(Ellora's Cave) Mary Janice Davidson - Thief Of Hearts(Ellora)

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Thief of Hearts
MaryJanice Davidson
For the members of the Sensual Romance e-mail group,
As well as Angela Knight's SPs.
Avid readers, kind critics, the best of fans.
CHAPTER ONE
Dr. Jared Dean hated being interrupted more than just about anything in the world. So he was annoyed
when he heard the crash of something falling over in the chart room.For heaven’s sake , he thought
darkly, scrawling orders for one of the seven patients he’d admitted that evening,just put the charts
back in their rows, you guys. Don’t play keep-away with them.
“What’s going on in there?”Shari , one of the RN floats, asked without looking up from restocking the
meds cabinet.
“The guys have too much time on their hands,” Jared said, writing NO NARCOTICS!!!!!!! in Mrs.
O’Leary’s chart and underlining it twice. Mrs. O’Leary (“Like the lady with the cow, honey.”) was a
frequent visitor to the ER. To all the Emergency Rooms in the city, actually. She was in her late forties,
impeccably groomed, ridiculously rich and hopelessly hooked on Demerol. Jared had been trying to get
her into a drug treatment program for two years, to no avail. Mrs. O’Leary thought drug addicts were
smelly street people, not grande dames of society who contributed five figures to charity every year.
“Can’t blame them for horsing around. Third shift can be a snoozer.” He glanced at his watch—three in
the morning, groan—and swallowed a yawn.
“Maybe we should threaten to sic the A.A. on them,”Shari joked.
Jared snorted. He didn’t believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, a balanced federal budget, or vigilantes
who ran around at night righting wrongs. The newspapers had been whispering about the A.A.’s activities
for almost a decade.
“At least the clerks aren’t pulling this crap during first shift,”Shari added, shoving a hank of her
strawberry-blonde hair out of her eyes.
Jared was about to answer her when there was a dull thump. The sharp crack of someone slamming
against the window brought him to his feet. He moved past an open-mouthedShari , headed for the chart
room at a dead run and fairly leapt through the doorway, ready to start chewing some ass…or kicking
some.
Instead, he stood there with his mouth open. Nothing he’d seen in his years as an E.R. resident prepared
him for the sight of a startlingly beautiful woman engaged in a vicious hand-to-hand battle with the largest
man he’d ever seen.
And winning.
She was stunning. Petite—her assailant was well over a foot taller—and delicately built, with small hands
and feet. Her white-blonde hair was skinned back into a French knot at the nape of her neck. She
looked like a princess, one who could pour tea or break your nose, depending on how you addressed
her. She was dressed in dark colors—black turtleneck, black leggings, dark shoes—which accentuated
her fair skin and hair. Exertion had brought a delicate flush to her features.
Her assailant wasn’t nearly so attractive—dirty blonde hair shaved close to his skull, thick black
eyebrows that met in the center of his forehead, fists the size of bowling balls, a nose that had been
broken at least twice. Thick lips skinned back from his teeth as he snarled wordlessly at the woman and
sent a punch whistling toward her wide-eyed face.
Jared opened his mouth to shout a warning… and the woman deftly blocked the punch, twisted the man
around without letting go of his arm and slammed him, face down, on the table. Jared winced at the ‘pop’
the man’s shoulder made coming out of its socket.
The man howled curses, which were abruptly cut off as the woman grabbed a fold of skin at the nape of
his neck and slammed his head into the table.
Silence.
“Look out,” Jared said, finally able to articulate. The woman’s head snapped up and she stared at him.
For a long, electric moment, their eyes met and Jared had the absurd thought that she could see all the
way down into his soul. Her mouth popped open in a small ‘o’ and she gasped, a quick intake of breath
that made her breasts (high and firm, his mind reported happily) heave.
“Don’t worry,” he said. She had the look of a doe trapped in the headlights, which was
ridiculous—what could he, mild-mannered physician and volleyball player—do to her, kick-ass princess?
“I’m here to rescue you.”
Her lips twitched at that and she sidled toward him, then dashed past him as he came forward to meet
her, turning left out the door. He could hear her running lightly and damned quickly.
