PREVIEW

... —

The silk sheets weren’t mine.

The scent—whiskey, expensive cologne, and something dangerously familiar—wasn’t mine either.

And the arm slung possessively over my bare waist?

Definitely not mine.

I froze.

Bast—Sebastian Vaughn, my stepfather—lay beside me, his breath warm against my shoulder. His chest rose and fell slowly, his grip tightening, almost as if he were afraid I’d slip away. The soft morning light danced across his skin, highlighting t ...

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