Guns and Roses

Now.

I was pouring a glass of wine when I heard the soft click of heels on marble.

At first, I thought it was one of the house staff—but then she stepped into the dining room, and everything stopped. Like time had the decency to hold its breath.

Genevieve Taylor.

She walked in like sin wrapped in chocolate elegant, dangerous, and completely unaware of the way she’d just gripped the air right out of my lungs.

The gown was a deep emerald, hugging every curve like it was sewn onto her soul. It shimmered under the chandelier, the slit riding up one thigh just enough to make a man lose his religion. And that ponytail—messy, high, with thick curls tumbling out like she was too busy being a goddess to care. A few strands dangled across her face, teasing her cheeks and collarbone like even her hair