"That’s what I want," Alexa breathed. "I want to stop thinking. I want to feel."

Tomas sat across the room in the leather armchair, a book open in his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in twenty minutes. He watched her over the rim of his reading glasses. She was stunning, even in her current state—legs curled up under her on the sofa, wearing nothing but one of his oversized t-shirts. But there was a lethargy to her movements, a distinct lack of the spark that usually defined Alexa.

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