The heavy click of leather dress shoes against polished marble cut through the thick, emotional quiet of the grand foyer like a rhythmic pendulum measuring out the seconds of her unraveling composure.
Nina's shoulders locked. She remained kneeling on the cold hardwood floor, her arms still wrapped securely around Ethan's small, warm body, but her head snapped upward instinctively. A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
At the top of the grand staircase, standing directly on the sweeping mezzanine landing, was Lucas.
The immaculate, forbidding charcoal suit jacket he had worn during their earlier confrontation was gone. His pristine white dress shirt hung unbuttoned at the throat, revealing the stark, corded muscles of his neck and the hollow at the base where his pulse beat steady and slow. The heavy cuffs had been carelessly rolled to his forearms, exposing dark hair and the powerful structure of his wrists.
