Victor was there.
Seated, dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, a cup of coffee between his hands. When he saw her, he didn't smile. He merely observed her—as he had the first time—with that gaze that seemed to undress her better than any touch.
"You came," he said.
"You asked."
"Did I ask, or did I provoke?"
Zoey lifted her chin.
"Perhaps both."
He set the cup down and extended his hand to her.
She approached, and he settled her onto his lap. Her legs draped to the side, her head resting against his shoulder. It was an unusually tender gesture, intimate, almost too affectionate for the intensity of the previous night.
"Do you trust me?" he asked, slowly running his fingers along her thigh.
She didn't answer immediately. Trust did not come easily. Zoey was the type who controlled everyt
