Tamed on His Desk
The next morning, Alina awoke in Nicholas’s bed.
Not the suite above his office. His real bed.
His penthouse was clinical—dark steel and glass, everything too clean. But the bed smelled like him. Expensive. Masculine. Dangerous.
She curled into the pillow he’d slept on and tried to stop her brain from racing.
He hadn’t said anything last night after they collapsed on the desk. Just picked her up, carried her silently through the office, and drove her to his home like he was ferrying something fragile and furious.
Now he was gone.
No note.
No coffee.
No closure.
She stared at the ceiling, wondering what it meant. Wondering if she should be angry or heartbroken or both.
The door creaked open.
She bolted upright.
Nicholas stepped in, tie loosened, shirt half-but
