Chapter 1

The warm breath of May drifted through my open window, carrying with it the scent of fresh-cut grass and distant lilacs. A glass of whiskey rested in my hand, its amber depths catching the low glow of the evening sun. It was a Friday, the end of a long week, and I had chosen music over television, letting the soft melody of a jazz guitar wash away the day’s burdens.

Then, movement from outside caught my attention.

My gaze lifted, drawn involuntarily to the neighbouring house. Through the window, I saw Monique.

She was seated at her desk; her posture relaxed yet poised, her long legs shifting as she absentmindedly twirled a pen in her fingers. A delicate white blouse clung to her frame, soft fabric hinting at the curves beneath, while a short brown skirt skimmed her thighs.

I wasn’t in the habit of watching her—at least, not intentionally. But Monique had always been a vision. The daughter of my neighbours, she had grown into an elegant young woman, full of life and ambition. We had spoken a number of times over the years, polite conversations that never ventured beyond the casual. She was studying architecture in Boston, but seeing her now, I realized she must be home for the summer.

And yet, something about her posture felt ... deliberate.

She shifted in her seat, one leg crossing over the other, then back again, the slow, languid movements almost theatrical. As if she were aware of an audience.

My throat went dry as she smoothed a hand along the length of her thigh, her fingertips just barely dipping beneath the hem of her skirt. The fabric lifted ever so slightly, revealing the curve of an impossibly soft cheek.

My pulse quickened.

Did she know I was watching?

Common sense told me to look away, to respect the privacy of a young woman who should have been far beyond my reach. But I couldn’t. Not when she met my gaze through the glass, lips curling into a knowing smile.

Slowly, Monique picked up her phone, speaking into it for only a few moments before setting it down. Then, with the ease of someone completely in control, she reached for the buttons of her blouse.

One by one, they came undone.

I swallowed hard, unable to move, unable to breathe as inch by inch, she bared herself to me. Her skin gleamed in the fading light, a golden contrast to the stark white fabric sliding down her shoulders. Her breasts, full and high, came into view, her fingertips grazing over their peaks with an unhurried sensuality that sent fire through my veins.

She didn’t turn away. She didn’t rush.

She teased.

Picking up an architectural triangle from her desk, she ran the cool edge along the swell of her breast, her gaze locked onto mine, amusement flickering in her eyes. She was playing with me. And she knew exactly what she was doing.

Then, just as effortlessly as she had begun, she stood and disappeared from view.

I exhaled a shaky breath, my body tense with unspent desire. Monique had left me with nothing but a memory—a ghost of a touch I had never felt, a taste of something forbidden yet so achingly sweet.

And I wanted more.