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... hell.
The kind of headache that felt like my skull was splitting in two, the kind that made me swear—swear—I would never drink again.
The sunlight pouring through the large floor-to-ceiling windows did nothing to help. A groan left my lips as I buried my face in the nearest pillow, but the second I inhaled, I froze.
This wasn’t my pillow.
The fabric was too soft. The scent—masculine, expensive, dangerously intoxicating—was all wrong. And the bed? It seemed excess ...
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