She didn’t knock.
The door was already ajar when she got there, as if he knew she would come. As if he’d been waiting.
Rhea stepped inside without hesitation, letting the door shut behind her with a soft click. The apartment was all sleek lines and dark wood, low lights casting golden shadows on stone countertops. Minimal. Cold. Masculine.
She didn’t call out.
She didn’t have to.
Dax appeared from the hallway, shirtless, sweatpants riding low on his hips, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. His hair was damp. There was a cut on his bottom lip — fresh, angry. Probably from a gym fight or his own teeth.
He looked wrecked.
And yet she had never wanted anyone more.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he said, voice rough from either alcohol or restraint.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she answered, b
