Chapter 18 Aftermath Of Victory

• "You're standing on my carpet, Casian, dripping rain and looking like a man who hasn't slept in three days," Megan said smoothly, her voice cutting through the soft hum of the private elevator doors closing behind them.
• The penthouse was quiet, bathed in the faint, golden hues of the early morning sun breaking over the Manhattan skyline. The storm had finally passed, leaving the floor-to-ceiling glass windows streaked with drying droplets of water.
• Casian didn't answer immediately. He stood at the edge of the foyer, his heavy black wool overcoat already hanging loosely off his broad shoulders. He tossed the coat onto a nearby leather bench with a rough, careless flick of his arm, leaving him in his dark grey waistcoat and white shirt—the top three buttons undone, exposing the muscular, bronze line of his throat.