Megan Brielle

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Nicolas stood so close my ponytail brushed his chest. He had no boundaries, I noticed with annoyance, while at the same time I tried to ignore the heady pull to step backward until my back touched his front. “The cashier groped her,” he said indifferently. “So I burned down his place of business . . . and maybe him.” Papà’s gaze hardened. “Who’s stupid enough to touch my daughter?”
The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)
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