1.2 The Taste of the Wrong Man

The first thing that pierced the haze of sleep was the smell, sandalwood, clean sweat, and sex. It was the scent of Ryan, and it was everywhere. The second thing was the light, a relentless, grey dawn seeping through the gaps in the imposing floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the unfamiliar, minimalist bedroom in muted tones.

Leana groaned, her body protesting as she shifted, her cheek pressed against a firm chest that rose and fell in slow rhythm. Every muscle ached with a deep, pleasant soreness that brought the events of the night crashing back.

“No matter what words were exchanged last night, we knew it was a no strings attached, one night stand. We wouldn’t see each other again.”

The sharp trill of her phone dragged her out of her zone. For a blissful second she stayed suspended between dream and reality, warm, cocooned in tangled sheets. Then the sound drilled into her ears.

Her eyes fluttered open. He was still asleep, lying on his stomach, his face turned toward her, looking younger and surprisingly peaceful without the intensity his gray eyes usually held. She watched him for a long moment, mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of his back. He was, without a doubt, the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever shared a bed with.

The phone buzzed again. She cursed softly and scrambled toward the edge of the bed, trying to wriggle free of his grip without waking him. She carefully extricated herself from under Ryan’s heavy arm, wincing as her feet touched the cool hardwood floor.

She swiped to answer, her voice a husky whisper. “Hello?”

“Leana!” Her mother’s voice came sharp and shrill. “Where are you? I’ve been calling for an hour! Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Leana closed her eyes, leaning against the wall for support. “Mom, I’m sorry. My phone was on silent. I overslept. I’ll be home soon.”

“Overslept? Don’t ‘sorry’ me! David has made reservations at La Perla. We cannot be late. This is important.”

Panic struck her like cold water. She groaned inwardly, raking her fingers through her hair.

David, her mother’s fiancé. The man who was going to become her stepfather. The reason for this ridiculously important lunch. Leana was going to meet him for the first time after hearing her mother praising him for months now.  

“I know, I know. I’m leaving right now. I’ll be there in an hour, I promise.”

“You better be. Don’t embarrass me, Leana.”

She ended the call before her mother could launch into another tirade, her heart hammering.

The room felt suddenly claustrophobic. The evidence of the night was everywhere, her torn dress lay in a silken puddle near the door, her bra was God knows where. She spotted Ryan’s jacket, the one he’d worn to the bar, slung over a chair.

She picked it up, bringing it to her face. It smelled even more strongly of him. She slipped her arms into it. The oversized sleeves swallowed her arms, but it would do to cover herself for now.

She gathered her small clutch and her shoes, her movements hurried and furtive, pausing once more by the bed. She stared at him, memorizing the lines of his profile. A part of her screamed to leave a note, to scribble her number on a piece of paper. What if he wanted to see her again? The hope was a stupid, fragile thing. She chucked it aside. He hadn’t asked. This was the deal.

The cab ride was a blur of city streets and mental chaos. Leana pressed her forehead to the cool glass, Ryan’s jacket wrapped tightly around her shoulders despite the mild morning. Every time the car hit a bump, she felt a fresh ache between her thighs, a ghost of his presence. She hated the way her body still hummed, the way flashes of the night replayed unbidden.

It was supposed to be meaningless. A distraction. Instead, she found herself aching with the memory.

“Get a grip,” she muttered, drawing curious glances from the driver.

She bit her lip, shoved Ryan’s scent deeper into the fabric, and tried to think about anything else. Her mother. Lunch.

By the time Leana reached home, she was already rehearsing excuses. The door barely clicked shut behind her before her mother’s voice filled the space. She was waiting in the living room, pacing in a tailored cream-colored suit. She stopped dead when Leana walked in. Even in anger, she looked composed.

“What in God’s name are you wearing?” she demanded, her eyes sweeping over the oversized men’s jacket and what was visible of the ruined dress beneath.

She flinched. “It’s a long story. I’m sorry, Mom. Really.”

“Sorry doesn’t undo first impressions.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed, taking in the wrinkled dress, the tousled hair, the unmistakable men’s jacket draped around her once again. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Leana’s stomach twisted. She shrugged off the jacket quickly, clutching it behind her back. “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” her mother snapped, snatching her purse. “Come on. David is waiting.”

“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” Leana said, brushing past her before a full-scale interrogation could begin.

In the sanctuary of her bathroom, she shed the jacket and the torn dress. She caught her reflection in the mirror and froze. Her hair was a wild mess of tangles. But that wasn’t what held her attention.

On the pale skin of her neck, just above her collarbone, was a dark, purplish mark, another bloomed on the inside of her thigh. She touched the mark on her neck, and a jolt of sensation, a ghost of his mouth, shot through her. She could still feel his touch lingering on her body.

The regret about not leaving her number returned, sharper this time. What if that was it? What if that one incredible night was all they were ever going to have?

“Stop it,” she whispered to her reflection. She chucked the thoughts aside. It was too late for what ifs now. The day had moved on and she had responsibilities, most immediately meeting her mother’s fiancé.

She was being ridiculous. It was a one-night stand. The memory made her stomach flutter in ways that had nothing to do with guilt or regret.

She hurried into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of last night. She dressed quickly in a simple, elegant pair of dark trousers and a soft cashmere sweater, hoping it would cover the marks and placate her mother.

The restaurant, La Perla, was every bit as intimidating as her mother had suggested. Leana followed her mother through the revolving doors, past polished marble floors and discreetly attentive hosts. Her stomach knotted tighter with every step.

“There’s David,” her mother said, her voice bright with nervous excitement. She waved toward a corner table.

Leana followed her gaze. She saw a pleasant-looking, silver-haired man in his late fifties standing up to greet them with a politician’s practiced smile.

They approached a private corner booth. David rose to greet them. He had a genuine smile on his face. “Julie, you look beautiful.” He kissed her mother’s cheek, then turned to Leana. “And this must be Leana.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, David,” she forced a polite smile, greeting him.

“The pleasure is all mine,” David said.

There was another man sitting with his back to them with broad shoulders encased in a perfectly fitted navy suit. Something about the set of those shoulders, the way his dark hair was cut, reminded her of someone particular from last night. 

A cold dread began to trickle down her spine. It was impossible. A coincidence so colossal it defied belief.

The younger man, prompted by the conversation, began to turn in his seat. It was a slow, unhurried movement. First, Leana saw a strong, familiar hand resting on the white tablecloth, then the sleeve of an exquisitely tailored suit jacket. Her eyes followed his every movement.

Time slowed to a syrupy crawl. The polite smile froze on Leana’s face. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, panicked drumbeat that roared in her ears, drowning out the soft classical music. The world tilted on its axis.

He completed his turn, his stormy gray eyes lifting from the table to meet hers. The air rushed from Leana’s lungs. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of his lips. There seemed no shock in his gaze. Instead, it was cool, composed and held a depth of knowing.

The whisper escaped her lips without thought, the name trembling in the air like a secret she hadn’t meant to let slip.

“Ryan…”