“Who’s taking you to the airport tomorrow?” “Stede,” she says, her expression flushing with guilt. No one knows about us. Not her father. Not my brothers. Maybe Ford, my twin, has a clue, but wisely, he’s kept his fat fucking mouth shut. For the last six months, we’ve been sneaking around, and I hate myself for it. Maybe because the girl in question is the dark-haired daughter of Stede McGraw. A man I consider a father to me and my brothers. Maybe because I should know better, and yet, she breaks every ounce of my self-control. Don’t know how this woman slipped her way past my cold wall.
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