I jumped slightly, turning toward the sideboard. Demetrius stood there, his back to me as he poured dark liquid into two crystal tumblers. He looked incredible. He had traded his training compression shirt for a crisp, charcoal-gray dress shirt that clung perfectly to the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his powerful forearms. His dress pants were tailored so precisely they moved like a second skin.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. "I didn't see you. I'm sorry I'm late."
"That’s okay," he began, his voice casual. He started to turn around, drinks in hand, but the words died in his throat.
He stopped. Completely.
His gaze swept over me, starting at the soft waves of my hair, lingering on the square neckline of the dress, and tra
