Morning light spilled across the shared living area of the suite, soft and golden, catching on the edges of the furniture and turning the air warm. Andrea stepped out of her bedroom dressed for the day in a black fitted dress that followed every line of her body with ruthless precision. The fabric clung to the curve of her hips, skimmed the swell of her breasts, and ended just above her knees in a way that was still professional but left nothing to the imagination.
Henry stood by the window with his coffee, and the moment he saw her the fantasy slammed into him so hard he had to set the cup down.
In his mind he saw his hand sliding up the side of that dress, fingers tracing the bare skin of her thigh until they disappeared beneath the hem.
He pictured the way the fabric would bunch aro
