The rain lashed against the windows of the secluded café where they met the next afternoon. Julian sat with a predatory stillness, his dark suit molded to his broad shoulders. When Liza sat across from him, her knees brushed his under the table, and the static charge made her gasp. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the cool air of the café made her lace dress cling to her hardening chest.
"You look desperate, Liza", Julian murmured, his eyes tracking the pulse fluttering in her throat. He reached out, not to take her hand, but to trace the line of her collarbone with a single, searing finger. Liza leaned into the touch, a soft moan escaping her as she closed her eyes. "I'm starving, Julian", she whispered, her voice thick. "No one... no one touches me like you. I've tried to find it, but the world is cold without your hands on me."
Julian leaned forward, his scent—cedar, spice, and raw masculinity—overwhelming her senses. "If you come back, it isn't to the master bedroom. It's to the library. You will wait for me there, on your knees, until I decide you've earned the right to look me in the eye. Do you understand the hunger you're inviting?" Liza felt a rush of heat between her thighs, her breath hitching as she nodded, her body already beginning to ache for the weight of him.