Cameron Hale stepped out of the Uber Black onto the crushed-shell drive of the Voss estate just after six on a Friday that smelled like salt and money. The house rose in front of him like a blade of glass and stone, all sharp angles and cantilevered decks jutting over the Atlantic. He had expected intimidating. He had not expected the house to feel alive, predatory, waiting.
A housekeeper in crisp linen took his overnight bag. Then Serena Voss appeared in the doorway, and the rest of the world narrowed to a single point of heat.
She wore a backless white sundress that ended high enough to make his throat close. The fabric was almost translucent in the dying sun; he could see the faint shadow between her thighs when she moved. Platinum hair fell in wet ropes over one shoulder, dripping on
