Sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains of the master suite, painting gold stripes across the chaotic landscape of the bed.
Vivienne Vanderbilt stirred.
Her first sensation was a dull, heavy ache that radiated from her core to the tips of her toes. It wasn't a bad pain. It was the deep, satisfied soreness of a body that had been used thoroughly, pushed past its limits, and rebuilt in the span of a single night.
She blinked, her mind sluggish, trying to piece together where she was.
The ceiling was unfamiliar. The scent... musk, expensive wine, and sweat... was intoxicatingly strong.
Then, memory crashed into her like a tidal wave.
Alex.
The images flashed behind her eyes, vivid and unrelenting.
The dining room. The table. The floor. The way she had begged. The way she had screamed.