“Hey!” he yelled and took off after her. Blessed—or cursed—with a Texan-sized curiosity bump, he
had to catch her. She could tell him why there had been a fight, who the unconscious man was, her name,
and if she was free for dinner any night this week. This year. She was the most intriguing
woman—certainly the most beautiful—he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t say ‘he’d ever met’ because they hadn’t exactly been properly introduced. A fact he
intended to remedy, post-haste. Part of him wondered what he was doing, chasing a stranger around
hospital hallways in the wee hours of the morning. Another part of him urged him torun faster .
He caught sight of her just before she darted around a corner and forced himself to put on speed.Come
on, Dean, you wimp , he thought contemptuously.You’ve got to be a head taller at least—certainly
your legs are longer. Catch up! And, on the heels of that:Where the hell is Security? For that
matter, where the hell is anybody?
Speaking of dead ends, he just about had her cornered in one; she’d zigged when she should have
zagged and there was no door at the end of this hallway, just a window, too far above her head to climb
out. She was facing him, trapped with her back against the wall, when he jogged around the corner.
“There you are,” he panted, slowing his pace. “Are you okay? Did that guy hurt you? Before you hurt
him, I mean?”
Her eyes, which had been narrowed to blue slits studying him, now widened in surprise. He was
hopelessly dazzled and gave in to the feeling—he was a long way between girlfriends and she really was
spectacular. Had he thought her eyes were an ordinary blue? Coming closer, he could see they were the
color of the sky on a cloudless day, pure and perfect.
“If you’re hurt,” he said, trying not to wheeze, “I’d be glad to take a look at it for you. It’s the least I can
do, since you got me out of finishing my chart work…dull stuff, believe me.”
He heard himself babbling and told himself to shut up. She said nothing, just kept studying him. He
noticed she wasn’t even out of breath.Kicking ass must keep her cardiovascular system in top form ,
he thought.
“Seriously,” he said. “Areyou okay? Is there anything I can do? If you’re in some kind of trouble, I can
call a shelter, find you a safe place to stay.”
Still she said nothing, but her lips twitched, as if fighting a smile. He wasn’t sure what the joke was, but
took a cautious step forward. “Everything’s all right,” he soothed, as if calming a wild doe, “now if I can
just get you to come with me, I mean without rearranging my kidneys first, we’ll find an exam room,
make sure you’re okay and then we can talk about the trouble you’re in. Whatever it is, I bet we can fix
it if we put our heads together.”
She opened her mouth and he waited eagerly, then they both heard the noise of pounding feet.Well, well
, he thought tiredly,what do you know—Security finally woke up from ye olde one a.m. snoozefest.
Whatever she had been about to say was forgotten as she reached up, just barely catching the bottom
edge of the window. The hospital’s windows were old—no wire mesh—and deep-set. He watched with
utter astonishment as she grabbed hold of the ledge and flipped her legs up and over her head, her boots
smashing through the glass and the rest of her following through.
He figured it was a good thing they were in the lowest level of the hospital, because he had the feeling
she would have gone through that window even if they’d been ten stories up. He wondered if the boots
she wore had protected her from lacerations. Given the woman’s incredible speed and luck, he assumed
they had.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he said numbly and was nearly run over as two security guards came
thundering around the corner. “She went thataway,” he added, pointed to the shattered window. “And
don’t even try, she’s long gone. Come on, I’ll show you where the other one is.”
The guards had a thousand questions. Jared couldn’t tell them much and what he could tell them—the
woman won, the woman was incredibly tough but seemed strangely vulnerable, the woman had eyes like
the sky, the woman was going to be the mother of his children—he prudently kept to himself.
“You said the other one was in here, Dr. Dean?” one of the guards asked and that was when Jared saw
the woman’s assailant was gone. The only thing left of him was a small puddle of blood on the table,
presumably from a nosebleed. “Fan out,” the guard said to the others, “he can’t have gone far, not after
Dr. Dean bashed him around.”
“Actually,” Jared began and then shut up. He didn’t want to get the woman in more trouble, so he’d
take the blame for KO’ing the bad guy. It hadn’t been the first time people had taken in his size and
assumed he was capable of violence. And he had been, in his youth—certainly he’d been in more of his
share of after-school scuffles. But years of stitching up victims, of probing for bullets and setting smashed
limbs, had made him lose his taste for it. “Uh…actually, I should get back to work.”
“You got a description for us, doc?”
