The first thing Elena registered was the scent. Sandalwood, expensive musk, and something underlying it all—something raw, uniquely male.
It was a scent that didn't belong in her pristine, ivory-colored bedroom.
She shifted, a dull ache settling deep in her muscles—the good kind of ache. The kind that spoke of hours spent tangled in sheets, gasping for air. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sliver of golden sunlight slicing through the heavy curtains.
Memory crashed into her like a physical blow. The storm last night. The whiskey in the library. The way Damon had looked at her—not as a business partner, or a convenient wife, but as a woman he wanted to devour.
And the way she had let him. No, not just let him. She had begged him.
Elena bolted upright, clutching the silk sheet to her bare chest. The other side of the massive California King bed was empty, the sheets cold.
Panic clawed at her throat. Had it just been a fever dream? A hallucination brought on by two years of loneliness in this gilded cage of a marriage?
Then she saw it. On the mahogany nightstand, placed squarely on top of her phone, was a single diamond cufflink. His cufflink.
It was real.
Her breath hitched. She traced the expensive metal with a trembling finger. For two years, Damon Croft had been the icy, untouchable figure inhabiting the west wing of their mansion. They were perfectly polite strangers bound by a prenuptial agreement.
But last night... last night he had been fire. He had stripped away her defenses with a terrifying precision, unlocking sensations she hadn't known existed. He had been demanding, possessive, and utterly intoxicating.
A shiver ran down her spine, a phantom echo of his hands on her waist. A dangerous warmth bloomed low in her belly just thinking about it.
She should be horrified. They had broken their only rule. This was supposed to be a sterile arrangement, not... this.Elena fell back against the pillows, pulling the sheet over her head, inhaling that lingering scent of sandalwood. A terrifying realization settled over her, heavier than the guilt.
She wasn't horrified. She wanted more.
She was already craving the next hit.