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For two years, Adrian Cole has memorized the curve of Elena Vasquez’s neck while she loosens that severe bun in his rearview mirror. But when his 34-year-old boss—all sharp angles and a blouse buttoned just low enough—gives him an order that has nothing to do with traffic, he realizes the backseat was never the point. He’s about to learn exactly what she wants him to do with those restless hands, and why the keys in his pocket suddenly feel like a promise.
Adrian's keys are still in the ignition, the engine humming, when Elena's palm slides up his thigh, nails digging into the tailored wool. 'You've been staring at my mouth for two years,' she says, her
Adrian's hand lands on Elena's knee, the silk of her stocking hot under his palm, and she lets out a slow, shaky breath. She shifts, spreading her legs just enough to make the invitation unmistakable,