The gravel driveway crunching under my tires sounded like a countdown.
I cut the engine in front of Eric’s Lawrence estate, the dark green dress clinging to my skin as the evening heat settled around us.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror—bold red lips, high cheekbones, and eyes wide with a mixture of terror and desire.
Taking a slow breath, I grabbed my SLR camera bag from the passenger seat and stepped out into the twilight.
When I reached the front porch, the double mahogany doors opened, but it wasn’t Eric who greeted me.
Tom stood in the doorway, framed by the warm yellow light of the grand foyer.
He was dressed in a crisp black shirt with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing structured, muscular arms.
His dark eyes locked onto mine the second I stepped onto the top brick, slowly trailing down the tight silhouette of my dress before settling back on my face with an unreadable, predatory intense expression.
“Rain,” his deep voice vibrated through the quiet evening air.
“Tom,” I said, forcing my voice to remain cold and level as I gripped the strap of my camera bag tightly.
“Where is Eric?
I scheduled a site measurement and photo walk-through with him for seven.” “Urgent call from city council,” Tom said smoothly, stepping aside to let me pass into the grand entryway.
“Some last-minute zoning dispute on his commercial lot downtown.
He had to rush off twenty minutes ago.” My heart did a violent, panicked leap against my ribs.
“He left?” I stopped dead in my tracks, turning back toward the door.
“Then I should come back when he’s available—” Before I could complete the sentence, Tom’s hand moved with blind speed, catching the heavy oak door and shutting it with a solid, echoing thud.
The latch clicked into place, sealing the quiet expanse of the house around us.
“He left me the key,” Tom murmured, stepping into my personal space until the heat radiating from his body bathed my cold skin.
“And he explicitly asked me to stay behind so you wouldn’t waste a trip from Brooklyn.
He wants those spatial photos on his desk by tomorrow morning.” “I can take them myself,” I stammered, my pulse hammering against my neck as I backed away a step, my spine hitting the cold mirrored accent wall of the foyer.
Tom didn’t stop.
He closed the remaining gap until his towering frame effectively trapped me against the wall.
The scent of dark cedar, expensive bourbon, and pure masculine heat wrapped around my senses like an intoxicating drug.
“Can you?” Tom whispered, his gaze lingering on my lips.
“Your hands are shaking, Rain.” “They’re not—” “Don’t lie to me,” he growled softly, reaching out.
His long, calloused fingers didn’t grab me; instead, they slowly traced the hemline of my green dress near my collarbone, brushing gently against my bare skin.
A violent shiver racked through my entire body.
“You dressed up tonight.” “It’s a professional outfit for a high-profile client,” I breathed, trying desperately to pull air into my lungs, but the air felt too thick, too hot.
“Is it?” Tom’s hand slid up to my jaw, his thumb pressing firmly against the pulse point on my neck, feeling the frantic, betrayal-filled beat of my heart.
His dark eyes burned into mine, entirely devoid of pity.
“Because to me, it looks like you dressed up for the man who pressed you against an oak desk three nights ago.
You dressed up to see if I’d do it again.” “Tom…
please…” I whimpered, the protest sounding pathetic even to my own ears.
I held up the camera between us like a fragile shield.
“I need to do my job.” A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Then do your job, designer.
Show me how professional you are.” He stepped back just an inch—enough for me to unlatch my camera and raise it to my eye.
But my fingers were trembling so violently that the autofocus lens whirred helplessly back and forth, unable to lock onto the interior archway.
Without a word, Tom stepped up directly behind me.
His broad chest pressed against my back, the heat of his body melting right through the thin fabric of my dress.
His arms came around my shoulders, his large, warm hands wrapping over mine on the camera grip.
The sensation was paralyzing.
His breath brushed hot against the sensitive shell of my ear as he adjusted my grip on the heavy lens.
“Hold it steady,” Tom whispered, his deep voice sending a shockwave straight down my spine.
“Focus the lens, Rain.
Right there.” “I can’t…” I gasped, dropping my head back slightly.
My hair brushed against his shoulder, exposing the long curve of my neck to him.
“Yes, you can,” he murmured, his mouth hovering barely a millimeter from my burning skin.
“Look through the glass.
What do you see?” “Nothing…” “I’ll tell you what you see,” Tom said, his grip tightening on my hands, locking us together in a commanding hold.
“You see a woman who plays the perfect, loyal wife in Brooklyn, buying couches and making tea for a husband who doesn’t have a clue what she really craves.
And then you come here…
to me…
shaking just because I breathe near your neck.” The harsh, raw truth of his words slashed right through my defenses.
Tears of frustration and terrifying arousal prickled at the corners of my eyes.
I wanted to scream at him, to slap him, to run back to my car and drive straight into Ethan’s safe, predictable arms.
But my body refused to move.
I was anchored to the floor, hooked on the raw, dangerous dominance he exuded.
Tom slowly lowered the camera from our hands, letting it hang by its neck strap.
His hand slid down my waist, his fingers digging possessively into the curve of my hip, pulling my back flush against his hard frame.
He tilted my head back with his other hand, exposing my throat completely under the soft foyer light.
“You’re walking on thin ice, Rain,” Tom growled low in his throat, his lips trailing down my jaw, leaving a path of liquid fire against my skin.
“And the worst part is…
you want it to break.” “Tom, if Ethan finds out—” “Ethan isn’t here,” Tom cut me off, his voice absolute and ruthless as his mouth brushed against mine, teasing the edge of my lips until I let out a helpless, desperate gasp.
“It’s just you and me in this house.
Now tell me to stop.
Say the word, and I’ll walk out that door.” I opened my mouth to say it.
I tried to summon Ethan’s face, our home, our eight years together.
But as Tom’s hand pressed firmer against my hip, pinning me against him, the words died in my throat.
I couldn’t say it.
I didn’t want him to stop.