Sierra barely read any of it.
Her mind was stuck on one thought, one terrible, clarifying realization:
She'd waited too long.
The vultures were circling.
And Elena Ashford—beautiful, powerful, utterly shameless Elena—had just declared her interest.
If that succubus gets her claws into him before I do...
Sierra threw off her covers and stood up.
Her legs were still shaky. Her pussy still ached with phantom pleasure. But she'd be damned if she let Elena Ashford take what was hers.
Wait. What was HERS?
She paused mid-step, catching herself.
Sierra abandoned her croissant entirely.
She was pacing now, silk robe swishing around her ankles like a bad decision trying to look elegant, phone clutched in her fist like a weapon she hadn't decided whether to throw or use to call in an airstrike.
The chat was getting out of control. She was getting out of control. Everything was spiraling and it was all because of that stupid, infuriating, impossibly skilled—
