The aroma of dark roast coffee filled the sleek penthouse kitchen, but Mike barely tasted it. His body was already bristling with tension, his mind on the million things waiting at the office. He stood in his tailored slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms veined with stress and strength. His tie was still off, jacket draped neatly over a stool.
Then she walked in.
Isla.
Barefoot. The robe is slightly open. Skin still glistening from last night’s oil. Her messy bun was the kind of chaos that made men want to pull it down just to see what wildness came with it. A few strands of curls framed her sharp cheekbones, and her lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.
“You always drink it black?” she purred, voice sleep-soaked and low. “Or would you rather s
