At the VIP clinic, I was helping my nine-month pregnant daughter change for her final ultrasound. The moment her shirt slipped off, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

eyes at last.

“You know, Julian,” I said evenly, my voice carrying across the sterile room, “you really should have checked the deed to see who owned this room before you decided to threaten my child’s life inside of it.”

For the first time since I had ever known him, Julian Thorne’s confident smile disappeared completely.

He stared at me, his mind struggling continue reading …