Damon’s lips curved into a dark, mesmerizing smile, his hand tightening softly against my neck as he pulled me in.
The distance between us vanished in a breath. Before my executive reflexes could react, Damon bowed his head, his mouth hovering barely a millimeter from mine. The warm, dark heat of his breath washed over my lips, rich with the faint scent of aged bourbon and dark espresso, utterly suffocating the cool morning air of the penthouse.
My chest hitched sharply. The sharp, decisive senior advisor who had just dissected Vance Logistics' debt structure completely evaporated. My hands, usually so steady on balance sheets and legal briefs, pressed against the broad expanse of his chest in an automatic bid for leverage. But instead of shoving him back, my fingers helplessly clustered
