“I just can’t go to your flat and spend the night and act like…” my voice trails off because I don’t know if I should finish this sentence. It’s too revealing. “Like what? Fucking say it,” he growls. “Like we haven’t made love to each other,” I cry, my voice coming out in a strangled sob. “Like I don’t miss your touch and the feel of you lying next to me in my bed. Like I haven’t missed the feel of your lips on my shoulder when you kiss me goodbye in the mornings. I miss all of that, Mac. I miss you!” “So do I!” he booms, and the volume causes me to squint. “I even miss your daft, perverted
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