It took longer than Alex wanted to admit for her to change and convince herself she wasn’t affected. And even then, the illusion only lasted until she stepped back into the main living area in search of water.
She stopped short.
Callan stood at the kitchen counter, barefoot and entirely too at ease. He was dressed in gray sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt as he scrolled through something on his tablet. A glass of whiskey rested loosely in his hand.
For one disorienting moment, her brain refused to process the image in front of her. Because this version of him, the one stripped of sharp tailoring and public armor, felt far more dangerous than the man she faced across boardroom tables.
His eyes lifted, catching her immediately. “Well,” he started, his voice threaded with quiet amusem