“For Nosebleed? Sure. About six-five, two hundred fifty pounds, shaved blonde hair, one black
eyebrow, one dislocated shoulder, one broken nose.”
“Uh-huh,” the guard asked, stepping close to Jared and sniffing him. This might have been intended to be
a subtle move on the guard’s part, except the man had a deviated septum and Jared could hear the shrill
whistling intake when the man inhaled. “Broken nose, one eyebrow, we’ll get right on it. You have
anything to drink before you came on-shift?” Sniff-sniff. Whistle-whistle.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jared snapped. “I gave up booze when I took up heroin. Seriously, I haven’t had
a drop. The bad guy really did look like some sort of mutated freak of nature. Now go get him!” Before
he catches up with what’s-her-name, he added silently.
The guards went, save for one who stayed behind to make sure Jared did his part of the dreary
paperwork. Jared obediently followed him to the Security Office to fill out a report.
For the rest of his shift, he couldn’t help looking over his shoulder and peeking around corners, as if the
woman might have come back. Ridiculous thought…but Jared kept an eye out, regardless.
He wondered who she was.
* * * * *
It took Kara an hour to stop trembling. Every time she started to calm down, the thought…Jesus! He
almost had her!…would cycle back into her brain and she’d get the shakes again.
Carlotti, who’d been an utter creep since he was ten (and possibly before that) had chased her around
like a dog, cornered her and likely would have killed her (after having a little fun at first, the raping swine)
if she hadn’t gotten the drop on him.
She had spotted him before she was even all the way through the door of the club and immediately
turned and walked out. She started running when she heard him scrambling behind her and the chase was
on.
Now, in the privacy of her apartment, she collapsed on her thirty-dollar thrift shop couch (tastefully
upholstered in puke orange) and relived the chase. Carlotti was big, but fast…and driven. If fear had
been the fuel for her legs, hatred was his.
Screw up one lousy drug shipment for the guy by siccing the Man on him, she thought moroselyand
that five years ago! And he’s still holding a grudge, still wants to kill me. Guy’s watched a few too
many Godfather movies .
That was Carlotti’s problem—one of his problems, anyway—he fancied himself a Corleone, when in
reality he was a Clouseau. Everyone on the wrong side of the law knew the mob wasn’t the all-seeing,
vengeance-taking organization depicted in the movies. And as for “organized crime”—ha! It wasn’t
organized at all. A few groups of loosely connected dealers, that was all. Sometimes they were successful
in contracting crime to the local talent…most times, not.
These days, the Mob was a lot more interested in legitimate business: video arcades, karaoke bars, and
beauty salons. It was absolutely ridiculous how much a thriving salon could make in a fiscal year,
especially if they also handled manicures. Lucrative and infinitely less dangerous.
Only the real idiots stayed in the drug trade, she knew. Too much heat, the Feds had no tolerance for it
and the fall was long if you got pinched. Carlotti, of course, was a real idiot and thus he fancied himself a
Mob Drug Lord. And, as a faithful disciple of mob movie fiction, he was still after her. As he’d proved
tonight.
Shivering a little, she got up off the couch and headed for her mini-bathroom. No shower, a cracked tub
and a rust-stained sink…the room was so small, when she sat on the toilet her knees touched the wall. It
didn’t matter. It was hers and she liked to think of it as a fox den, a haven from predators.
She sat down on the rim of the tub and started to fill it with warm water—after tonight, she needed to
get Carlotti’s stink off her—and thought about the idiot. She’d run for the hospital, naively thinking he
wouldn’t follow her to a well-lit, populated building. She hadn’t counted on how deserted a hospital
would be at three a.m. He’d finally cornered her and found out that a thief was never more dangerous
than when her back was to the wall.
And the doctor who had seen everything—what wasthat about? He’d watched her, tried to warn her
and she could still feel the heat of his dark gaze. If she closed her eyes she could still see him: so
broad-shouldered he nearly filled the doorway, with lush dark hair and the blackest eyes, strong,
long-fingered hands…and a grin like lightning, a grin that lit up his whole face.
