Punished By My Best friend's Father I
THE heavy oak door creaked inward, a sound that always managed to feel louder in the hushed silence of Rhys’s study. Camille froze, her fingers inches from the leather-bound journal she’d been about to snatch from the bottom drawer of his imposing desk. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat like a burr.
“Looking for something, Camille?”
It wasn’t angry, not exactly, but it held a low, dangerous hum that sent a shiver down her spine. Shame bloomed hot in her cheeks, a searing blush that she knew betrayed her completely. She turned slowly, her movements stiff, like a marionette with tangled strings.
Rhys stood framed in the doorway, a silhouette against the softer light of the hallway. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the study lights, plunging the
