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... ainst her ribs.
What the hell am I doing?
She stood in her dorm room with Rome D’Angelo, the guy every tabloid in Century City called a walking red flag. Bad boy billionaire heir. Serial playboy. The kind of guy her dad would shoot on sight if he knew Rome was here.
Alone.
In her room.
With the door closed.
Dad would lose his mind.
But that was half the appeal, wasn’t it?
When she’d first seen Rome’s file pop up in the transfer stud ...
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