He’d chased her, but, to her surprise, not to hurt her or turn her in. To ask if she was all right. To ask if
she needed a safe place to stay. She must have stared at him for an hour, or so it seemed. Who knows
what she might have said—or done—if Security hadn’t showed up. His gaze had been so curiously
intense and his smile…his marvelous smile…
A sudden thought made her straighten up so quickly she nearly tumbled into the tub. The doctor had
seen Carlotti. And could testify against him. If the D.A. found out, he’d subpoena the doc in a
nanosecond. The doc couldn’t testify to much, but anything was a start—didn’t Capone go down for tax
evasion? The D.A. would be glad to get Carlotti on trespassing and attempted assault, if only so he could
introduce his suspicions to a judge.
If word got out that there was one eyewitness, others would certainly follow…the D.A. could build a
case from whispers. God knew they did it all the time. And Carlotti’s worst fear was doing time. When
he was thirteen, he’d killed a witness to his shoplifting, just to avoid being shipped back to Juvie.
The doctor was in very real danger. Carlotti had to shut him up, the sooner the better. The psycho
wouldn’t have to worry about her—the D.A. was at least as interested in putting her behind bars as he
was in Carlotti—but he had to worry about the doctor. He probably had men working on the problem
already.
“Crap,” she sighed and got up to make the first of several cups of coffee.
CHAPTER TWO
The next night, Jared was still thinking about the woman and still mentally yelling at himself to forget
about her.You’ll never see her again , he told himself, followed by,also, the whole thing was probably
a hallucination brought on by too much paperwork. Proof that spending too much time on
chartwork is bad for you. Trouble was, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Even now, when he was
supposed to be snoozing in the third floor on-call room, he was tossing and turning on the narrow bunk,
fantasizing about what’s-her-name instead of getting the sleep he needed.
He’d asked around, but no one knew of a beautiful blonde goddess who ran like a deer and punched
like a middleweight champion. Some of the nurses had suggested it was time he started dating again. One
of the orderlies told him once he got more sleep, the hallucinations would stop. That was the trouble with
being the hospital wiseass…when you had a serious problem, no one believed it.
Tap-tap.
Hell, it wasn’t like he was hard up for female companionship. He worked with at least ten female docs
and three times that many nurses. Not to mention x-ray techs, the lab ladies, the social workers…heck,
wasn’t the hospital chaplain a woman? One of the benefits of being an E.R. doc was that he got to visit
all the wards, got to meet all the—
Tap-tap.
—staff outside his department and he should just—
Tap-tap-tap.
“What the hellis that?” he muttered, getting up and crossing the room. He had a flashback to one of his
literature classes. “Who is that tapping, tapping at my chamber door?” he boomed, pulling back the
curtain and expecting to see…he wasn’t sure. A branch, rasping across the glass? A pigeon? Instead, he
found himself gazing into a face ten inches from his own. “Aaiiggh!”
It was her. Crouched on the ledge, perfectly balanced on the balls of her feet, she had one small fist
raised, doubtless ready to knock again. When she saw him, she gestured patiently to the lock. He dimly
noticed she was dressed like a normal person instead of a burglar—navy leggings and a matching
turtleneck—and wondered why she wasn’t shivering with cold.
He groped for the latch, dry-mouthed with fear for her. They were three stories up! If she should lose
her balance…if a gust of wind should come up…the latch finally yielded to his fumbling fingers and he
wrenched the window open, grabbing for her. She leaned back, out of the reach of his arms and his heart
stopped—actually stopped, ka-THUD!—in his chest. He backpedaled away from the window. “Okay,
okay, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you now would you pleaseget your ass in here ?”
She raised her eyebrows at him and complied, swinging one leg over the ledge and stepping down into
the room. He collapsed on the cot, clutching his chest. “Could you please not everever do that again?”
he gasped. “Christ! My heart! What’s going on? How’d you get up there? Did the nurses lock all the
entrances again? They do that when they’re overworked…”
“Quoth the raven, nevermore,” she said and helped herself to a cup of coffee from the pot set up next to
the window. At his surprised gape, she smiled a little and tapped her ear. “Thin glass. I heard you through
the window. ‘While I pondered, nearly napping, suddenly there came a rapping, rapping at my chamber
door.’ I think that’s how it goes. Also, the man you saw me bludgeon into unconsciousness dropped a
dime on you today.”
“He what?”
“Dropped a dime. Rolled you over. Put you out. Phoned you in. Wants to clock you. Wants to drop
you. Made arrangements to have you killed, pronto. Sugar?”
“No thanks,” he said numbly.
