Naomi didn't speak right away.
She looked up into Alex's fathomless, obsidian eyes, then slowly dropped her gaze down to herself... her rumpled skirt hitched high, the parted silk of her blouse straining against her frantic chest, her bare skin still tingling with the ghost of his touch.
Every shred of her past life, the fragile illusion of duty, and the hollow vow of marriage lay in ruins beneath her feet.
With deliberate, unhurried grace, she slid down from his lap.
Her four-inch stilettos clicked sharply against the polished wood as her feet touched the floor.
Without offering a word of explanation, she turned and moved swiftly across the shadows of the executive office, slipping through the double doors into the outer foyer.
Moments later, the quiet rhythm of her heels returned. In her hands was the slim black leather portfolio she had carried into the tower.
