Kenzie smoothed down the front of her little black dress in the elevator mirror. The hem barely reached mid-thigh. The neckline dipped low enough to show the faint hickey Damien had left just above her breast two nights ago. She had not covered it. Let them look. Only one man would know exactly how she got it.
The annual Literature Department mixer was in full swing on the rooftop terrace when she stepped out. String lights glowed soft gold against the evening sky. Professors in sport coats chatted with grad students holding plastic cups of cheap wine. Laughter floated on the breeze. Somewhere a speaker played low jazz.
Damien stood near the bar talking to the department chair. He wore a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing those strong forearms that had pinned her w