“I mean,” she said patiently, “is there sugar?”
He pointed to the last locker on the left and thought to warn her too late. When she opened it (first
wrapping her sleeve around her hand, he noticed), several hundred tea bags, salt packets and sugar
cubes tumbled out, free of their overstuffed, poorly stacked boxes. She quickly stepped back; avoiding
the rain of sweetener, then bent, picked a cube off the floor, blew on it and dropped it into her cup. She
shoved the locker door with her knee until it grudgingly shut, trapping a dozen or so tea bags and sugar
packets in the bottom with a grinding sound that set his teeth on edge.
She went to the door, thumbed the lock with her sleeve, then came back and sat down at the table
opposite the cot. She took a tentative sip of her coffee and then another, not so tentative. He was
impressed—the hospital coffee tasted like primeval mud. “So that’s the scoop,” she said casually.
“You’re here to kill me?” he asked, trying to keep up with the twists and turns of the last forty seconds.
“You’re the hitman? Hitperson?”Who knocked for entry? he added silently.
“Me? Do wet work?” She threw her head back and pealed laughter at the ceiling. She had, he noticed
admiringly, a great laugh. Her hair was plaited in a long blonde braid, halfway down her back. He
wondered what it would look like unbound and spread across his pillow. “Oh, that’s very funny, Dr.
Dean.”
“Thanks, I’ve got a million of ‘em.” Pause. “How did you know my name?”
She smiled. It was a nice smile, warm, with no condescension. “It wasn’t hard to find out.”
“What’syour name?” he asked boldly. He should have been nervous about the locked door, about the
threat to his life. He wasn’t. Instead, he was delighted at the chance to talk to her, after a day of thinking
about her and wondering how she was…who she was.
“Kara.”
“That’s gorgeous,” he informed her, “and I, of course, am unsurprised. You’re so pretty! And so
deadly,” he added with relish, “you’re like one of those flowers that people can’t resist picking and
then—bam! Big-time rash.”
“Thanks,” she said, “I think.” She blushed, which gave her high color and made her eyes bluer. He
stared, besotted. He didn’t think women blushed anymore. He didn’t think women who beat up thugs
blushed at all. He was very much afraid his mouth was hanging open and unable to do a thing about it.
“Dr. Dean—”
“Umm?”
“—I’m not sure you understand the seriousness of the situation—”
“Long, tall and ugly is out to get me,” he said, sitting down opposite her. He shoved a pile of charts
aside; several clattered to the floor and she watched them fall, bemused. “But since you’re not the
hitman, I’m not too worried.”
“Actually, I’m your self-appointed bodyguard.”
“Oh, well, then I’m not worried at all,” he said with feigned carelessness, while his brain chewed that
one…bodyguard?…over.
“You could take on an assassin with one hand while writing a grocery list with the other. You’re certainly
a match for whoever that guy sends after me. So, do I pay you? Should we even be talking about
money? What’s the etiquette here?”
She blinked. “Uh…that won’t be necessary. Dr. Dean—”
“Jared.”
“—may I say, you’re taking this remarkably well?”
“Work in an E.R. for a year,” he said, suddenly grim. “You learn to recover your equilibrium pretty
damned quickly.”
“Touché,” she said quietly.
“So now what?”
“Now you don’t get killed.”
“I mean, what happens now? What do we do?”
“We?”
“We’ve got to sic the cops on the bad guy, right? Do we—er—drop a dime on him?”
“No cops!” she said, startling him. She hadn’t been this rattled when Ugo had been trying to smash her
face in. “We’ll keep you out of trouble until this blows over. End of plan.”
“Blows over?” he practically shouted. “I have to—wehave to put our lives on hold until ole’ One
Eyebrow goes away? Forgive me, but I thought you were a little more pro-active than that.”
“You’re right,” she admitted, “but when the law is involved, I can’t be as pro-active as I’d like.”
“But…aren’t you in trouble, too? Won’t Jerkoff try to kill you?”
“Oh, he’s been trying,” she said casually, as if a large, frightening, ugly man trying to kill her was of as
much consequence as a threatened spring shower. “For years. He’ll never get me. Too dumb. Too
slow.”
“Too lame a bad guy, sounds like,” he muttered. “It’s almost embarrassing to be on his shit list.”
