Novels by CELINE JOHNSON

The first thing I noticed was the cold.Not the temperature—the penthouse climate control was perfect, keeping the space at an ideal warmth despite the early morning chill outside. No, this was a different kind of cold, the kind that seeps into your bones when you reach across Egyptian cotton sheets and find nothing but empty space where a warm body should be.I opened my eyes to confirm what my reaching hand had already discovered: I was alone.Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating the rumpled sheets and scattered pillows that were the only evidence of last night's passion. I sat up slowly, my body deliciously sore in places I'd never been sore before, and looked around the bedroom for any sign of L.His suit from last night was gone. His phone no longer sat on the nightstand. Even his scent seemed to be fading from the pillows, as if he were already becoming a ghost, a dream I'd conjured in my desperate need for escape."L?" My v

The emergency meeting took seventeen minutes—I counted every single one.I'd waited in his office, a space of glass and steel and understated luxury that screamed power with every carefully chosen detail, trying not to touch anything, trying not to think about the fact that I was standing in Liam Hawthorne's private domain. Through the window, the city sprawled beneath us like a conquered kingdom, and I wondered if this was how he saw the world—from above, untouchable, in control of everything.When he finally returned, closing the door behind him with a decisive click, something had shifted in his demeanor. The emergency had been handled, whatever crisis averted, and now his full attention landed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch."Alone at last," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made heat pool low in my belly. "No more interruptions. No more delays.""Your meeting—""Is handled." He crossed the space between us in three strides, his hands c

"Wait." I caught his arm as he moved toward the door, reality crashing through the haze of desire and impulse. "We need ground rules."He turned back, surprise flickering across his features. In the ambient light from the city below, he looked almost otherworldly—too beautiful, too intense, too dangerous for someone like me to be tangling with."Ground rules," he repeated, something like amusement warming his voice despite the tension still thrumming through his body from whatever that phone call had been about."Yes." I straightened my spine, trying to channel some of the composure my mother had drilled into me, even though my shirt was still disheveled and my lips swollen from his kisses. "If I'm going with you—wherever you're going—we need to establish boundaries."The emergency could wait another sixty seconds. Because standing in his penthouse, about to step deeper into this dangerous fantasy, I suddenly realized how quickly I could lose myself completely. How easy it would be to

"Wait." His voice cut through the haze of desire, and suddenly his hands were on my shoulders, gently but firmly pushing me back against the pillows.I blinked up at him, confused and aching, my body screaming in protest at the loss of contact. "What's wrong?""Nothing's wrong." He sat back on his heels, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his partially unbuttoned shirt, his hair disheveled from my fingers. "I just realized I'm about to devour you like a starving man, and I don't even know what you're running from."The words hung between us, intimate and dangerous. This was supposed to be simple—anonymous, physical, uncomplicated. Talking made it real. Talking meant connection beyond the physical.Talking was far more dangerous than sex."I thought we agreed," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite my thundering heart. "No past, no future. Just now."He traced a finger down my arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. "Indulge me. We have all night. What's the rush?" His

The car's interior smelled of leather and expensive cologne, a scent that wrapped around me like a physical touch as the door closed, sealing us in darkness broken only by the city lights streaming past the tinted windows.He didn't touch me immediately, and somehow that was worse—or better, I couldn't decide. The space between us crackled with tension so thick I could barely breathe, every nerve in my body hyperaware of his presence beside me, the heat radiating from his body, the sound of his controlled breathing in the quiet cabin."Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, not sure I actually wanted to know the answer."Somewhere we won't be interrupted." His voice was low, rough with barely restrained desire. "Somewhere I can hear every sound you make without an audience."Heat flooded through me, and I pressed my thighs together, trying to contain the ache building between them. I'd never felt anything like this—this overwhelming, consuming need that made my

The plan had been forming for weeks, each detail carefully plotted like a prison break—because that's exactly what it was.I'd watched my mother's calendar like a hawk, memorizing her schedule, noting when she and my father would be occupied for hours at the Vanderbilt charity dinner. I'd researched bars across the city, looking for somewhere upscale enough that I wouldn't stand out, but far enough from our social circle that I wouldn't risk running into anyone who knew my family. I'd even practiced lying to Margot, our housekeeper, telling her I had a headache and would be retiring early, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart.But no amount of planning had prepared me for the actual moment of escape—for the intoxicating, terrifying rush of freedom as I'd slipped past the security gate and into the waiting taxi, my entire body trembling with equal parts fear and exhilaration.Now, sitting in this bar with my hand still tingling from where the stranger had touched me, watch