I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her. The sight of her flushed skin and disarrayed beauty was a siren song, and I knew that if I surrendered to the impulse to pounce on her again, I would cross a point of no return from which no apology could ever bring me back. My life was already a series of unfortunate events; I didn't need to add a life sentence for s****l assault to the list.
As I shifted my eyes to the clutter on the mahogany coffee table, a glint of plastic caught my light. I reached out, picking up a lanyard attached to a work ID and a small stack of embossed business cards. There was a photo—professional, polished—and a name that matched the face of the woman shivering on the sofa: Kristinav Johnson.
According to the ID, she was a teacher at Guangnan Elementary School.
