“Don’t turn on the lamp, Vivian. I want to remember you exactly like this—as a vibration in the air and the scent of rain.”

Lucian’s voice was a low, jagged rasp that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards of the master suite. He was standing by the edge of the expansive, silk-draped bed, his silhouette a dark, imposing shadow against the silver moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket hours ago, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, hanging loosely off his broad shoulders.

I stood a breath away from him, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird....