The rain hammered against the penthouse windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and red. Elena stood by the glass in nothing but a silk robe the color of midnight, watching the storm like it belonged to her. Behind her, the door clicked shut.

“You’re late,” she said without turning.

Julian’s footsteps were slow, deliberate. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she felt the heat rolling off him. “Traffic was murder. Thought about you the whole way.”

She finally faced him. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to the ridges of muscle beneath, tie loosened, hair dripping. He looked like sin that had walked through a downpour to get to her.

Elena let the robe slip from one shoulder. “Then don’t waste any more time.”

He closed the distance in a heartbeat. One hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back; the other yanked the silk tie at her waist. The robe fell open. No bra. No panties. Just skin and want.