Chapter Two

Fiona:

"Shit. Shit."

The morning light stabbed at my eyelids, harsh and accusing. My head pounded like a drum, and the unfamiliar sheets tangled around my legs, proof that this wasn't my bed.

"Oh God." Memories from last night crashed into me, his hands, his mouth, the way he'd growled against my skin. Heat flared low in my belly, but shame quickly doused it.

"What the hell did I do?" I bolted upright, my breath ragging. The shower was running behind the bathroom door, steam curling out like a whispered secret.

"Good. He's busy. I could still escape before he saw me. Before I had to face what I'd done." I thought as I lunged for my dress, crumpled on the floor like a discarded fantasy. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, my pulse hammering so loud that I barely heard the water shut off.

Then I heard his voice. A low, deliberate cough, right behind me.

Slowly, I turned, feeling like the ground should swallow me. But that changed the moment my face landed on him, my breath hitched, my pulse betraying me with a traitorous leap. There he stood, lean, powerful, his body still damp from the shower, droplets tracing the hard planes of his chest before disappearing beneath the towel slung carelessly low on his hips.

"Oh God." I felt my clits twitch.

I should have looked away. I should have turned and fled, reminding myself that this man, this stranger, was nothing but trouble wrapped in sinful, sun-kissed skin. But my gaze lingered, tracing the way his muscles tensed as he shifted, the way his dark eyes held mine with a knowing intensity that made my stomach tighten.

"Kiss him." The thought slammed into me, reckless and unbidden. Just once more.

My lips still burned from yesterday—that stolen moment when his mouth had crashed against mine, rough and demanding, igniting a fire I hadn't felt in years. It would be so easy to step forward, to let my fingers trail over that damp, sculpted chest, to see if he tasted just as intoxicating now as he had yesterday.

But sense—what little I had left screamed at me. "You don't even know his name. This isn't you."

And yet…That damnable smirk of his curled at the corner of his lips, as if he could read every sinful thought racing through my mind.

"Leaving so soon?" His voice was a low growl, rough like whiskey and just as dangerous.

"Yes...run, now." I thought, but my body, however, wasn't listening. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to step back. "I should go."

His grin deepened, dark and knowing. "Should you?"

The ground beneath me swayed, the air between us thick with tension. The longer I stood there, the harder it was to remember why walking away was the right choice.

"Move...now." I scolded myself as I tried to brush past him, but his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, pulling me back until I was flush against him. Heat seared through me at the contact.

“Wait—you're just gonna leave?" His voice was rough, edged with something raw.

"Jesus!" The word burst from me before I could stop it. I'm fucking struggling not to grab this man.

"Tell me how you feel." His voice was rough, demanding, and it sent a shiver straight through me. For a heartbeat, I almost gave in—almost let myself drown in the heat of his gaze, the memory of his hands on my skin.

But then it hit me. Paige and Dustin. The image of them in that bathroom—her moans, his whispers—slammed into me like a knife to the ribs. The haze of desire I felt shattered, replaced by cold, sharp reality.

"No. Not again."

I wouldn't be that woman. The one who fell for pretty words and hotter touches, only to end up broken. Without thinking, I dug into my purse, grabbed a fistful of cash, and slapped it against his bare chest. "Here." My voice was ice. "Thank you for yesterday."

"What the hell?" His grip on me loosened in shock, and I yanked my wrist free.

"Really?" Disgust dripped from his tone, his eyes darkening. "You think I did this for money?"

"Last night was a mistake," I said, already backing toward the door. "Let's pretend it never happened."

His expression darkened. "You don't mean that." He said, his voice louder than before, but I didn't wait to respond. I couldn't. Because the truth? This man was dangerous. Not in the way that creep at the bar had been—no, this was worse.

He made me want more of him. And after what Dustin did, I refused to be fooled again by a man.

The second I stepped outside, the cool air hit me like a wake-up call. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over my father's contact.

I heaved a deep breath, when I heard his voice.

"Hello."

"Dad?" The words spilled out the moment he answered. "Remember the collaboration our family has with my husband? Cancel it. And get me a lawyer."

He didn't say anything, I was just hearing his breathing on the other side of the phone.

"Fiona!" He finally said.

"Dad! I'm divorcing that bastard I was married to for years." The words hung in the air like a declaration of war. My chest heaved with each ragged breath, hours of suppressed anger finally finding its voice. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and my father's shallow breathing on the other end.

"Fiona, sweetheart..." His voice was careful, measured. "What happened? You sound—"

"Broken? Destroyed? Like my entire life has been a lie?" I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "Because that's exactly what I am, Dad. I caught him with my so-called friend in our bathroom, at our anniversary party, with all our friends just downstairs." The memory burned fresh, like touching a live wire.

My father's sharp intake of breath told me everything I needed to know. He'd suspected something too.

"How long have you known?" I demanded, my voice cracking despite my efforts to stay strong.