Page 132 of The Contract

She hesitates again.

Then she steps away.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Sliding her body past mine so closely that I feel the whisper of silk against my skin—the ghost of her warmth where I want it most.

Her eyes never leave mine as she walks toward the door.

She reaches it, stopping just before crossing the threshold.

Then—she looks back at me.

Her teeth catch her bottom lip, the movement hesitant, contemplative.

It’s the last thing I see before she disappears into the hallway, leaving me standing there—fists clenched at my sides, pulse hammering, mind completely fucking wrecked.

And I know—without a doubt—I’m gone.

Completely fallen into her.

The next morning, I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone, waiting. My fingers hover over the screen, my mind looping through last night—the way I let go, let myself feel.

I should regret it.

I should feel guilty for letting myself get swept up in Damien.

But fuck, I loved every second of it. Every word he whispered. Every touch. Every look.

My skin still tingles where his hands were, where his mouth was. Just thinking about the way he devoured me makes a shiver ripple down my spine.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, shaking off the haze of last night’s pleasure.

Because today is a new day.

And I need to be in control.

Damien wasn’t looking for complications. I wasn’t supposed to be, either. Between Adrian, the pictures, and the gutting loss of my bakery, there’s already too much happening.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders before checking my messages.

Still nothing from Lucian.

Annoyance prickles under my skin, but just as I’m about to text him again, a response finally comes through.

LUCIAN: Sorry, got busy. Looking into it now.

That’s it?

Not exactly reassuring.

I clench my jaw, my irritation mounting, but I don’t have time to dwell.

Tonight is Mr. Calloway’s birthday, and we’re going to a Giants game. Margo rented out one of the luxury suites, and I need to be flawless.

I shove away every thought that doesn’t serve me and slip into form-fitting, high-waisted blue jeans, a red crop top, and simple white wedges. On my way out, I grab the floral arrangement I ordered—something elegant but not too sentimental.

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