Caspian's POV
I don't knock on doors.
I never have. People open doors for me. They wait on the other side, hoping I will choose to walk through.
That is how my whole life has been arranged since I was a boy with bleeding knuckles deciding I would never want anything badly enough to be made small by it again.
And yet I stood in my penthouse all night, and I couldn't stop tasting her.
The kiss. The way she came apart under my hands and then ran from it. The half-fixed zip, the shoes clutched in her hand, the door shutting between us.
A man doesn't chase that. A smart man lets a woman who runs keep running, because a woman who runs is a problem and I solve problems by removing them, not following them into the dark.
So I told myself I wouldn't go.
Then the sun came up and I was alr
