Preface

Some women are shaped by time. Others shape it.

Freya wasn't the kind of woman who whispered her way through life. She didn't need to. She moved—like heat rising, like sin whispered on a summer night. At 46, she wore experience like silk: smooth, rippling, unapologetic. Her confidence was carved from every man who'd underestimated her, every glance that lingered too long on her curves, and every secret she kept tucked beneath those tight dresses.

Nick was 29, sharp-jawed and full of cocky charm. A former mechanic turned custom builder, he had hands that could dismantle an engine or make a woman tremble—sometimes in the same day. He wasn't afraid of a challenge. And when he met Freya, it was like tossing gasoline on temptation. She was older, sharper, and in complete control. Or so she thought.

Because some men are born with patience. And some women are built for sin.

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