The Billionaire's Curvy Bride
Behind me, the heavy oak doors snapped shut.
Ryker stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his dark charcoal suit. His broad shoulders were rigid, radiating that same suffocating, magnetic heat that used to dominate every room he entered.
"I don't appreciate being kept waiting," Ryker growled without turning around, his baritone a low, gravelly rasp that sent a phantom jolt straight down my spine. "Whoever you are, if you think buying out my distressed shares gives you the right to flex power in my city…"