A Taste of the Prose:
“Major,” she whispered, her breath hitching as he stepped into her personal space, smelling of gunpowder and expensive sandalwood. “You can’t order my heart to stand at attention.”
Rajveer’s gaze didn’t flicker. He leaned in, his voice a low vibration. “I don’t want it at attention, Arya. I want it AWOL. With me.”
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