Luciano lay in the dim, golden glow of the bedside lamp, the melody of Troye Sivan still playing softly, wrapped around them like a secret, seductive cocoon. Eloise's head rested heavily on his chest, her dark-brown hair spilling across his body, like a veil, her breathing finally slow and even after the physical storm he'd unleashed on her body.
Her fingers traced idle, senseless patterns over his ribs, as if she were trying to map the man who had just unraveled her so completely.
Luciano hadn't planned this. Not yet.
Luciano was a man who lived by the blade and the ledger. He prided himself on knowing every variable before he made a move. When he'd told her to come to the study, with the contract waiting like a loaded gun, his only intention had been to break her emotional resistance—just enough to make her sign without protest.
