The city still dripped with rain when Calla opened her eyes. The ceiling above her wasn’t hers. It was white, high, and framed with molding too elegant for her small apartment. Her fingers tightened against the soft sheet beneath her, and a slow, sick realization swept through her chest like a cold tide. She was in Damon Voss’s penthouse.
Her heart slammed. She sat up too quickly, the silk blanket sliding down her bare shoulders. Her clothes from last night were gone. In their place, one of his black dress shirts hung loosely on her frame, the crisp fabric brushing the tops of her thighs. The scent of him clung to it. Dark. Expensive. Overwhelming.
A knock came from the door.
She froze.
The door opened slowly, and Damon stepped inside like the owner of her shame. He wore black slacks a
