Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Another shot, please," Celine mumbled, her voice thick as she slid the empty shot glass across the sticky, scarred wooden counter toward the bartender.

The bartender, a tired looking man named Pete, paused his glass wiping and looked at her with a mix of pity and annoyance. "Ma'am, with all due respect, you have already had eleven shots of premium tequila," he said, holding up a warning hand. "I think you have hit your limit for the night."

"So?" she challenged, tilting her chin up. Her vision was blurring at the edges, the neon signs behind the bar dizzying into smears of hot pink and bright blue.

She glared at him, trying to summon the terrifying authority she used to command in the operating theater, but her face was flushed and she could barely sit straight.

"So, you are about to pass out. Or, most likely, get seriously sick," Pete told her flatly, crossing his arms. "I cannot legally serve you anymore."

"Just give me the bottle! It is the only thing helping right now!" Celine suddenly yelled, slamming her fist onto the wooden counter. The impact rattled the empty glasses around her.

The agonizing memory of Chief Thornton taking her badge, and of Christian screaming that her perfectionism was a disease, flashed behind her eyes. She needed to drown it out. She needed to feel absolutely nothing.

Before Pete could finish his next sentence, Celine snapped. Fueled by a sudden surge of desperation, she lunged forward. She scrambled straight over the high bar counter, her heels kicking wildly.

Pete gasped, backing up as Celine grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne from the top shelf and a cold beer from the cooler. She slammed them down, sloppily mixing the liquids into a single pint glass, and downed the burning drink in one massive, breathless gulp.

"Stop that, you crazy woman!" Pete yelled, finally catching his breath. He lunged forward, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back over the counter, setting her unsteadily onto the barstool.

"Here. Take your money," Celine muttered, her face burning with heat as she fished a thick, uncounted bundle of cash out of her purse and threw it directly at his chest.

Pete caught the money instinctively. His jaw dropped as he counted the crisp hundred dollar bills. There was over a thousand dollars in his hand. He looked at Celine, who was now swaying on the stool, completely losing her senses.

"Well, this is enough to rent our best room for the week, let alone the night," Pete muttered to himself. Realizing she was a liability out in the open, he grabbed her by the arm, slung her arm over his shoulder, and led her down a dimly lit, narrow hallway.

He stopped at a faded wooden door with the number thirty painted in peeling white stencil on the surface.

The moment Pete opened the door, Celine stumbled blindly into the room. The sheer volume of alcohol had completely stripped away her usual restraint. She ran straight toward the double bed and jumped onto it, completely unbothered by the thin sheets.

"Freedom! " she cheered loudly, jumping up and down on the squeaky metal springs like a child escaping a cage.

"This is embarrassing, even for a dive bar," Pete muttered, shaking his head. He quickly backed out of the room, shutting the door closed behind him to lock her chaos away.

Turning around to head back to the main bar, Pete took three steps down the dark hallway before he walked straight into a solid wall of wool and muscle. Pete groaned, bouncing backward off the broad chest of a tall, heavily built man.

The stranger was incredibly handsome, looking effortlessly powerful in a perfectly tailored blue Armani suit, though his tie was loosened and his expression was dark with fury.

"Watch your step, sir," Pete muttered, rubbing his left eye where it had painfully struck the stranger's exceptionally broad shoulder.

"No, you watch your step," the strange man replied. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. Pete’s knees literally shook in fright. The wealthy stranger did not even look back as he strode past him, his heavy steps echoing toward the rooms.

Quickly running back down to the main bar area, Pete met his coworker, Duran, who had filled in for him while he was away.

"Hey Pete, what is up? Why is your left eye all swollen and red?" Duran asked, stifling a laugh as he leaned over the counter.

"A half drunk but insanely wealthy looking man just bumped into me in the hall, and his shoulder hit my face," Pete snapped defensively.

"Oh, is it that rich, Greek god looking dude?" Duran asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah. Wait, do you know him?" Pete asked, picking up a clean rag.

"Yeah, I literally just rented out a room to him for the night," Duran replied with a massive grin. "I wonder why a filthy rich guy like that would leave those luxury hotels downtown just to settle for a dump like ours. I guess he wanted to hide."

"The man must be running from something," Pete said, nodding slowly. "But how much did he actually pay you to stay here?"

"A whopping ten thousand dollars. In cold, hard cash," Duran boasted proudly.

"What?! Are you sure?" Pete yelled, nearly dropping the glass he was wiping.

"Yes! I already transferred five hundred dollars to the manager's account to cover the room log so we do not get caught, and I kept the rest for us to split," Duran said.

"Wow, that is wild. But are you sure he won't sue us later on for overcharging?" Pete asked, a sudden wave of anxiety washing over him.

"Rich guys like that hardly remember spending that kind of money when they are in a mood like that. So relax and think about what we are going to buy," Duran assured him, laughing.

"So, which room did you rent out to him?" Pete asked.

"Room thirty," Duran replied casually.

Pete froze entirely, the rag slipping from his fingers. "What?!" Pete yelled, his voice cracking as his heart dropped into his stomach. "No, this cannot be happening!" He began pacing frantically behind the bar, tearing at his hair.

