Steamy Dreams
Royce scratches his chin, like he’s mulling the whole thing over.
His gaze narrows.
“No.”
I scowl. “What do you mean, no? If your wife finds out—”
“My wife and I are separating. She couldn’t care less who I fuck.”
I barely have time to process this news before he’s towering over me.
Mr. Royce is a big man, six feet to my five two, and ripped from taking full
advantage of the law firm’s health club membership. He could snap me in
half like a piece of celery if he wanted to.