She arrived like a headline in silk. No fever, no traces of weakness—only a slip of a dress the color of midnight, clinging to her like water. The neckline plunged low enough to speak in a language that didn’t need verbs. Her hair fell in loose waves, and her skin held that fragile glow of someone who had recently been unwell, now burning hotter for it.
Ethan saw her and felt his breath drag against his ribs. He forced his eyes upward, steadying his tone. “Feeling better, I see.”
“Much.” The word purred off her tongue, light as champagne bubbles.
“Big plans after this?” His voice was dry, almost clinical, but it cost him effort to make it so.
Her lips curved slowly. “No plans.”
Something uncoiled in his chest—something he didn’t want to name. He nodded, motioned toward the chair. She
