She came to a halt in front of him, their bodies only a hand apart – and she studied his chest, then his throat, his jaw, the curve of his lips. Her voice was a little breathless when she said, “You can’t just ignore the things I say and hope they go away.” “I’ll meet you in the library downstairs,” he said. It was unconscious, what she did next; she didn’t mean to touch him, not exactly. In fact, she couldn’t even remember lifting her hand to his body. She only remembered the softness of his sweater, the heat and hardness of his torso beneath – and then relief, intoxicating relief when he
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