Roxie Sterling

The private office intercom chimed, its polite buzz cutting through the quiet of the room.

I sat on the edge of the obsidian desk, my breathing still uneven as Garrison slowly withdrew his hand from beneath the hem of my cashmere sweater. His forehead rested against mine for a moment before he reluctantly stepped back. The warmth of his body lingered even after he moved away, and I found myself wishing the interruption had come a little later.

Then Marcus’s voice came through the secure speaker.

“Boss,” he said, his usual tactical sharpness softened by a note of quiet seriousness. “The medical transport has arrived at the private...