Cara didn’t sleep.
She couldn’t—not with Michael’s body still warm beside her and Z’s message seared into her thoughts like a brand.
“You’re mine next.”
She slipped out of bed silently, grabbing the robe Michael had dropped hours earlier. Her legs were sore, her body marked with the aftermath of war—pleasure that tasted like regret.
In the bathroom, she turned on the faucet just to hear something besides the pounding of her heart. She stared at her reflection. Swollen lips. Scratched collarbone. Eyes that burned with a mixture of lust, confusion, and something darker—fear.
She didn’t get far.
A knock at the hotel suite door jolted her.
Three knocks. Then silence.
Michael stirred, half-asleep. “Ignore it,” he muttered.
But Cara’s gut twisted. She couldn’t.
She padded barefoot to t
