CHAPTER 4: One Night

The penthouse suite was stunning.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city skyline. Modern furniture in shades of cream and grey. A living room that could fit my entire apartment. Through an open doorway, I glimpsed a bedroom with a bed that looked impossibly large and inviting.

But I barely noticed any of it.

All I could focus on was Alex, standing in the doorway behind me, giving me space. Letting me take it all in. Letting me change my mind.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked. "There's a full bar. Or I can order room service."

I turned to face him. "I didn't come here for a drink."

The air between us crackled.

"What did you come here for, Isabella?"

The question hung there. He wasn't going to make this easy. Wasn't going to assume. He needed to hear me say it.

And God, I wanted to say it.

"I came here for you."

Something in his expression shifted. Darkened. "Say it again."

"I want you." The words came easier the second time. "I want this. I want tonight."

"Are you sure?" He still hadn't moved from the doorway. Still giving me every chance to run. "You don't have to do this. We can just talk like I said. Or I can call you a car. No judgment either way."

"Stop." I crossed the space between us, closing the distance he was so carefully maintaining. "Stop giving me outs. Stop being a gentleman."

"Isabella—"

"I'm sure." I placed my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the expensive fabric of his shirt. It was racing. Just like mine. "I'm sure about this. About you. Are you?"

His hand came up to cover mine. "I haven't been sure about anything in two years. But this? You?" His other hand cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "I've never been more certain."

"Then stop asking and kiss me."

He did.

The kiss was nothing like I expected. Not rushed or desperate. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was memorizing the taste of me. His lips were soft but firm, confident in a way that made my knees weak.

I'd been kissed before. Obviously. Three years with James meant I knew what kissing felt like.

But this wasn't kissing. This was being consumed.

Alex's hand slid into my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every hard line of his body through our clothes. The evidence of his desire pressed against my hip.

I made a sound—something between a gasp and a moan—and he swallowed it, his tongue sweeping into my mouth.

My hands found their way to his shoulders, his neck, threading through his hair. The grey at his temples was soft under my fingers. Everything about him was a study in contrasts—soft and hard, gentle and demanding, controlled and barely restrained.

He walked me backward toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. My back hit the doorframe and he pressed into me, his body caging mine in the best way possible.

"God, Isabella," he breathed against my lips. "You're—"

"Don't." I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Don't say I'm beautiful or perfect or any of those things. I don't want pretty lies tonight."

"I was going to say you're trembling." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Are you cold?"

"No."

"Scared?"

"No." I wasn't. That was the strange part. I should have been terrified. But with him, I just felt... safe. "I'm just—I haven't—"

"We can stop." Immediately. No hesitation. "Any time you want."

"I don't want to stop." I kissed him again, harder this time. Trying to show him with actions what I couldn't quite articulate with words. "But I need you to know—I'm not good at this."

He pulled back, frowning. "Good at what?"

"This." I gestured vaguely between us. "Sex. Intimacy. James always said I was too—"

"Stop." His voice was sharp. "I don't want to hear his name. Not here. Not now."

"I'm just trying to warn you—"

"Isabella." He cupped my face in both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Whatever that man told you about yourself was a lie. Do you understand? A lie designed to keep you small and compliant."

"But—"

"No buts." He kissed my forehead. My cheeks. The corner of my mouth. "You're here with me because you chose to be. That's all that matters. And if you want to stop at any point, we stop. No explanations needed. No judgment. Okay?"

The tenderness of it broke something open in my chest.

"Okay," I whispered.

"Now." He smiled against my lips. "Can I take you to bed? Properly?"

I nodded.

He lifted me—actually lifted me—and I wrapped my legs around his waist on instinct. He carried me into the bedroom like I weighed nothing, his hands firm on my thighs, and set me down on the edge of the enormous bed.

The mattress was soft. The sheets smelled like expensive detergent and something distinctly male. Him.

Alex stood before me, and slowly—so slowly—began unbuttoning his shirt.

"You're staring," he said, amused.

"You're worth staring at."

He was. God, he was. As each button came undone, more of him was revealed. Broad chest. Defined muscles that spoke of regular gym sessions but weren't overdone. A scar on his left side that I wanted to ask about but didn't. This wasn't the time for past stories.

The shirt hit the floor.

"Your turn," he said.

My dress zipped up the back. I reached for it, but my hands were shaking.

"Let me." He circled behind me, his fingers finding the zipper with ease. He drew it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. "Is this okay?"

"Yes."

The dress pooled around my waist. I wasn't wearing anything fancy underneath—just a simple black bra, nothing like the lingerie I'd bought for tonight's ruined anniversary surprise. But the way Alex looked at me, you'd think I was wearing diamonds.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

"You said you wouldn't lie."

"I'm not." He traced the line of my spine, making me shiver. "You are beautiful, Isabella. Every part of you."

I stood, letting the dress fall completely. His hands spanned my waist, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above my underwear.

