CHAPTER 3

MIRA’S POV

I did not know his name and I did not care.

He sat alone in the shadows, wearing dark clothes with a glass in front of him that he had not touched, and when I stopped in front of his table he looked up slowly with his warm amber eyes and watched me like I was entertainment.

“You look lost,” he said softly in a deep and calm voice, unlike the loud music and also not pushy like the men I had ignored on my way here.

“I am not lost,” I replied, but I was drunk and I knew it because the room swayed slightly when I stood still, and I did not want to be still. I wanted to feel something other than the pain pressing against my chest, so without a second thought I sat down across from him and he did not stop me.

He studied me for a moment and said calmly, “A woman like you should not be alone in a place like this.”

I laughed bitterly. “A woman like me? You do not even know me.”

“I know enough.” He smirked as he stared at me intensely. “I know you are running from something.”

“Maybe I am,” I said and bit my lower lip. “Maybe I just want to run into something else.”

“And what is that?”

I leaned forward slightly and whispered, “I will tell you when I find it.”

“You are drunk,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said, with a slight shrug.

“You should go home.”

“No.” I shook my head and reached across the table until my fingers touched his arm, and I felt his warm skin and hard muscles underneath. He did not pull back, but he did not lean in either.

“You looked like you needed company.” I pushed on gently.

He almost smiled. “Did I?”

“Or maybe I just liked the view.” I winked at him.

“You do not know me,” he said softly.

“I do not want to know you.”

“Then what do you want?” He asked.

I swayed on my seat as I looked at his face, at his strong jaw, at the long strand of hair falling over his forehead, at his intense and beautiful eyes that seemed to see too much, and said, “I want to forget.”

“Forget what?” he asked.

“Everything.”

“That is a lot.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “That is why I need a stranger.”

He was quiet for a long moment as he searched my face, and I did not look away.

“You are married,” he said finally.

I tried to laugh naturally but it came out bitter and broken. “Does it show?” I asked.

He did not answer. He just watched me warmly but in a cautious way, like a man who had been burned before, and then finally said, “I don’t do drunk women.”

“I am not drunk,” I said, and I almost cried out in anger because I wanted him to believe me, even though I was lying.

“You are,” he replied calmly.

“Okay, okay.” I said. “I am drunk enough to do this and sober enough to mean it.”

Then I moved around the table and sat beside him with no space between us, and when I saw that he did not push me away, I placed my thigh on his and rubbed my hand over his chest. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, strong and fast, and the heat of his body through his shirt made my own skin feel like it was on fire.

“You are playing with fire,” he groaned, but he did not remove my hand.

“Good,” I whispered. “I have been cold for three years.”

“You will regret this in the morning,” he said softly, but his voice was sounding different now. It was now rough.

“Probably,” I whispered.

“I do not want your regret.”

“Then do not give me a reason to regret it,” I replied, and I was instantly shocked at my boldness because I never knew I had this in me all along.

He stared at me as the loud music blasted on and the lights flashed in every direction, but in his shadow, everything was quiet and still. I could smell him from where I sat— something clean and warm, like cedar and rain—and I wanted to be closer to him.

“One night,” he said finally. “No names. No strings.”

“Agreed.”

“This is not going anywhere after tonight.”

“I know.”

“And you are sure?” He asked with an eyebrow raised.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” I said, and I meant it.

“You do not even want to know my name?”

“No.” I shook my head

“Why not?”

“Because if I know your name, I will look for you tomorrow.” Then I leaned closer and bit his earlobe softly, feeling the warmth of his skin against my lips, and then I whispered, “And I do not want to look for you. I just want tonight.”

He inhaled sharply, his warm breath brushing against my neck as he held my waist gently like he was still giving me a chance to change my mind. But I did not change my mind.

“You are dangerous,” he murmured.

“Only tonight,” I whispered in his ear.

“Come on,” he said, and then he stood up and held out his hand.

I took it and we left the club together. I did not look for Zara and I did not think about Declan or the pack or the pain of the three years I had wasted. I just walked beside this beautiful stranger with his arm wrapped around mine, and he led me to a hotel close by, a modest place that looked like the kind where no one asked questions.

The elevator ride was quiet and the hallway was also quiet, and when he unlocked a door and held it open for me. I walked into a dark room with a clean king sized bed and a floor to ceiling window that reflected the city lights back at us.

He turned to face me and said calmly, “Last chance.”

I stepped closer and placed my hands on his chest and breathed, “I do not want a last chance. I want you. Now.”

He watched me for a moment, then he cupped my face with his hand and brushed my cheek lightly with his thumb. His touch was so gentle that it almost broke me. “You are beautiful,” he whispered. “You know that?”

No one had called me beautiful in years.

I did not answer. Instead, I pulled him down by his shirt and kissed him hard.

His lips were so soft at first, and hesitant, like he was still holding back, but then suddenly they were not soft anymore and his hands moved to my waist and then my back and then my hair, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. I rubbed his shoulders and his arms and his chest and moaned softly, for I haven’t experienced this bliss in a very long time.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at me. “Tell me your name,” he said, his voice was hoarse with desire.

“No,” I whispered back.

“Why not?”

“Because then this becomes real.”

He nodded as understanding dawned in his eyes, and then he kissed me again, desperately this time, as his hands found the zipper of my dress, and I did not stop him.

Soon we were tangled in the sheets as groans and deep moaning filled the room, and for the first time in three years I did not feel invisible.

I woke up to sunlight seeping through the curtains. I blinked as my head pounded and my mouth felt dry. For a moment I did not know where I was, and then I remembered the club, the stranger and the sex we had last night.

I sat up immediately and looked around to see him already dressed. He had his back to me, so I could see his broad shoulders and the muscles moving under his skin as he pulled his shirt over his head, and then he buttoned it slowly like he had all the time in the world.

He heard me move and turned around to face me. His amber eyes caught the morning light and held it. Then he smiled. “Good morning.”

I pulled the sheet up to my chin as I tried to calm my racing heart. “Good morning,” I croaked.

He finished buttoning his shirt and walked over to sit at the edge of the bed. Then he smiled again and said, “I enjoyed last night.”

He said it just like that. Simple and honest.

But I panicked because I did not know how to reply to that. I did not even know his name.

“This was a mistake,” I whispered.

He looked at me with his smile still in place and tilted his head. “Was it?”

“I do not even know your name.”

“You did not want to.”

He was right. I swallowed and looked away because my head was beginning to spin from the drinks I had last night. I noticed that my dress was still on the floor and his side of the bed was still warm.

Then he stood up and said, “I have to go now.”

He walked towards the door, then stopped without turning back. “Have a good life.”

There was no anger or sadness in his voice—just acceptance, like he had done this a thousand times before and expected nothing more.

“Wait,” I said.

He waited at the doorway and tilted his head sideways. I opened my mouth as I tried desperately to find the words to say, thank you or I am sorry or who are you, but nothing came out. He nodded once, like he understood anyway, and then walked out.

I sat alone in the hotel room surrounded by sheets that smelled like him. My body ached in places it had not ached in years, and I did not know his name or his pack or anything about him. But for one night I had felt wanted, and that was more than Declan had given me in three years.

I stood up and got dressed, then I picked up my phone to see seventeen missed calls from Zara. I did not call her back, but I will soon, and then I walked out of the hotel room and did not look back.