Michael :
Michael leaned his weight onto the edge of the kitchen island, his hands gripping the cool marble harder than necessary.
He hadn’t meant to end up here. Again.
But somehow his feet had carried him, the same way they had last night, the same way they always seemed to when she was in this house.
Andrea moved through the kitchen with an easy kind of grace, her focus absolute, her body confident in ways that had nothing to do with performance. She wasn’t trying to be watched. She wasn’t putting on a show. She simply was sharp, grounded, and beautiful without effort.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The soft curve of her mouth as she tasted something off a spoon, thinking hard. The small furrow between her brows when the flavor wasn’t quite right. The fleeting smile that tugged
