THE DOOR swung open silently on well-oiled hinges, revealing a scene that made her breath catch in her throat.
The den had been transformed.
Gone were the familiar afternoon shadows and comfortable domesticity.
Candles flickered from every surface.
Grayson stood near the center of the room, no longer the gentle man who had guided her hands through pasta dough just hours before.
His shirt was gone, baring the sculpted lines of his chest and the strong breadth of his shoulders. Every movement seemed deliberate, confident, charged with an allure that made it hard to look away.
His storm-blue eyes had dimmed into something low and simmering, not predatory, but intimate, as if every line of his body existed only to draw her closer.
Kieran lounged in his usual chair, but even he seemed affected by the charged atmosphere. His golden eyes glowed with an inner fire, and his casual demeanor had sharpened into something more focused, more alert.
