Soft morning light spilled through the sheer linen curtains of Hazel’s bedroom, casting long, golden ribbons across the floor. Yet her mind remained was trapped miles away, immersed in the air of that hotel suite.
Standing in front of her mirror, she traced a fingertip along her collarbone. Her skin still felt sensitive, as if the feel of Nicholas’s palms were still there. Closing her eyes brought a sensory deluge: the water, the friction of his chest against hers, his strength lifting her into the bath, and the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes that had stripped her defenses.
She chose her outfit with care: a tailored blue skirt and an ivory shirt. A knot of nervous anticipation coiled in her stomach. How was she supposed to look him in the eye?
His husky command replayed in her head,
