The penthouse was massive. Modern, expensive, sterile. All glass and chrome and leather. Art on the walls that probably cost more than her car. A view of the entire city spread out below like he owned it.
Maybe he did.
"Would you like a drink?" Dante asked, moving to a well-stocked bar.
"No."
"Wine? I have an excellent Bordeaux."
"I said no."
"Suit yourself." He poured himself a scotch, neat. "You can drop the robe, Novalee. I want to see what I bought you."
"I'm cold."
"You're terrified. There's a difference." Dante took a sip of his drink. "But I suppose we can work up to it. Come. Sit with me."
He gestured to a white leather couch facing the windows. Novalee perched on the edge, as far from him as possible. Dante sat down next to her, close enough that she could feel his body h
