Sarah Speigle

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He’s put his arm over my shoulder, held my hand, and spoken closely to my ear as if it’s just the two of us in this room. He’s invaded my senses with his touch, his mouthwatering scent, and his whispers. He’s pretended to be madly in love with me. He’s protected me. Paid attention to me. He’s claimed me.
He's Not My Type (The Vancouver Agitators, #4)
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