"What is wrong? Did I do something bad?" Duran asked, his amusement instantly vanishing at Pete's sheer terror.

"Yes, you idiot, you did!" Pete yelled. "A beautiful woman went in there just five minutes ago! She is completely drunk, vulnerable, and practically unconscious. He is furious, powerful, and if anything happens between them in that room, it could land us in serious trouble!"

The gravity of the situation finally hit Duran, bringing him instantly back to his senses. "We better go and check right now," he stammered. Dropping everything, both bartenders ran from behind the counter and raced toward the dark hallway.

Meanwhile, inside Room 30, Darius stepped through the door, entirely unaware of the panic at the front desk. His mind was a violent storm of rage and betrayal.

Just two hours ago, he had discovered that his high society fiancée was cheating on him with his own business rival. The humiliation and anger were eating him alive. He had driven out to the middle of nowhere just to get away from the media.

But the moment he closed the door behind him, he stopped dead in his tracks. Through the dim moonlight filtering through the window, he noticed a beautiful figure crouched in the far corner of the room, hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

"I should have worked harder. I should have realigned the ... I should have saved her," she was continuously muttering to herself, rocking back and forth like she was chanting a mantra.

Darius frowned, his intense, icy gaze softening slightly.

"What are you doing in my room?" he asked in a surprisingly soft, quiet tone as he approached her slowly.

"Who goes there?" Celine gasped, her eyes heavy as she strained to see through the darkness.

"Don't worry," he murmured, a rare, gentle amusement coloring his deep voice. "You are safe."

She snorted loudly, shaking her head aggressively as if trying to clear the alcohol.

"Don't come any closer, or else!" she threatened, blindly baring her nails at him in the dark.

"Or else what?" he teased. For the first time all night, the heavy weight of his betrayal lifted slightly. Defying her weak threats, he took another step forward.

"Don't come any closer, or I will tell my boyfriend about you! I am warning you!" she threatened, waving her hands wildly in the empty air, her voice growing drowsy.

"You have a boyfriend?" Darius asked, tilting his head as he looked down at her.

"Well, I used to. Since he left me for some amateur," she said, letting out a bitter, self deprecating chuckle.

"Why did he leave you?" Darius asked softly. Giving up on his pride, he sat down right beside her on the dusty floor, completely ignoring the fact that his well tailored Armani suit was getting ruined.

He noticed a half empty glass and a bottle of cheap wine sitting besides her on the floor. "Are those yours?" he asked, pointing toward them.

Celine nodded heavily, squinting at him. "You can have some, but I advise you, as a doctor, not to drink more than a glass."

Darius raised a sharp eyebrow. He never would have guessed this chaotic, beautiful mess of a woman was a medical professional. "Why is that, doctor?" he asked, picking up the bottle and drinking straight from the neck.

Celine offered a sloppy, genuine smile. "Because," she whispered, pausing for a loud hiccup, "things are going to get crazy."

Darius let out a dark, rich laugh. In no time, the bottle was completely empty between them. The shared bitterness of their nights seemed to bridge the massive gap between their worlds. As Darius made a move to sit closer to comfort her, Celine's intoxicated, defensive instincts suddenly misfired. Sensing him getting too close, she launched herself at him, trying to kick him away.

But Darius’s reflexes were lightning fast. He reached out and caught her slender foot mid air.

"Wow. A pretty tough, badass lady," he commented, a dark smirk playing on his lips.

There was something undeniably raw and unscripted about her that instantly turned him on. She was not using the cliché, practiced lines that high society elite women used just to please his ego.

She was entirely unraveled. As he twirled her around to disarm her, her long hair brushed against his chin, smelling faintly of sweet lavender and wild honey. His desire escalated violently when she gave up fighting and pressed her soft, warm body heavily against the strict lines of his chest.

"Don't hurt me," she whispered softly, her large eyes looking up into his.

"I won't," he replied, his voice dropping an octave into a whisper. He scooped her up effortlessly into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

Celine rolled over on the mattress, turning slowly to face him as she reached up and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him down into her space. Darius swallowed hard, his pulse hammering against his ribs as he felt the tight, intoxicating heat of her body pressing against his.

"You are tempting me," he whispered against her lips, making a genuine effort to pull back and leave the room out of respect. But Celine only hooked her arms tighter around his neck, refusing to let him go.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, his breath hitching as an overwhelming wave of tension filled the small room. His fingers trailed slowly down the delicate skin of her neck, tracing down to the metal zipper of her dress, which he pulled down with gentle slowness.

"What?" she asked slowly, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips as a heavy wave of heat rippled through her core.

"I want you," Darius confessed, the raw truth slipping out before his mind could stop it. He had not been this intensely attracted to a woman in years.

He wished with everything in him that she was doing things in her right senses, that she was not under the heavy influence of alcohol, but the magnetic pull between them was simply too powerful to break.

"I won't hurt you," he murmured again, gently sliding the fabric of the dress away from her shoulders to reveal the breathtaking contours of her skin.

Darius swallowed hard, completely captivated, as the footsteps of the two bartenders faded completely from his awareness.