Whit

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“The whims of fate are an irksome intrusion, and yet …” He canted toward me, as if to kiss me, his lips mere inches from mine. “Who could’ve predicted that one touch of your pounding pulse would be so disarming.” Warm breath scattered across my skin, and my heart stuttered with anticipation as he thumbed the curve of my neck. “What wicked spells you weave, little witch.”
Anathema (The Eating Woods, #1)
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