"Bed," he commanded softly.

I climbed onto the massive bed, suddenly very aware that I was down to my underwear while he still had his pants on. He followed, kneeling over me, his weight supported on his arms.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"I don't know." It was honest. James had never asked what I wanted. Sex had been perfunctory. Mechanical. Something that happened to me rather than with me.

"Then we'll figure it out together." He kissed my collarbone. My shoulder. The swell of my breast above my bra. "Tell me if you like something. Or if you don't."

"Okay."

His lips moved lower. My stomach. My hip bone. Everywhere he kissed felt like it was catching fire.

"Alex," I gasped when his teeth grazed my inner thigh.

"Good or bad?"

"Good. So good."

He smiled against my skin. "Good."

Time became fluid after that. I lost track of where I ended and he began. His hands learned every curve of my body. His mouth discovered places that made me gasp and moan and forget my own name.

When he finally stripped away the last barriers between us, when he settled between my thighs and looked down at me with those storm-grey eyes, I felt something shift.

This wasn't just sex. This was connection.

"Protection?" I managed to ask, my brain barely functioning.

"Wallet." He reached for his pants on the floor, retrieving a condom. "Unless you want to stop?"

"Don't you dare."

He laughed—actually laughed—and the sound of it made my heart squeeze.

And then he was inside me and I stopped thinking altogether.

He moved slowly at first. Carefully. Watching my face for any sign of discomfort. When I wrapped my legs around him, urging him deeper, he groaned.

"Isabella," he breathed against my neck. "You feel—God, you feel incredible."

I couldn't form words. Could only hold onto him as he set a rhythm that built slowly, steadily, until I was climbing toward something I'd only ever read about but never experienced.

"That's it," he encouraged, his hand finding the place where we joined. "Let go. I've got you."

And I did.

The orgasm hit like lightning—sudden and overwhelming and absolutely devastating. I cried out, probably too loud, but I didn't care. Couldn't care. Could only feel as wave after wave crashed over me.

Alex followed moments later, my name on his lips, his body shuddering against mine.

We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and racing heartbeats and labored breathing.

"Holy shit," I said when I could finally speak.

He laughed, the sound muffled against my shoulder. "Eloquent."

"I don't—I've never—" I couldn't finish the sentence.

He lifted his head, understanding in his eyes. "Never?"

"Not like that." I felt my cheeks heat. "I didn't know it could be like that."

Something fierce and possessive flashed across his face. "It should always be like that."

He rolled to the side, pulling me with him so my head rested on his chest. His heartbeat was still racing. His skin was warm and slightly damp with sweat.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm perfect." And I meant it. For the first time in hours—maybe years—I felt perfect.

We lay in comfortable silence, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my back. Through the window, the city glittered like scattered diamonds.

"Isabella?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

I lifted my head to look at him. "For what?"

"For tonight. For trusting me. For—" He paused, searching for words. "For reminding me what it feels like to be alive."

My throat tightened. "I should be thanking you."

"We can both be grateful."

I settled back against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. My eyes were heavy. The emotional exhaustion of the day was catching up with me.

"Stay," he murmured. "Sleep here. I'll take the couch."

"This is your bed."

"And you're my guest."

"Alex." I tilted my face up to his. "Stay. With me. Just for tonight."

He studied me for a long moment. Then he pulled the covers over us both, tucking me against his side.

"Just for tonight," he agreed.

I drifted off to the sound of his breathing, feeling safer than I had in years.

When I woke a few hours later, dawn was just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. Alex was still asleep beside me, his face relaxed in a way that made him look younger.

I should wake him. Say goodbye properly.

But something stopped me.

This was perfect. This night had been perfect. And I didn't want to ruin it with awkward morning-after conversations or exchanged numbers that would never be called or promises that would never be kept.

This was a moment out of time. A beautiful, perfect moment. And it should stay that way.

Carefully, quietly, I slipped out of bed. Found my dress and shoes. Grabbed my purse from where I'd dropped it near the door.

On the nightstand, I found a pen and a piece of hotel stationery.

I hesitated. Then wrote:

"Thank you for last night. -Isabella"

Short. Simple. Honest.

I placed it where he'd see it when he woke.

One last look at him, sleeping peacefully in that enormous bed, his dark hair mussed and his face soft. I memorized every detail. This was a night I'd never forget.

Then I left.

The elevator ride down felt longer than the ride up. The lobby was nearly empty at this hour. A different desk clerk nodded at me politely, not questioning why I was leaving at dawn.

Outside, the morning air was cool and fresh. The city was just waking up. Delivery trucks rumbled past. A few early morning joggers pounded the pavement.

I flagged down a taxi.

As we pulled away from The Sterling Hotel, I didn't look back.

Last night had been exactly what I needed. An escape. A reminder that I was more than what James had made me feel. A beautiful mistake that I'd carry with me forever.

But it was over now.

Time to figure out what came next.