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So he did the only other thing he could think of that would catch her off guard.
He kissed her.
He kissed her.
Kissing Mitchell was so right and so unnervingly familiar that she almost pulled back. The sheer rightness of it felt wrong. She didn’t even know him.
She might be able to identify the different types of kisses, but Mitchell had mastered them. He’d taken everything she’d ever experienced, picked out the best parts, and delivered them perfectly.
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