Chapter 8

The sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting long, golden rectangles across the polished marble floor, but I barely felt the warmth. My skin still hummed with the ghost of his touch, a low-frequency vibration that had nothing to do with the ambient jazz playing softly in the corner and everything to do with the man standing by the coat rack, watching me with an intensity that made my knees weak. We had done it. We had escaped the prying eyes of the elite, the pretentious critics, and the social climbers who thought they knew us, just to lose ourselves in the shadows of the private dining room. And now, reality was creeping back in through the cracks of the velvet drapes. "Time to go, baby girl," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in my chest. He turned, buttoning his tuxedo jacket with deliberate, slow movements. The fabric hugged his broad shoulders, a silhouette I had memorized over the last hour. He looked every bit the patriarch, the authority figure who had claimed me, and the thought sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly. I smoothed my silk