The morning after their first night together dawned with deceptive softness, sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom like a hesitant apology. Elena stirred slowly, body deliciously sore from the rough, angry passion that had finally shattered the walls between them. The phoenix pendant lay cool against her bare chest, a tangible reminder of the irony and intimacy that had unfolded in the dark. Dante’s side of the bed was already cold, the sheets rumpled where he had held her like she might disappear into the night. Yet as she blinked awake, she felt his gaze.
He stood by the window overlooking the lagoon, dressed in a crisp black shirt and trousers, the devil once more in command. His expression was cold again distant, calculating, the familiar mask of the More
