Dom glanced back. Suddenly, he was fumbling the cigar. It nearly fell to the floor, and it would have burned a hole through the massive, fifteen-thousand dollar area rug.
“Are you all right, Dom?” Yuri asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He squashed the end of the cigar against the platter on his father’s desk, set it down, and stepped out into the hallway. Her back was turned to him, and although she wore a silky, high-necked, long-sleeved blouse and wide-leg black pants—on account of his father’s wife—he knew that body. Her hair was tucked into a bun, but he knew that hair. That scent, that jawline, those fingers…he’d dreamed about them.
He walked up behind her, wrapped his fingers around her neck, and pushed her face-first against the wall.