Twisted Temptation
Emma stepped into the office, her heart pounding like she’d walked into a lion’s den.
And there he was.
Derek Steele. Tall, broad-shouldered, lounging in a black leather chair like sin himself. Dark hair, messy in a way that screamed fuck me and thank me after. Sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms. His jawline could cut diamonds. And those eyes—piercing, icy, undressing her without a word.
"You’re Emma," he said, voice low and smooth.
"Y-yes, sir."
"Age?"
"Nineteen… last month."