My hands closed around Isabella's waist as we stepped up to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glass felt cool even through the thin silk of her dress. Fifty-one stories below, Los Angeles glittered like a circuit board of lights and shadows, stretching out toward the Pacific.
I spun her gently but firmly until her back faced me, pressing her against the glass. Her breath hitched as the cold surface met her skin, goosebumps rising along her arms. My body molded to hers—chest against her back, hips cradling her ass.
"Look," I murmured against her ear, my voice low and rough. "This is all yours."
My hands slid up her ribs, slowly, deliberately, gathering the delicate lace of her bodice. With a sharp tug, I tore the fabric apart. It fell away, leaving her bare breasts exposed to the cool glass. I guided her forward until her chest pressed flush against the window—soft flesh meeting hard surface.
