Claude took yet another step closer, the space between them now so small Mio could practically feel the warmth radiating off his annoyingly perfect body.
And then, as if this situation wasn't already pushing the limits of her sanity, Claude—the shameless, arrogant, no-filter Claude Lockheart—gently grabbed Mio's wrist.
"What are you—" Mio barely had time to protest before he placed her hand flat against his abs.
Her fingers met firm, toned muscle, and it was like touching sculpted marble. Warm marble. Alive and smug marble.
"Feel that?" Claude's voice dropped lower, teasing. "All yours, Mrs. Lockheart."
Mio's brain short-circuited.
And just when she thought it couldn't get worse—her hand accidentally brushed against his nipple.
Oh no.
Her fingers twitched like they touched something they really, really shouldn't have.
Claude smirked wickedly. "Careful, Mio. That's a dangerous spot."
