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One more day. If she made it one more day, she could worry about the day afterward later.
She had pretended not to know him, and he had pretended not to look at her. They’d both been lying.
“The world isn’t ready to see who I would become if this—” his thumb pressed on her pounding pulse “—ever stops.”
She didn’t need a good man telling her he loved her; she needed a dark devil to tell her she was his.
