A slow smirk spreads across Locke's gorgeous face, his eyes flaring with an intense, possessive light.
Without taking his eyes off me, he reaches out and takes the crystal flute of champagne from my hand, setting it down on the side table next to his.
He shifts closer, sinking down onto his knees right between my legs, forcing my knees apart as he settles in front of my chair.
His hands slide beneath the hem of my sweater. The touch of his warm palms against the bare skin of my waist makes me gasp, my back arching off the leather cushion.
Slowly – making me wait, holding my eyes – he gathers the soft fabric in his fists, lifting the sweater up over my head and putting it onto the floor beside us.
I sit in front of him in just my lace bra, the firelight painting my skin in warm gold.
