Parker stood near the window, arms folded, watching city flicker like a galaxy that still hadn't decided if it worshipped him or feared him. Behind him, the click of heels—slow, click of heels—slow, confident, calculated—announced the arrival of two of the most powerful women on Earth.
They'd gone to change from their previous outfits...
Isabella after her dress and undies had been ruined, she now wore navy silk, slit to the hip, the fabric hugging her curves like it had been engineered for sin. Her dark auburn hair fell in lush waves, skin glowing with a practiced sheen of wealth and genetics. Every step she took whispered: I break kings for brunch.
Diana was sharper, icier—a platinum storm in pearl-gray chiffon, shoulders bare, lips red, hair twisted in a loose knot that dared someone to undo it. She wasn't dressed to negotiate. She was dressed to conquer, and maybe—if the mood struck her—to let herself be conquered in return.
