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Coups de cœur Cultura
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Some games are won with skill. Some are won with luck. And then there are games that are played beneath the surface, where every glance is a move and every brush of skin is a gamble.
Ivy had spent years building walls around her body and heart, hiding both behind tailored dresses and cool smiles. Forty-six and perfectly poised, she had mastered control in every room she entered.
Until the night she met Sam.
He was the kind of man who didn't just walk into a room—he claimed it. Tall, broad-shouldered, with skin like polished onyx and a smile that dared you to misstep. He had that quiet, dangerous confidence that made you want to test him, even when you knew you'd lose.
Their first meeting wasn't fate. It was a bet. A stupid little challenge thrown across a pool table in a crowded lounge. But the moment his fingers brushed hers over the cue stick, Ivy realized something terrifying.
This wasn't a game she could win with strategy. This was a game played between breaths, between touches. A game played between her thighs.
And Sam? He didn't play soft.
