Johneice

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My breath catches in my throat as I take in her face, deep bronze and heart-shaped, framed by her hair, which looks like a jet-black curtain of ink spilling around her. Her eyes are a vivid green that do funny things to my body. A few noodles from the—soup, is it?—stick to one side of her hair, yet she still might very well be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
The Wrong Kind of Falling (Meadow Hills Book 2)
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