theresa goodwin

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I stepped aside and she shuffled past me, still trying to keep that stupid blanket wrapped around her. But no sooner had the door shut than it opened again, and she walked out, tossed the plaid blanket on the bed, and faced me, hands on her hips. “I give up. This is what I look like without pants on.”
Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)
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