The living room felt too small the second Marcus’s hand touched mine. His palm was warm, calloused, and that single brush of his thumb across my knuckles sent a bolt of heat straight down my spine, pooling low in my belly like liquid fire. I pulled away too quickly, hoping Mom didn’t notice the way my cheeks flushed or how my thighs instinctively pressed together.

“Marcus has been telling me all about his work,” Mom said brightly, completely oblivious, tucking her arm through his again. “He owns a couple of clubs downtown. That’s how we met—well, sort of.”

I forced a smile, my mind flashing back to the VIP room...