A practical investment. Nothing more. Nothing less.
?
?Back in her room, the coat hung from the closet door, supple black leather catching faint streaks of light as they filtered through the window.
Arden sat at the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on it, though her mind drifted elsewhere.
She reached for the laptop with the same certainty that guided her purchase.
One click. Session booked.
Krav Maga.
Another layer of defense. Another form of control.
Later, Penny’s music wove through the walls, a restless counterpoint to Arden’s racing thoughts.
She folded herself into the couch, shadows flickering across her face.
Her focus slipped.
Training schedules blurred. Logistics faded.
Her fingers found the black card tucked in her wallet.
That damn card. Heavy even in her wallet.
Who the hell made their business card black?
Mysterious. Exclusive. Dangerous.
Maybe pretentious.
But God help her, it worked.
A traitorous smile pulled at her lips as Gideon Blackwell threaded through her thoughts.
Devastating. That was the word.
The kind of sexy that should come with warning labels and liability waivers.
His voice? Warm whiskey. Smooth. Rich.
The kind that slipped past defenses and burned slow.
A voice built to dismantle every boundary she’d constructed.
Literally fuck me now, she’d thought, and hated herself for being every bad cliché she’d ever sworn she wasn’t.
Yet here she was.
Still thinking about it.
About him.
She scrubbed a hand down her face, frustration rough and restless, and shoved the laptop aside.
Jesus. Get it together.
