Her hands rise, fingertips grazing my belt buckle. My hand shoots out on instinct, grabbing hers to stop her. "M-My mom is downstairs," I stammer, voice cracking with nerves. Annalise's lips curve into a slow, sultry smile that makes my stomach flip. "Then stay quiet." . . . Annalise Quinn Sinclair has two rules: don't get attached, and don't get caught. It's worked so far. Growing up in a broken home taught her how to keep things casual, controlled, and meaningless. People don't stay. Feelings don't last. And she refuses to be the one left behind again. Oliver is the exact opposite. The mayor's perfect son. He's polished, controlled, and predictable. "Saint Oliver," they call him-like he's never done a single wrong thing in his life. He wants to change that. And Quinn? She's the perfect way to start. What begins as a simple arrangement-no strings, no feelings-quickly turns into something neither of them planned for. And the closer they get, the harder it becomes to tell where the act ends and something real begins. Because Quinn doesn't fall. And saints aren't supposed to sin.
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