Erin Lowell stepped out of the elevator when someone called to her from behind. The voice held an unconcealable joy, tinged with a distinctly masculine, untamed arrogance. Her steps faltered for a moment before she turned around.
At the corner at the end of the hallway, by the landing for the emergency exit, a man was leaning against the wall. He was dressed in black, as usual, his expression conveying an overbearing pride.
He had a restless look about him, yet every little movement he made seemed deceptively docile—like a beast locked in a cage, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Erin Lowell stared at him, momentarily lost in thought.
Zane Jennings walked over. He favored black clothes, which made his eyes seem especially bright. "Getting off work?"
"At six-thirty."
