The city lights of Manhattan glittered below like a million tiny fires, but inside Ethan Blackwood’s penthouse, the real heat was in the bedroom.

Aria stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the silk black dress that clung to every curve. She had never worn anything like it. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, the plunging neckline daring, yet elegant enough to pass as “high society” in the billionaire world.

Ethan appeared behind her without a sound, his dark eyes drinking her in. The heat ...