I turned slightly, giving him my profile, letting the curve of my waist and the shape of my shoulders frame in the window.Slow. Controlled. Teasing. A silent message: You’re not the only one who knows how to play. I lifted my glass in a slow, knowing sip — as if toasting him from across the street — and watched the tension ripple through his entire body.
For the first time since meeting him, I felt the shift, he wasn’t the only one with the upper hand tonight. I walked away from the window — hips swaying, chin lifted, wine glass in hand — leaving the curtain half-open, the room lit, the invitation unspoken but unmistakable.
Behind me, I didn’t have to look to know, Ahmir Wolfe was still there. Watching. Waiting. Wanting. That simmering presence from across the street was a second heartbe
