POV: Xavier
The silenced phone was a phantom limb, vibrating with deadly potential in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Xavier guided her through the rooftop door with a hand at the small of her back—a gesture that felt both possessive and protective, a conflicted echo of the kiss still branding his lips.
The metallic taste of her lips and the soft gasp she made when he finally succumbed to months of tormenting desire replayed in his mind. But the loop was fractured by the image that had overlaid it: her eyes, wide with a panic that mirrored the cold dread solidifying in his gut. The kiss had been the truth. Her fear was the consequence.
He led her not to the elevators but to the private stairwell, a concrete and steel spine hidden behind an unmarked door. The air was cooler here, sm
