Sophie stood in the doorway like she'd dressed for war.
The dark trousers hugged her hips and thighs so tight they looked painted on, the kind of fit that made it impossible not to notice the long, smooth line of her legs and the way her ass curved just right when she shifted her weight.
The top was black, low-cut, and doing work that turned a regular Monday morning into something dangerous – thin straps, a neckline that dipped low enough to show the swell of her tits, and fabric that clung to every breath she took.
She'd done her hair loose and a little messy, like she'd run her fingers through it on purpose, and the heels she wore made her legs look even longer.
This was definitely not work Sophie. This was an attempt to remind him exactly what he had at home.
Ryan leaned against the doorframe, coffee still in his hand, and let his eyes drag over her slowly. "Well, damn," he said, voice low. "You trying to start a fight or end one?"
