Gotti's throat bobbed, his Adam's apple moving convulsively as he struggled to maintain the distance he had just created. He looked at her—really looked at her—not as a nanny, a prisoner, or a threat, but as the woman who had just shattered his iron-clad control.
The cold mountain air turned her skin into a map of goosebumps, her nipples peaked and hard, but she didn't shiver. She stood before him like a goddess carved from the very moonlight she served. The blue of her eyes was so piercingly bright it felt like he was staring into the heart of the Mirror Lake itself, seeing reflections of a man he no longer recognised.
"Anita, don't do this," he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of desire and despair.
