B and Joe

B and Joe

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WpMetadataReadVoor volwassenenCompleet woe, jun. 9, 20216h 52m
I sat poking at my plate of cake with my fork, taking tiny sips of my coffee trying to seem interested in the conversation taking place. It was late, people were leaving. There was just one other table next to ours occupied, two men murmured while cigarette smoke clouded the table. The one facing me was a thin lanky boy wearing specs, his face was in the dark, I couldn't place his age but he seemed to be in his teens. The one with his back turned towards me was broad, almost muscular, his huge head had a closely cropped haircut, and he sat slouched laughing a thick throaty chuckle. A moment later, I heard the broad one calling the waiter for a check, I knew that voice. As they both turned around to leave. My heart skipped a beat as I took a fleeting look at the broad tall one, I couldn't look away...his hair was much shorter than I remembered and he'd grown an untidy stubble...but there was no mistaking who it was. The dark eyes shining with mirth behind thick bushy brows, the wide forehead; perfect olive skin and dimpled cheeks; my heart thumped. I couldn't believe my eyes. I wanted to squeal? Yell? Jump? The joy I felt was hard to express by any feat that came to my mind, I awkwardly got up and ran towards the exit, with my voice stuck behind a lump in my throat. He was almost near the exit when I screamed his name, my voice breaking off in the middle...
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Qurb-e-Khaab He was just a man in her dreams-until he became the one she couldn't escape. Amiha has always seen him. In the shadows of her sleep. In the in-between moments of night. A stranger with a crooked smile, dark eyes, and a voice that felt like velvet across her skin. Every dream a little closer. A little darker. A little harder to forget. And then he arrives. Zoraiz Farhad. Her father's cousin's son. LA police officer. Brooding, quiet, cold to the world. Not at all like the man in her head. But there's something in the curve of his jaw, the black shirt he wears, the way he looks at her when no one's watching-it's him. It has to be. Except he doesn't remember her. And that makes everything worse. Because what began in dreams is beginning to bleed into reality. And reality with Zoraiz? It's rougher. Riskier. Filled with control, and tension, and a hunger he hides behind his silence. He's the kind of man who says nothing- but commands everything. He has rules. She breaks them. He's obsessed with discipline. She's chaos wrapped in silk. And somewhere between whispered names and stolen moments in the dark, she realizes... Zoraiz doesn't need to dream to be dangerous. He needs only to want.

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