Deep Inside
Now, her pulse quickened as she reached for the door handle.
“Come in.”
The voice came from inside.
Her spine straightened.
She hadn’t even knocked.
Eden opened the door. He was sprawled on the chaise lounge, shirtless again, black slacks loose on his hips, a glass of scotch in one hand. Late morning, and he was already drinking.
Or maybe he hadn’t stopped.
“Mr. Whitmore—”
“Julian,” he said, watching her like he was bored but alert. “Say it.”