The elevator chimed, a single, crystal-clear note that sliced through the silence.
Patricia's entire body went tight, a jolt of pure adrenaline lighting up her nervous system. The wine glass, forgotten, tumbled from her nerveless fingers, shattering on the marble floor. She didn't flinch at the sound.
She rose from the sectional, her body moving on pure instinct, the silk shorts riding high on her thighs, the camisole shifting against her achingly hard nipples.
Her bare feet touched the cool hardwood, and she started walking toward the entry, not with the nervous hesitation of a girl, but with the deliberate, predatory grace of a woman finally answering a summoning she hadn't felt in her bones for twenty-three years.
