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You might be asking yourself why I’m waving an inflatable penis in the air and screaming at the top of my lungs. If I took time to explain, Declan Moss would get hit by a bus.
Let me back up. I didn’t ask for this. I was perfectly happy—and perfectly sane—before I stumbled into the role of Declan’s guardian angel. It was a thankless job until the moment that my panties dropped and his delicious smirk found his way in between my thighs.
Hello, toe-curling ecstasy. Goodbye, professional boundaries. And suddenly, there’s a new danger to avoid: the falling of my heart.