CHAPTER TWO: COLLISION

She checked his pulse. Thready. Skin clammy. He needed help.

But she couldn't go back inside. Couldn't face that hospital again.

"Come on." She hooked her arms under his shoulders, straining against his weight. He was tall, muscular, dead weight in her arms. "Walk with me."

Step by painful step, she dragged him across the parking lot. Her muscles screamed. Sweat dripped down her spine. Fifty yards down the street, a hotel sign flickered. VACANCY.

The front desk clerk barely glanced up as Maya stumbled in. "Wedding reception. Too much to drink."

The lie worked. Key card in hand, she half-carried him up the stairs to room 217.

Maya laid him on the bed and stripped off his jacket and shirt. A four-inch gash along his ribs. She worked quickly, alcohol wipes, butterfly bandages, gauze. Her hands moved automatically while her mind replayed James and Jennifer, their bodies tangled together, their laughter.

The tears came again.

"Beautiful." The man's voice was rough, drugged. His fingers brushed her wet cheek. "You're... crying."

Maya jerked back. "You need to rest. Do you know what you took?"

His hand caught her wrist, pulling gently. "Don't cry. Too beautiful... to be sad."

She should leave. This was wrong. He was drugged, she was destroyed, nothing good could come from this.

But his thumb traced her cheekbone, wiping away tears with surprising tenderness. His eyes, even dilated and hazy, looked at her like she mattered. Like she was wanted.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

His hand slid into her hair. He pulled her down slowly, giving her time to resist. She didn't.

When his lips touched hers, soft and questioning, something inside Maya broke open.

She kissed him back desperately, hungrily. His mouth was warm, tasting of whiskey and something bitter. His hands found her waist, pulling her onto the bed. She went willingly, pressing against him.

This was insane. Wrong. But god, she needed this. Needed someone to want her.

His fingers found her zipper. She helped him push the dress off her shoulders.

"Perfect," he breathed against her neck, lips trailing fire along her collarbone. "God, you're perfect."

His hands were everywhere. Reverent. Desperate. Exploring her body like she was precious.

He filled her completely. Stretched her. Maya wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

The cheap bed frame creaked beneath them but she didn't care. Nothing existed except this moment, this feeling, this man making her feel alive.

They collapsed together, breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.

But he didn't pull away. His mouth found hers again, kissing her slowly this time. Thoroughly.

"More," he murmured against her lips. "I want more of you."

"I can't…"

"You can."

Maya lost count of how many times she came. Lost track of time entirely.

Finally, exhausted, they collapsed into tangled sleep.

When Maya woke up in the morning, her body ached in unfamiliar places. The memories of last night crashed over her, the stranger, the hours of desperate passion.

She turned her head.

The bed beside her was empty.

Maya sat up quickly, the sheet falling away. His clothes were gone. No note. No trace of him except the rumpled sheets and the faint scent of his cologne.

He'd left.

Of course he'd left.

Maya pressed her hand to her mouth, fresh tears threatening. What had she expected? That a drugged stranger would wake up and want to see her again? That last night meant something beyond two broken people seeking comfort?

She'd been used again. Just in a different way.

Maya got up and went home. But what happened the next day was the worst of it all.

Maya woke up the second day, there was a wetness on her face. She touched her upper lip and her fingers came away red.

Blood.

She stumbled to the bathroom, gripping the sink. Blood dripped steadily from her nose, splashing into the white porcelain. She grabbed tissues, pressing them to her face, but it kept coming.