Chapter 20 Aftertaste Of Sin

• Clara Bellamy had always prided herself on her self-control. Whether in the boardroom or in front of a mirror with her signature red lipstick, she was composed. Poised. A damn queen.
• But there was nothing poised about the way Julian Nightingale currently had her pinned against the elevator wall like a man starved.
• His mouth was hot and claiming, devouring hers with a hunger that made her knees buckle. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other gripped her thigh, guiding it up around his waist.