She watched him sign the merger papers with a fountain pen so sharp it might as well have been a dagger.
Each letter, each stroke, was a surrender.
And still, Nicholas Delore looked like the predator in the room.
Because he was.
And so was she.
Two beasts locked in a cage made of boardrooms and bedrooms. And now, they were about to share the same empire.
His name.
Her scandal.
Their power.
“Are you going to gloat?” he asked, glancing up at her.
“I already did,” she replied, one manicured finger tracing the lip of her champagne glass. “When you came in my mouth an hour ago.”
He laughed.
Dark.
Twisted.
Turned on.
“Signatures don’t mean loyalty, Alina.”
“Neither does orgasm. And yet—here we are.”
The assistant returned to the room, carrying a leather-bound portfolio of press
