Then something happens, something that makes me grip the table so tightly I’m surprised my tendons don’t snap. When they’re at the base of the stairs, she stares up at him, and her lips curve into a sensual smile — soft, warm, fucking angelic. I know it’s honest because she can’t fake a smile to save her life. I know she means it because her entire body is angled in Agnus’ direction. My type is at least fifteen years older, experienced, and doesn’t smile the entire time like a gigolo on crack. In short, not you. Her words play at the back of my head in a loop. My gaze snaps to the man she’s
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