“That was a very naughty look, Miss Rossi. How old are you today?” “You’re not supposed to ask a woman how old she is.” “I’m a bad boy. Haven’t you heard?” “I haven’t, but I’m starting to believe it.” “You’d better. Now tell me how old you are.” “Twenty-two.” It’s true, even though it’s not my birthday. “Hm.” His lips press together, and I can’t read his expression. “Too young or too old?” “I’d say you’re just right, although you’re too young for that dress.” “What does that mean?” I lift my chin defiantly. He leans closer, tracing his finger from my chin to the line of my jaw. The clean
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