Julia

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“No, don’t⁠—” He pulls out a delicate balconette bra—cream with pretty soft-purple flowers carefully stitched onto the gauzy fabric—and I freeze at the sight of the lingerie in his strong hand. For a long moment, he just stares at it before he drops the lacy garment back into the bag. Our eyes meet; his cheekbones turn an adorable shade of pink; my face is burning.
The Wingman (Vancouver Storm, #3)
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