That night, the penthouse was dim except for the soft pools of light from the lamps Adrian liked, warm, golden glows that made even the steel-and-glass sharpness of the living room feel less intimidating.
Adrian had poured us each a glass of wine. He sat with his tie undone, sleeves rolled, ankle resting on a knee, looking so devastatingly at home in his skin it hurt a little to watch. Every so often, he’d glance at me over the rim of his glass with that slow, appreciative once-over that sent heat curling low in my stomach.
I tried to focus on the simple beauty of it, us together, quiet, undisturbed. But Rachel’s words still clung like cobwebs in the corners of my mind.
“Tell me what’s rattling around in that head of yours,” Adrian finally said, his voice gentle but edged with that sub
