Rival's Daughter: 2. The First Touch

Saturday mornings in the city always felt a little freer. At least, they did to Lila. Away from her father’s house, away from the weight of his expectations, she could almost breathe.

The boutique-lined streets hummed with chatter, the smell of roasted coffee drifting from open café doors. Lila balanced a pair of shopping bags in one hand and her purse in the other, content to lose herself in errands and anonymity.

She had just paused by a shop window, admiring the pale blue dress displayed on the mannequin, when a shadow fell across the glass.

“Lila.”

The sound of her name sent a shiver straight down her spine. That voice—low, rich, threaded with dangerous amusement—was impossible to mistake.

She turned.

Damien Blackwell stood a few feet away, dressed in a dark coat and slacks that made him look like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine spread. But he didn’t look like a model. Models posed. Damien owned space. He stood with a confidence that b