Water flooded the penthouse.
Elena stood in the doorway, her silk robe clinging to her thighs, watching the slow creep of a shimmering puddle across the charcoal-grey tiles. The leak wasn't a drip; it was a steady, insistent pulse emanating from behind the sleek, floating vanity.
The doorbell rang, a sharp chime that cut through the sound of the flooding.
Elena hurried to the door, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood. When she swung it open, she stopped.
Julian stood in the hallway, a heavy tool bag slung over one shoulder. He filled the frame of the door, his chest stretching the fabric of a navy-blue work shirt that looked a size too small. His skin was tanned, a smudge of grease marking the line of his jaw, and his eyes—dark and focused—swept over her before settling back o
