Chapter 4: Heat Of The Unknown.

Riley’s POV

The car ride was too quiet.

Too dark.

Too hot.

I clung to the man beside me like he was the only solid thing left in a world that had gone completely sideways. His scent, leather, spice, danger, wrapped around me like a second skin.

My fingers stayed locked in the fabric of his shirt. My cheek rested against his chest, breathing him in like oxygen.

Something was wrong with me.

I wasn’t drunk.

Not exactly.

But my skin buzzed. My blood felt molten. My body… starved.

Every nerve was alive, sparking, craving. Every beat of his heart thundered against my cheek, and then faster, like mine was syncing to it.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

The silence between us sizzled, thick with something we didn’t name.

We reached the hotel. A private elevator carried us to the top floor, marble underfoot, gold glinting from light fixtures, the kind of place where the curtains cost more than my rent.

I should have run.

Instead, I clung tighter.

He guided me into the penthouse, his arm still wrapped around my waist, not possessive, protective. But that heat, whatever it was inside me, was growing. Unstoppable.

He opened the door.

I stepped in.

And everything snapped.

The moment the door shut, my knees buckled.

I fell into him.

This time, he didn’t catch me to hold me upright.

He caught me to keep me close.

His hands found my waist, fingers splaying wide. I could feel him shaking. Just a little. Like a bomb at the edge of detonation.

“Please…” I whispered, though I didn’t know what I was asking for.

“Please what?” he murmured. His voice, rough silk, trailed down my spine.

“I… don’t know,” I breathed. “Make it stop.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest. “I don’t think I can.”

“Please…”

And then we crashed.

Mouth to mouth.

Heat to heat.

Need meeting need like flame to oil.

His hands threaded through my hair, pulled me closer. His lips didn’t ask, they took. My body answered without permission.

I wasn’t thinking.

I wasn’t rational.

I was burning.

His jacket hit the floor. My heels vanished. My back found the wall, then the bed, then nothing but warmth and want.

I had never been touched like this. Never been wanted like this.

He devoured me.

And I let him.

****

Early Morning

The sunlight was cruel.

My eyes cracked open, dry and aching.

My head throbbed, not from alcohol, but something deeper. Like I had run a marathon through fire. My skin tingled like memory.

This wasn’t my ceiling.

This wasn’t my bed.

The sheets were crisp. Clean. Expensive. They smelled like him.

And it all came rushing back.

The club.

The fire.

The stranger with the steel eyes and velvet voice.

I sat up, the sheet falling away, baring my skin to the chilled morning air. My breath caught.

He was gone.

Good.

Better.

I couldn’t look him in the eye.

Not after giving him all of me, without knowing his name.

Then I saw it.

On the table.

A check.

I rose slowly, legs sore, pulse stuttering. A robe had been left for me. I pulled it on with shaking hands.

The check was crisp, clean, white.

Blank.

No amount. No name.

Just a signature at the bottom: Michael Gray.

A note clipped to it:

You were unforgettable.

Let’s make this temporary.

Be my girlfriend, for appearances. A month.

Fill in the amount.

My breath seized.

A slow, sick twist spiraled in my chest.

So this was what I meant to him?

A transaction.

An act.

A price tag.

He thought I was one of those women, cheap. Opportunistic. Buyable.

Rage rose, hot and blinding.

I tore the check in half.

Then again.

Then again.

Until nothing was left but jagged scraps falling like ash.

The door behind me opened.

I didn’t turn.

I didn’t have to.

His voice, smooth, unfazed, drifted toward me. “Not a fan of money?”

I turned sharply, fists clenched, cheeks flushed with fury.

“You think that night gave you the right to price-tag me?”

His brow lifted, annoyingly calm. “You were the one clinging to me, sweetheart.”

“You touched me first.”

“You begged for it.”

A slap of silence.

My voice cracked. “Because someone drugged me.”

That wiped the smirk off his face.

Just for a second.

But it was enough.

I crossed the room, shoved the torn paper against his chest.

“You don’t get to define me by one night. And you sure as hell don’t get to buy me like some toy to show off.”

He caught the pieces before they fell.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

I walked to the door.

Barefoot.

Shaking.

But proud.

I paused, just once and looked over my shoulder.

“Next time you try to buy someone, Michael Gray…”

I locked eyes with him.

“Make sure they’re actually for sale.”

Then I left.

Head high.

Heart pounding.

And his name echoing in my chest like something I didn’t want, but couldn’t quite forget.