The rain hadn't stopped since the night at the Knights' estate, and Courtney had grown used to the rhythm of it against her apartment windows. She was curled up on her couch, still in the same simple dress she had worn to the gathering. Her hair, though brushed back, still carried a faint trace of the garden air, a mix of roses and damp earth. She wanted to scrub it off, to erase the memory of Sean's lips pressed insistently against hers.
The kiss hadn't been her choice. It was too sudden, too forceful, too full of something that made her skin crawl. She had pulled away, tried to laugh it off, but the imprint of it lingered in her bones. And then there was Dwayne. She had seen him, she was sure of it—the way his gaze had locked on hers in that terrible moment. His eyes hadn't been indifferent. They had been wounded, angry, stormy.
