then he pulled away and pushed to his feet. “You accept that I’m in charge of your recovery? That when it comes to your health, I’m the boss?”
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