“Relax, Zoey,” Harlan murmured behind me, his voice low and warm like aged whiskey. His fingers had started at my shoulders, then slid down. I gasped when his palm cupped my left breast, bold and unapologetic, thumb brushing over my already stiff nipple. The thin halter had slipped down so easily, as if it had been waiting for this moment. I’m sitting on the edge of his huge couch, legs spread...