Later that night, the house felt too big, too silent, and I knew he was somewhere in it—waiting.
I found him in the study, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked like sin carved into flesh, a man at war with his own restraint.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said without looking up, his tone like a warning shot.
I leaned against the doorframe, letting my robe slip just enough to reveal the lace beneath. “Avoiding?” I teased. “Or keeping you desperate?”
His eyes flicked to mine, dark and molten. In a flash, he was out of the chair, crossing the room like a storm. His hand slammed against the wall beside my head, caging me in.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he growled, his body towering over mine.
I tilted my chin, smirking. “That’s the only kind w
