a More

te, the penthouse became utterly silent. Th

suit jacket still on my fingertips, th

sitation. I walked s

grammed my print into the system, a year ago. "My world is never closed to you," he'd murmured a

reen light flashed, and the lock clicked ope

eather, a scent that had once brough

g was immaculate, the office

and pushed. It didn't budge. There had to be a code,

fted to the mass

of files and his laptop. My gaze fell on the bott

stopped me, his hand covering mine, his tone light but firm. "Highest

dramatic. Now I realized his

e handle. It w

the pen holders, lifted the file trays, ran

t important on his person.

ing on the custom humidor I'd give

n. He touched this box every single day.

de, a row of Cuban cigars la

on the desk. I ran my fingers over the velvet bottom of

d at the corner. The velvet lining

o the wood, was a smal

e custom-fit space, was a

match for the l

my ribs like a drum. Th

al was cold against my skin,

slid the key into the loc