04

He's good with words.

That thought kept ringing in my head, louder than the dull ache left behind by Noah’s betrayal. For a brief moment, I forgot the sting of it — forgot the way his lies had wrapped around me like a noose.

I didn’t realize how tipsy I was until I stumbled down the hallway, my blurry eyes desperately scanning for the restroom sign. The walls seemed to tilt, and my heels scraped noisily against the floor. Somehow, I made it to the ladies' room, staggered inside, and barely managed to lock the door behind me.

Relief flooded me as I emptied my bladder, hoping I was sobering up. But as I washed my face, cold water dripping down my chin, my vision still danced. I reached into my purse, fumbling for my handkerchief, and dabbed at my face.

When I lifted my gaze to the mirror, I froze.

A man stood beside me, his crooked smile twisting into something ugly.

I blinked, convinced I was imagining things — a drunken hallucination. But when his icy fingers snatched my wrist, the cold bite of his grip told me otherwise.

"Get off me!" I slurred, twisting against him.

He staggered back, but not far enough. He was drunk too — swaying, his breath reeking of cheap whiskey. Before I could run, he lunged.

"Don’t fight it, sweetheart," he slurred, forcing me against the wall. His foul breath crawled over my skin as he shoved his face into my neck, tracing wet kisses across my collarbone.

"Let me go!" I shoved at his chest, but he was stronger — too strong. His hand fisted in my hair, jerking my head back.

"Shut up!" he growled. "You’re lucky I’m in a good mood."

I knew what was coming — his hand twitching, ready to strike. I shut my eyes, bracing for the blow.

Instead, I heard a grunt — then the sharp crack of a fist connecting with bone.

I opened my eyes just in time to see the man crumple to the floor, groaning.

"Are you okay?" A voice — low and steady — cut through my panic.

I looked up to see him — my angel in human form. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and calm in a way that made me feel safe. His gaze softened when it landed on me.

"You drank too much, pretty," he murmured, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around my shoulders. His scent — clean, masculine, with a hint of spice — clung to the fabric.

I barely managed a weak smile before my legs gave out beneath me.

"Whoa," he caught me just before I hit the floor. "Easy now."

Before I knew it, I was in his arms, my head nestled against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my ear, comforting and warm.

I giggled softly as he set me down in his car.

"You’re leaving already?" I slurred, my fingers curling into his shirt. "Stay."

I tugged at him, clumsily trying to kiss him.

He caught my wrists and gently pushed me back into the seat. "Not tonight," he said with a soft smile. "Get some rest."

The door clicked shut, and the last thing I remembered was the warmth of his scent lingering in the air as sleep swallowed me whole.

---

I woke to the sensation of hands — warm, strong hands — shifting beneath my legs and back. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw him carrying me again. My head lolled to his chest, and I smiled, too drowsy to resist.

He laid me on the bed and tucked the blanket around me. Before I could thank him, his lips brushed my forehead — soft, lingering.

Moments later, I heard the shower running.

Curiosity got the better of me. With barely enough strength to stand, I staggered toward the bathroom. Peeking through the door, I froze.

The water cascaded down his body, tracing every defined muscle — his broad chest, his sculpted biceps, the sharp lines that dipped below his dick. His damp hair slicked back, revealing a strong jaw and high cheekbones.

He opened his eyes — piercing and dark.

I laughed — probably louder than I should have. The vodka still clouded my thoughts.

He didn’t seem startled, just... amused. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the shower.

"You wanna take a bath?" he asked, voice low and smooth.

I nodded — too quickly — and stumbled forward.

His arm shot out, steadying me. "Easy," he murmured.

I leaned into him, hugging myself to his damp body. His skin was cold from the water, yet his warmth still seeped through.

"Let’s get you cleaned up," he whispered, guiding me inside.

His fingers found the zipper of my dress, sliding it down my spine. The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me exposed in nothing but my black bra and panties.

He lifted me effortlessly, like I weighed nothing, and carried me back under the shower’s spray. My body shivered against the cold tiles, but his touch chased the chill away.

His hands slid over my skin — gentle but firm — washing away the alcohol, the grime, the night’s mess. His fingers tangled in my hair, massaging my scalp as he worked the shampoo through my strands. I closed my eyes, melting under his touch.

"You’re so good at this," I mumbled sleepily.

He chuckled. "Lucky for you, I’ve had practice."

When he finished, he wrapped me in a fluffy towel and carried me back to the bedroom.

In his walk-in closet, he grabbed a soft polo shirt and slipped it over my head. His hands drifted under the fabric, unhooking my bra with practiced ease. My panties soon followed, sliding down my legs with barely a whisper.

I felt like a child — drowsy, pliant — as he tucked me back beneath the blankets.

This time, I reached for him again.

"Stay," I murmured, fingers curling weakly around his wrist.

He sighed softly, brushing my hair from my face. "Not here," he whispered, pressing another kiss to my forehead. "Not tonight."

His eyes — deep blue and stormy — lingered on mine for a moment longer.

"You’re a gentleman," I mumbled with a sleepy grin.

He chuckled under his breath. "I didn’t know you could still talk after downing six shots of sangria and a vermouth cocktail."

I giggled, my eyelids drooping.

"Sleep," he whispered.

I watched him walk to the couch across the room, still wrapped in his robe. He stretched out, face tilted toward the ceiling, a tired sigh escaping his lips.

He stayed there, watching over me as my world faded to black.