She frowned. “This is serious. You’re a sitting duck because you’re different.”
“You mean because I have two eyebrows?”
She giggled into her cup and he was absurdly pleased with himself. “I mean, you’re a citizen. A
taxpayer, one of the good guys. Not like Carlotti.”
He pounced. “Not like you?”
The smile vanished, poof! “You ask a lot of questions, Dr. Dean.”
“Jared. And you’re still in trouble from this guy, same as I am. Who’s going to look out for you? I mean,
if you get sick or hit by a car or have chest pains, I’m your man, but if a hit squad starts shooting at you
to shut you up, I’ll be the one cowering in the corner with my hands over my ears.”
She smiled and tried to hide it, but he saw it and grinned back at her. “Carlotti knows he has nothing to
fear from me in court,” she explained, getting up to refill her cup. She disdained the sugar locker and
drank it black, making an appreciative face. He couldn’t believe it—of all the things to happen this
evening, beautiful Kara enjoying the hospital’s interpretation of coffee was the strangest. “I can’t testify
against him.”
She didn’t elaborate, but Jared was able to figure that one out. There were only two reasons not to
testify against anyone: fear—which Kara didn’t seem to know the meaning of—and having something to
hide. You didn’t testify for the D.A. if the D.A. had something on you as well.
He wondered what she had done.
“So let’s go see the D.A.,” he said, seizing the bull by the horns.
“You may, if you like,” she said quietly, “but you’ll go alone and I would prefer to wait and see what
happens.”
Which meant she knew a lot more than she was telling. He had the feeling if he insisted on seeing the
D.A.; he’d for a fact never see her again.
He instantly decided that was an unacceptable course of action. Screw the risk to his personal health!
He had to get to know this woman.
“So…what?”
“We wait until Carlotti is arrested. It shouldn’t be long. A lot of people are looking for him.” She said
that with cool relish and he made a mental note to never get on her bad side. “When he’s arrested,
you’re out of danger.”
“Doesn’t he have hench-thugs who could still get me?”
She nodded. “In theory. But they won’t make a move without him breathing in their ears. You can see
the D.A.—his name is Thomas Wechter, by the way, second floor of the courthouse, take a left past the
water fountain—and tell him your story, tell him you’re willing to testify, ask to see the rest of his case. If
he has one.”
“What about you?” he asked, trying once again, even though he knew it was useless. The same tenacity
that made other doctors literally pull him off a DOA wouldn’t let him back away from this. “You were
wronged by Carstupidi. You should testify that he tried to kill you! I mean, Jesus—that big bully, if you
hadn’t cleaned his clock, I would have.”
She snorted and he raised an eyebrow at her. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I was just picturing you and
Carlotti—but you were talking about the D.A. I can’t testify. It’s all up to you.”
“What are you afraid of?” he asked boldly, sure she’d rebuff him, or deny fear. Instead, she just gave
him a level look.
“Nothing I could explain to you,” she said quietly, then got up, poured the rest of her coffee down the
sink and walked to the window. She took the cup with her, he noticed. After a moment, he got it: she
was so paranoid, she wouldn’t take a chance on leaving fingerprints behind. Interesting. “See you
around, Dr. Dean. I’ll be in touch.” She stepped up to the windowsill.
“It’sJared ,” he yelled, darting after her, “and use thedoor , for God’s sake! Look, it’s right here.” He
rattled the doorknob invitingly; she ignored him. “I can walk you to the main entrance. Ha! Some
bodyguard!” he practically screamed and that got her attention; she paused and turned, looking at him
over her shoulder, one foot already on the ledge. “Leaving me here to rot! I’m easy pickings for
Carlotti’s henchmorons.”
She smiled. “Hardly. I’ll be close. Good night.”
“Wait!” But the window closed firmly and when he darted to it to look out, it was so dark he couldn’t
see her anymore.
摘要：

ThiefofHearts MaryJaniceDavidson   ForthemembersoftheSensualRomancee-mailgroup,AswellasAngelaKnight'sSPs.Avidreaders,kindcritics,thebestoffans.  CHAPTERONE Dr.JaredDeanhatedbeinginterruptedmorethanjustaboutanythingintheworld.Sohewasannoyedwhenheheardthecrashofsomethingfallingoverinthechartroom.Forhe...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：90 页 大小：287.51KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-24

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