Chapter 2

He was taller than Luca with broad shoulders that filled out his charcoal suit perfectly. His hair was dark but white streaked through some parts of it. To be this immaculate and put together despite the late hour, I knew he had crazy work ethics.

"Thank you," I managed to say. Hyperaware of his hands still on my waist.

"Are you alright?" He studied my face.

"Fine." Every drink's effect evaporated based solely on his proximity. “I'm perfectly fine now.”

"Okay. I'll let you go now." His mouth quirked in a half-smile that did things to my pulse.

But he doesn't release me immediately. His hands lingered, warm through the thin fabric of my blouse. Like he was testing whether I could actually stand.

When he let go, the absence of his touch felt like a loss. No man has ever had this effect on me. Not even Luca.

"Thank you," I repeated stupidly.

We fell silent and just looked at each other. Neither of us willing to step back.

Blame it on the alcohol. Blame it on how my day had gone.

I blurted, "You have really strong arms. Like, really strong."

He laughed. "Is that how you pick up guys from bars? I have to say, I'm impressed. First, you stroke the ego."

"I'd rather stroke something else."

Why did I say that? Alcohol must have loosened my brain along with my mouth.

He looked away, then cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry. That is so improper. I promise, I don't go around propositioning men. It's just that I'm having a really bad day, and I'd like to forget it."

I was rambling, but he was listening to me.

"Boy trouble?"

"We're not together anymore."

"Ah.” A pause. “His loss."

He stepped in close, and I was suddenly wrapped in his scent, tobacco-and-cedar, dark and expensive.

My gaze locked on his hazel eyes. At this distance, I could finally see the subtle difference from Luca’s. Luca’s were warmer, softer. His were sharp, knowing.

The thought of Luca sent a fresh ache through my chest. I didn’t want to be her anymore—the woman who’d been used for three years, whose life had exploded comically on her face.

I wanted to be wanted. Not needed, not used. Just… desired. Like the way this man was looking at my lips right now, like he wanted nothing more, for just that.

My breathing became slow and heavy as I watched his pupils dilate and he leaned closer to me.

A second stretched, and we lips collided.

His lips were softer than I’d imagined. At first, the kiss was gentle and restrained—a polite, almost testing pressure. I could taste the faint trace of whiskey and cigar on his tongue.

My mind was a blur, yet weirdly clear. The only solid thought was: more. I rose up on my toes and deepened the kiss myself.

And I got exactly what I wanted. It turned hungry, consuming, like he wanted to devour me whole.

Then he was touching me. Running his hands down my back to rest on the curve of my ass. I nuzzled my face into his neck, basking in sensation. In being wanted. In being more than just a solution to someone else's problems.

When he pulled away from me, I almost begged him to keep going but it turned out I didn't have to. Satisfaction filled me when a deep rumble came from his chest.

"You can say no anytime," he mumbled, his voice low and sure. "But right now, I'm taking you."

With his hand firm on my waist, he led me away.

The way up to his penthouse suite was a blur. The whole elevator ride. The distant sound of a ping when he slid his keycard to open the door. The floor-to-ceiling windows I would have gawked at if I wasn't too desperate for him to keep touching me.

He looked so out of place in the ordinary world I was used to but his very visible desire made it all work.

His body crowded mine against the wall of his suite. Then he was kissing me. I moaned into his mouth. He kissed a hot trail down my neck, to the sensitive spot below my ear. I whimpered, clutching his salt-and-pepper hair in my fist.

This won't take long. I was wet the moment I saw him, and he was obviously into me too. The rock-hard evidence was pressing into my stomach.

He licked my throat, sucked hard enough to leave a mark. My knees went weak. It had taken him nothing to find the same sweet spot it took Luca months to find.

"Bedroom?" he asked into my neck.

"Please." My words came out breathy.

I expected to walk, but he had other ideas. He swooped me up, and I shrieked delightfully as he carried me to his bedroom.

I bounced on the bed when he threw me on it. His delicious weight followed soon after. Thoughts of everything that happened this night faded to irrelevance. There was only me and him and the way he kissed me.

I groaned when he pried my lips open with his tongue. My hips moved by themselves open to accommodate him.

He settled heavily between my thighs. His erection aligned perfectly with my drenched middle. He rolled his hips; the friction through our clothes made me cry out.

His hands went in-between my thighs. Fingers pouring raw fire on my skin, as it inched up. Heading exactly towards where I needed them the most—

My phone buzzed.

We both froze.

It buzzed again. Louder. The screen lit up on the nightstand, where I must have dropped it.

I turned my head and saw the name glowing: LUCA. Along with a photo of us from happier times.

The man above me—I realized with a start that I don't even know his name—followed my gaze.

His jaw clenched, and then he muttered, "Shit."

He pulled away, as if someone had flipped a switch inside him.

One moment he was teasing me with that confident, almost wicked tongue, and the next I was melting into him, forgetting everything except the warmth of his hands.

Now he was looking at me like I was a life-size fungus.

“You should answer that,” he said. “Looks important.”

My phone was buzzing again. Insistently.

Luca.

Irritation surged through me.

I huffed out a breath. Maybe this was the right time to end things with Luca properly. No more arguments or dragged-out apologies. Just closure.

We had come to the end of the road. It was over between us.

I don't think I would ever trust him again after the lies and the way he kept his family away from me.

Immediately I answered, Luca launched into a desperate stream of apologies. “I'm so sorry about what happened. Babe, you know I love you. I still want to make us work if you give me a cha—”

“No.” I snap. My patience was already thin. “We're over. Stop calling me.”

The man was watching me with narrowed eyes and frowned at my cold tone.

Luca tried to explain again, but I cut off that attempt he made to talk. At that moment I couldn’t see anything except my own anger.

When I hung up, my phone started buzzing again.

I let out a frustrated growl and picked up but I didn't wait for him to speak this time. “I don't ever want you to call me...”

However, a strange, mocking voice came through the line. "Of course, young lady. Just say the word, and we'll chop your father's fingers off, one by one."