Michael’s POV
I stood in my apartment, shirt unbuttoned halfway, hands braced on the edge of the marble kitchen island, but my mind was nowhere near the numbers on the open file in front of me.
I had touched her, again, and this time... I didn’t stop.
I should’ve walked away when her eyes met mine, bold and unblinking.
I should’ve turned back the second her dress slipped and my breath caught.
I told myself I wouldn’t cross the line.
But then I saw her, still wrapped in that sinful gown, with her shoulders bare and face clean from any makeup.
And I lost control.
And now?
Now, she was one floor below, probably standing barefoot and shaken, wrapped in a sheet that still smelled like us.
I clenched my jaw and straightened, trying to blink away the memory of her mouth, how it parted b
