By the time she arrived at Mack’s loft, dusk had painted the skyline in deep purples and molten oranges. His place sat high above the noise, all glass and steel, and the faint scent of rosemary and seared meat filled the air.
Mack greeted her at the door with rolled sleeves, a towel over his shoulder, and bare forearms that looked like they could break the stone.
“You cooked?”
“I threatened the steak until it surrendered,” he said.
She laughed despite herself.
He stepped back to let her in. “Wine?”
“Sure. Surprise me.”
As she wandered toward the kitchen, she saw a side of him that wasn’t always visible in the chaos—focused, calm, meticulous.
And then he looked up.
“You wear that to distract me?” he asked, eyes drifting down to her silky black top and jeans that clung in all the ri
