David stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of their Midtown apartment, the city glittering cold and sharp below. Behind him, Emma moved quietly in the kitchen, the black silk slip she had worn to dinner still clinging to her body. She had not changed. She wanted Marcus to see her exactly like this.
The intercom buzzed. David pressed the button without speaking. Two minutes later the elevator opened and Marcus stepped inside. Tall, broad, dark-skinned, dressed simply in a black shirt and dark jeans. He looked at Emma first, then at David, and nodded once.
“Still good?” he asked her.
Emma’s voice was steady. “Yes.”