Kissed The Wrong Brother

At 11:52 p.m. on New Year's Eve, Amara Bennett found out her boyfriend of three years had been lying to her since October.

She wasn't looking for proof. She had gone upstairs at the Whitlock penthouse party to find a bathroom without a line, and she had opened the wrong door, and there was Daniel, her Daniel, with his tie loose and a woman in a gold dress sitting on the edge of a desk, laughing at something he'd whispered into her neck.

"Amara." He didn't even jump. He just closed his eyes like she was an inconvenience. "This isn't what it looks like."

"It looks like you're cheating on me."

"Okay, it's exactly what it looks like. But let me explain."

The woman in the gold dress had the decency to look at the floor. Amara did not give Daniel the decency of an explanation. She turned and walked, fast, down the hall, down the stairs, past the champagne towers and the glittering strangers, with her heart pounding so hard she could hear it over the countdown music.

Don't cry. Not here. Not in this dress.

The dress was green silk, and she had saved for it for two months. She'd bought it for Daniel.

"Ten minutes to midnight!" someone shouted. A cheer rolled through the crowd.

She was nearly at the terrace doors when she heard his voice behind her. "Amara, wait. Please. Let me just—"

She stopped. Spun around. And she saw them all at once: Daniel pushing through the crowd with his hands out, the woman in gold watching from the stairs, half the party turning to stare.

She was not going to be the girl who got dumped in public. Not tonight. Not in green silk.

So she did the one thing she would never, ever have done on a normal night.

She grabbed the nearest man by the lapels and kissed him.

He was tall. That was her first thought, tall and warm, and he smelled like cedar and something sharp, like rain on stone. He froze for exactly one second. Then his hand came up, steady and sure, and settled at her waist. He kissed her back like it was a question he'd been waiting years to answer.

The room disappeared.

Somewhere far away, the crowd began to count. Ten. Nine. Eight.

Amara forgot Daniel. She forgot the gold dress. She forgot, for a few dangerous seconds, her own name.

Three. Two. One.

Fireworks cracked against the windows. The crowd roared. The stranger pulled back first, just far enough that their foreheads touched, and she opened her eyes and found himself looking into the darkest, most amused brown eyes she had ever seen.

"Happy New Year," he murmured.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed. "I don't do this. I don't usually do this."

"You're shaking." His thumb moved once, gently, against her waist. "Is that guy bothering you?"

She glanced over his shoulder. Daniel had stopped dead ten feet away, his mouth hanging open. The whole party was watching.

"He's my ex," she said. "As of eleven minutes ago."

The stranger's gaze flicked toward Daniel. Something cold and unreadable crossed his face, so quickly she almost missed it. Then it was gone, replaced by a slow, dangerous smile.

"Then let's make it a good exit," he said, and he took her hand and led her out onto the terrace.

The night air was freezing, and it felt wonderful. The city spread out below them in gold and white, and fireworks bloomed over the river. Amara pressed her palms to the cold railing and finally let herself breathe.

"I didn't even ask your name," she said.

"You didn't ask me anything. You just kissed me." He leaned against the railing beside her, close but not touching. "Not that I'm complaining."

She laughed. It cracked in the middle, and to her horror her eyes filled.

"Hey." His voice gentled. "He's an idiot, you know. Anyone who'd cheat on a woman who can kiss like that."

"That's a terrible line."

"It's an excellent line. It made you laugh."

It had. She wiped her eyes and looked at him properly for the first time. Dark hair. A sharp jaw. A black suit that fit him like it had been made for him, which it probably had. Everything about him said money, and everything about his eyes said he wasn't thinking about it right now.

"Stay and have one drink with me," he said. "No names, no questions. Just a drink. You can tell me about the worst New Year's of your life."

She should have said no. She knew she should have said no.

"One drink," she whispered.

-------

Monday, 8:45 a.m.

Amara stepped out of the elevator on the forty-second floor of Whitlock Global with her heart in her throat and her new employee badge clipped to her blazer.

It was her dream job. Junior brand strategist at one of the biggest firms in the city, the job she had fought three rounds of interviews to get. She had not slept since Saturday. She had blocked Daniel's number and cried in the shower, and she had tried very hard not to think about green silk, or cedar, or a man whose name she never learned.

That's over, she told herself. It was one night. You'll never see him again.

"Ms. Bennett?" The receptionist smiled. "Welcome. Mr. Whitlock asked to see you the moment you arrived. The new CEO is just back from overseas, and he's meeting every new hire personally."

Whitlock. Her stomach dipped. She knew that name. Daniel's last name was Whitlock. But Daniel worked in marketing, and he'd only ever mentioned his older brother in passing, some far-off business tycoon who'd been abroad for years, someone he'd never wanted to talk about.

She had never asked why.

The receptionist opened a tall glass door.

The man behind the desk was standing with his back to her, looking out over the city. Black suit. Dark hair. Broad shoulders she had held onto two nights ago.

Her blood turned to ice.

He turned around.

The same dark, amused eyes found hers across the room, and this time there was nothing amused in them at all.

"Ms. Bennett," said Julian Whitlock softly. "We meet again."