The interior of the armored SUV was a vacuum. Soundproofed, tinted, and leather-scented, it was designed to keep the world out.
But it couldn't keep the memory of his touch out.
Aurora sat in the back seat, her knees pressed together, her spine rigid against the upholstery. She was not trembling. She was vibrating. It was a high-frequency, invisible shudder that started in her marrow and ended in the tips of her fingers.
Her waist burned.
The spot on the black silk of her tuxedo jacket where Liam’s hand had rested—firm, possessive, terrifiedly familiar—felt branded. It was a phantom weight, heavy and hot, pressing through the fabric, through her skin, and into the muscle memory she thought she had excised five years ago.
You fit.
His whisper echoed in the silent car, louder than the
