Garrett stood in his war room, back to Agnes, staring out the window. His jaw was tight. His hands were fists at his sides.
He turned.
She'd unlaced her dress, letting it pool at her feet. She stood before him in nothing but a thin silk slip, the fabric clinging to every curve. Her chin was lifted. Defiant. Unapologetic.
Classic Agnes.
"Put your clothes back on," he said. His voice was steady. His body was not.
"No."
"Agnes."
"Garrett." She stepped closer, and he could smell her now. Honeysuckle and something darker underneath. "You've been fighting this since the moment you felt me. I felt it too. The way your whole body went still. The way you looked at me like you wanted to devour me and destroy me in the same breath."
"I didn't unlace fourteen hooks for you to waste my effort."
