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AJ Applegate, Marcus London Pic(s)
The air in the opulent study was thick with the scent of aged leather and the faint, expensive cologne that clung to his suit jacket, which was now draped carelessly over the high-backed chair. Her gaze traced the powerful line of his shoulders as he loosened his tie, the silk whispering a promise agat his skin before he discarded it. He turned, and his eyes, dark and calculating like the markets he commanded, held hers with an intensity that stripped away all pretense of business. A single, strong hand reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek, the contact sending a jolt of pure lightning straight to her core. The pad of his thumb traced the line of her jaw, a deliberate, possessive caress that made her breath catch in her throat. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, a palpable force that drew her in, closing the small, formal distance between them. His other hand settled on the small of her back, pulling her firmly agat him until she felt the hard, unyielding proof of his desire. A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest, a primal acknowledgment of the tension that had simmered between them for months, finally boiling over. In that suspended moment, the world of portfolios and acquisitions vanished, replaced only by the intoxicating reality of his mouth descending slowly, inevitably, toward hers.
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