Simran Nagpal

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Slowly, almost wolfishly, I walk over to where she’s sitting in the large, oversized leather chair, watching as her throat bobs and her lips part slightly, eyes widening with each step I take toward her. I stop when I’m right in front of her, peering down at her doe-like eyes. I bend, flattening my palms along the arms of the chair, and dip my head.
The Bad Boy Rule (Hellcats Hockey #1)
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