Anthony leaned forward as though the air itself parted for him.

“Nice to meet you, beautiful,” he said, his voice smooth, unhurried, the kind of confidence that did not need to announce itself to be felt. His hand extended toward her with deliberate grace.

Cleopatra placed her fingers in his.

For a fraction of a second, it was nothing more than a formal greeting. Skin brushing skin. Polite. Civilized.

“Likewise,” she replied evenly.

But her pulse had already betrayed her.

His grip was firm yet controlled, warm and then, instead of releasing her, he shifted.

Slowly. Intentionally.

Anthony lifted her hand.

Cleopatra felt it before she understood it, the subtle...