Everything stopped.
Eleanor didn't breathe.
She stood rooted to the exact square of carpet where Devon had left her, one hand still pressed flat against the base of her throat as if she could physically hold her heart inside her ribs.
The other hand hung useless at her side, fingers curled, still faintly warm, still faintly wet.
Her champagne silk gown shimmered under the low golden sconce light, but inside the silk she was ice and fire at the same time.
Her knees shook so hard she had to lock them or fall.
The air was thick with him.
His scent hadn't even begun to fade.
It clung to every breath she tried to take: hot skin, raw sex, expensive cologne rubbed off on someone else's body, and something darker, something that tasted like danger and power and utter ruin.
It curled into her nose, slid down her throat, pooled low in her belly and refused to leave.
