The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Calla stepped out into the gleaming glass hallway of Voss Industries. She hated how the sound of her heels echoed here. Every inch of this building carried his scent, his voice, his power. She pulled her blazer tighter around herself, but nothing could cover the heat crawling over her skin when she thought of what had happened on his desk.
She told herself this was war. Not whatever dangerous, twisted thing was blooming in the spaces between their arguments. But her body remembered the way his hands had felt too well.
She walked into the glass conference room, and there he was again. Damon. Leaning against the table with one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a cup of coffee like a man with all the time in the world. His hair
