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... immediate, like instinct had grabbed the mic before his mind could edit the line.
"Over my dead body."
For a moment, even Max looked surprised.
Max’s throat worked once. "Adam—"
Adam sat forward, whiskey glass forgotten, posture suddenly taut with anger that was too focused to be sloppy. "No," he cut in. "Don’t ’Adam’ me. Don’t try to calm me down like I’m being dramatic."
Max’s gaze sharpened. "You don’t get a vote in that marriage."
Adam’s smile ...
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