The next morning came slow.
The city outside was alive with its usual noise, but inside Lucian’s suite everything was still. He sat near the large glass window, his shirt sleeves rolled halfway up, a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily through the air, fading into the golden light that spilled through the half-closed curtains.
He looked calm, but his mind wasn’t. He had not stopped thinking about her — the way she looked at him before leaving, the softness of her voice when she thanked him, the warmth that stayed in his hands long after she was gone. It was strange. He had been with many women, but none of them lingered in his thoughts the way Elena did.
He didn’t like it.
He didn’t understand it.
Lucian ran a hand through his hair, then glanced at his wristwatch. The g
