Calvin was silent.

Cleopatra watched him with sharp, careful intensity, her eyes narrowing slightly as if attempting to peel apart the layers of his expression and uncover the thought hidden behind his calm exterior. She would not allow misunderstanding to bloom between them, not when the truth was something she intended to hold in her own hands.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

With the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly how power moved in stillness, she shifted closer on the couch.

The distance between them dissolved inch by inch, like mist surrendering to sunlight, until the warmth of his presence pressed softly against her side, steady, real, and faintly intoxicating in the...