2

Chapter 2

The hotel bar was dim, all low amber lights and velvet booths that swallowed sound. Rain lashed the floor-to-ceiling windows like it wanted in. I’d already downed three shots of tequila cheap, burning, perfect. The fourth sat in front of me, untouched for now, because my hands were shaking too hard to pick it up without spilling.

My dress clung to me like a second skin, soaked through from the run here. Black silk, the one I’d bought for the honeymoon. Low-cut, slit up the thigh. I’d worn it tonight to feel sexy for Ethan, to maybe spark something in him before the wedding. Joke’s on me.

The bartender a pretty girl with pink hair slid a napkin under my glass. 

“Rough night?” she asked, voice soft.

I laughed, bitter. “You could say that.” I finally wrapped my fingers around the shot and tossed it back. Fire raced down my throat, settled hot in my belly. Better.

I scanned the room without really seeing it. Couples murmuring, a businessman nursing whiskey alone, a group of girls laughing too loud. No one looked twice at the drenched girl in the corner with mascara tracks down her cheeks. Good. I didn’t want company. I just wanted to disappear into the haze until the pain dulled.

Except someone was watching me.

I felt it before I saw him prickling awareness at the back of my neck, like fingers ghosting over skin. My gaze drifted left, past the piano player, to the shadowed booth in the far corner.

There.

A man. Alone. Dark suit, no tie, top button undone. Mid-forties, maybe late forties silver threading through black hair at the temples, sharp jaw, eyes so dark they looked black even from here. He wasn’t staring openly. He was… assessing. Like I was a puzzle he’d already half-solved.

Our eyes met.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away. Just held my gaze, steady, unblinking. Heat crawled up my spine despite the chill of wet fabric. I should have looked away first. I didn’t.

Instead, I lifted my empty glass in a mock toast. Stupid. Reckless. His mouth curved just the barest hint of a smirk before he raised his own glass in return. Scotch, neat. Ice clinked softly.

My pulse kicked hard.

I turned back to the bar, cheeks burning. What the hell was I doing? Flirting? With a stranger? Hours after my life exploded?

But the tequila was working. The edges of everything softened. The humiliation still sat heavy in my chest, but it didn’t hurt quite as sharply now. And that man… God, he looked like trouble. The kind I’d never let myself have.

I signaled for another shot.

Before it arrived, a low voice spoke behind me. “You’re going to regret that fifth one.”

I spun on the stool.

It was him.

Up close, he was even more devastating. Tall easily over six feet broad shoulders filling out the suit like it was tailored by God himself. 

His cologne hit me first: dark, expensive, something with smoke and leather and sin. His eyes weren’t black after all; they were deep midnight blue, flecked with gold when the light caught them.

He leaned one elbow on the bar beside me, casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at me. Like he could see every tear-streaked thought in my head.

“I can handle my liquor,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.

“Can you?” His voice was low, rough velvet. “Because you’re shaking.”

I glanced down. My hands were trembling on the bar top. Damn it.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Without asking, he slid onto the stool next to mine. Close enough that his knee brushed my thigh through the slit in my dress. Electricity snapped between us.

“Rough night?” he asked, echoing the bartender. But where her tone had been kind, his was… curious. Hungry, maybe.

“You could say that.” I met his eyes again. No point in pretending. “My fiancé was fucking my best friend in our bed. Four days before the wedding.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer platitudes. Just watched me for a long beat.

Then: “He’s an idiot.”

A surprised laugh burst out of me. “Yeah. He is.”

The bartender set the new shot down. I reached for it. His hand closed gently but firmly around my wrist, stopping me.

My breath caught.

“Let it sit,” he said. Not a request. “You’re already drowning. Don’t make it worse.”

Heat flooded my face and lower. The way he said it, the quiet command in his voice… it did something to me. Something wrong and right all at once.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“Lucian Kane.” He released my wrist slowly, fingertips trailing fire along my skin. “And you are?”

“Lila.” I swallowed. “Lila Harper.”

“Lila.” He said my name like he was tasting it. Like he liked the flavor. “Pretty name for a pretty girl who’s about to make very bad decisions.”

My core clenched at the words. Bad decisions. Yes. That’s exactly what I wanted tonight.

“I’m already making them,” I said, bolder than I’d ever been. “I came here to get drunk and forget. Maybe more.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower lingering on the wet silk clinging to my breasts, the hard peaks of my nipples visible through the fabric. No bra. I hadn’t worn one tonight, thinking Ethan would appreciate it.

He noticed. His jaw tightened, just a fraction.

“Careful what you ask for, princess,” he murmured. “Some men don’t play nice.”

The word princess landed like a spark on dry tinder. My thighs pressed together instinctively.

“I don’t want nice,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to feel something. Anything. Other than… this.” I gestured vaguely at my chest, where the ache still lived.

Lucian studied me for another long moment. Then he stood, offering his hand.

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

My heart slammed against my ribs. This was insane. I didn’t know him. He could be dangerous. He probably was.

But right now, dangerous sounded better than empty.

I placed my hand in his.

His palm was warm, callused in places that spoke of control, of power. He tugged me gently off the stool. I swayed a little tequila and adrenaline and he steadied me with a hand at the small of my back. Possessive. Claiming.

We didn’t speak as he led me through the bar, past curious glances, to the private elevator at the back. He swiped a black card. The doors slid open.

Inside, the space felt too small. Too intimate. He pressed the button for the penthouse floor. Of course.

As the doors closed, he turned to face me fully.

“Last chance to change your mind, princess.”

I looked up at himreally looked. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes. The scar just under his jaw. The way his chest rose and fell a little faster now.

“I don’t want to change my mind,” I said.

His hand came up, cupping my jaw. Thumb brushing my bottom lip.

“Good girl.”

The praise hit me like a drug. My knees weakened.

Then the elevator dinged.

He didn’t wait. He scooped me up effortless, like I weighed nothing and carried me into the dark suite.

The door clicked shut behind us.

And just like that, I was his.

For tonight, at least.