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“No, Sam. You don’t get to stand there and pretend to know me.”

“I do know you, Lacy,” he argued, coming around the desk. “We were married.”

Were being the operative word,” she reminded him. “You don’t know me anymore. I’ve changed.”

“I can see that. But the basics are the same. You still smell like lilacs. You still wear your hair in that thick braid I used to love to undo and spill across your shoulders…”

Lacy’s stomach did a fast, jittery spin and her heartbeat leaped into a gallop. How was it fair that he could still make her body come alive with a few soft words and a heated look? Why hadn’t the need for him drowned in the sea of hurt and anger that had enveloped her when he’d left?

After Hours with Her Ex

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