The ambient amber light of the penthouse cast long, geometric shadows across the polished hardwood floor. Outside the massive arched windows, the December snowfall had intensified, sealing the sanctuary inside a blinding, silent white void.
Ryan stood in the center of the kitchen, flanked by the two women.
Diana remained anchored to his side, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist, her cheek resting against his chest. Zara stood directly in front of him, her hands still tangled behind his neck, her dark eyes blazing with a fierce, proprietary heat.
Across the marble island, Sophie slowly pushed her iPad away.
The lead designer didn't immediately stand. She watched the tableau with dark, heavily lidded eyes. She was exhausted—she had spent the last forty-eight hours orchestrating federal injunction defenses and hostile takeovers—but the sheer, staggering dominance radiating off Ryan acted like a mainline shot of adrenaline straight into her nervous system.
