The knock at the door was sharp. Precise. Like a threat wrapped in politeness.
Eva barely glanced up from her wine glass, assuming it was a neighbor. She wasn’t in the mood for social calls, especially not tonight. But the knock came again—this time harder, as if whoever was outside had no intention of leaving.
Annoyed, she padded barefoot across the apartment, yanking the door open.
And froze.
A man stood there. Tall. Dark. Dangerous.
Black dress shirt rolled at the sleeves, hands in his pockets, his eyes—no, not eyes—a stare that stripped her to nothing. His features were sharp, made for violence, but it was his mouth that arrested her: a smirk, small and calculated, as if he’d already won whatever game this was.
“Eva.”
His voice was low, rumbling. A sound that made her pulse skip
