The moment I stepped into the hotel suite, a large hand caught me around the waist and pinned me against the wall. His body pressed flush against mine, tall and solid, and his mouth sealed over mine before I could breathe.He was shirtless. His heat poured straight through the thin fabric of my blouse. I couldn't catch a breath.He caught my hands and pressed them to his chest. Under my palms I could feel his heartbeat, the cut lines of muscle, and whatever was left of my resolve went out from under me.Ethan Harrington. International supermodel. And, for the last year, the man I'd been sleeping with behind my husband's back.A long, lean build, a knife-edge V, eight-pack abs, a face that sold magazine covers. He had everything a man could possibly have, and then some. I couldn't really blame myself for losing my head.We came from the same orphanage. We'd known each other since we were small.The woman who'd switched me out of the Ashford family hadn't fared well afterward, so she did
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