Chapter Thirteen
There was no choice. On the Mountain of Love, one simply obeyed. And so, reluctantly, the female prisoners began to strip, working open the buttons down the front of the simple frocks they wore, while their captor watched the three women undress before him -- an insolent sneer plastered on his lips. Meghan’s own lips, brightly painted, rich and full, held the trace of a seductive smile as though just for him. She had quickly taken the measure of the man called El Commandante. That smile stayed carefully in place as she freed herself from the dress, letting it fall down her shoulders in such a way that her magnificent breasts seemed to bounce free, spilling over the sliding bodice and then wobbling liquidly as she bent to shove the loosened dress down her hips, and let it
