He burned a flush into her face from the first moment he saw her, danced her, claimed her mouth with his. His hands ignited an inferno beneath her skin that did not fade. She became his.
At four months, she didn’t want to look anywhere else. At six months, she couldn’t dare to.
But as much as Ramos talked about getting to the bottom line, he respected her more than she did. He never came to her place, and if looks could kill, she’d be dead every time she asked about going to his.
At eight months, she started flirting.
Danjou would dance her in her room and take her on the bed. His kisses didn’t light fires in her belly that would last for days or make her whole body ache with longing. But he could give her that. Kindling to Ramos’ flame.
Sometimes, she just really wanted to burn.