The elevator ride up to the penthouse was the longest thirty seconds of Aria's life.
Damien stood behind her, his chest brushing her back, the heat radiating off his bare, oiled skin seeping through her white suit. He didn't touch her. He just stood there, breathing against the shell of her ear, letting the anticipation build until the air in the small metal box felt thick enough to chew.
The doors slid open.
Aria stepped out, her heels clicking on the tiles. She didn't stop in the living room. She walked straight to the Master Bedroom, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was nervous—terrified, actually—but the adrenaline of the night and the dark, hungry look in Damien's eyes gave her a reckless kind of courage.
She walked to the velvet armchair in the corner of the room and sat down. She crossed her legs, resting her gold-tipped cane against her knee, trying to channel the "Madam V" persona that had intimidated Marcus earlier.
