It was only ten p.m., but her silk sheets called to her. She turned off the television and left the couch. She blew out the pillar candle she’d purchased that afternoon. The summer breeze fragrance filled the living room. She couldn’t look at the candleholder without thinking of Mike Burke. He had invaded her life. She stretched and smiled to herself. She loved living at the penthouse. Her life couldn’t get any better. But it could get worse, she realized, when someone pounded on the front door. Her heart quickened. Her gut told her it was Mike. At least he had the courtesy not to barge in on her as he’d done the previous night. Her feet sank into the carpet as she moved to the entryway. Her toes got lost in the deep pile. She looked through the peephole. There stood Mike, looking tough and tired and in need of her, she thought. She cautiously opened the door. “You knocked,” she said. “I wanted you to invite me in.” “If I didn’t?” she asked. “There’s always the hall.”
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