She leaned against the wall, a faint, weak curve pulling at the corner of her lips. But that curve was heavy with mockery. "Julian Donovan, is there any point to this? What are you trying to prove?"
His movements on top of her froze instantly. He just leaned over her, staring. Her coldness and indifference made him feel utterly ashamed, and all his physical and emotional urges dissipated.
She could only meet his gaze. She saw the rage in his eyes, so intense it felt like it could burn a hole right through her. And in his pupils, she saw her own reflection: haggard, yet impassive.
It was the ringing of her phone that broke the standoff. Naomi Shaw, as if liberated, straightened her disheveled clothes, pushed him away, and went to answer her phone.
