That last part alone should have made me smack him, but seriously, what good has talking with a man done for me lately? Action and flagrant desire might be where it’s at.
Because that… that right there. That look of unrestrained attraction and interest is doing unbelievable things to my belly. It’s clenching and coiling and swirling and swooping—all because of this one look. That one bold offer. I cannot remember the last time a man made me feel this way. Looked at me like this. Flirted with me so openly.
He’s not even overdoing it, though it’s hardly subtle, and we haven’t exactly shared a lot of words yet.
But screw it.
I’m free to behave in all the wrong ways, answering to no one but my conscience.
I want to continue this with him because the heat pooling low in my belly is playing tricks on my mind. It’s filling me with the cloying taste of shared lust. It’s spoon-feeding me ridiculous rationales that never fail to appear brilliant in the moment. Things like, maybe one night of no-strings, hot sex with an attractive stranger is exactly what I need to put my past behind me and start fresh. Makes total sense, right? Besides, this guy didn’t come to this bar and sit beside me hoping to find the love of his life.
No, he’s seeking meaningless fun.
Something I hadn’t considered until he sat down beside me.
I’ve never had meaningless fun.
I’ve never been careless or silly or wild. That was always Cat. I’ve been careful and planned and organized.
And look what all that got me.
My marriage officially ended today.
Four years of a relationship, of my life, are over, and I’ll never be able to get them back.
I’m overwhelmed with the oddest concoction of elation and heartache and fear and anticipation. So much so that my thoughts have been racing all day, on the plane and in the cab ride and upstairs in my room. It’s why I came down to the bar, hoping alcohol would put a stop to them.
So here I am. Just moved to a new town in a new state, about to start a new job—one I seriously do not feel comfortable with or qualified for—and I’m only now figuring out who I am without being David Chambers’s wife. And the best part, I think I like her. She’s like a badass demon on a power trip laced with speed, out to take her life back. Well, at least that’s the story I’m selling myself. It nearly gets me through all the anxiety and fucking panic I have coursing through my blood.
I made it through my childhood and went to college. And where did that land me? Right before I graduated with my master’s in education, I met and fell in love with David Chambers—older, pro-athlete, charming, and gorgeous.
About two years later, I started eating shit and smiling through it daily. I transformed who and what I was several times over so I could be the wife he wanted. The wife he needed. And finally, when his apologies were no longer enough. When the trinkets he bought me did nothing but make me violent. When the thought of his touch made me ill. When I could no longer stand my reflection in the mirror.
I left.
So yeah. This new life? It’s all about me.
Starting now. Starting here.
With this stranger.
He’s been waiting for my response to his question. And again, I replay his words in my mind. Yes. If that’s what you want? I face him head-on, square my shoulders, and tuck away the nerves that threaten to overrun me and ruin this whole operation.
Evidently, Luca grows bored waiting on me because the next thing I know, his hand is on my thigh, just above my knee.
My eyes close, my head falling back because what the hell? I have chills. They’re running up and down my arms, and all he’s doing is touching my leg. My chin dips. My head twists.
Mint green.
That’s the color of his eyes fanned with dark lashes. The color should be cold, but the intensity in those beautiful eyes suddenly heats my blood, flushing my cheeks. He has a small brown freckle in his left iris, which adds a hint of character. His jaw is the strong, chiseled from stone type—smooth, even at this hour in the evening. It makes me wonder if he went home and shaved before coming out. His chestnut hair is wavy, slightly unruly on top, and short on the sides. But the way a small lock of it flops affectionately onto his forehead—like it can’t help itself—is what softens his angled, streamlined features.
He’s insanely hot. Staggeringly so. Tall, even sitting beside me in the chair, with broad shoulders and muscles barely contained beneath his nondescript charcoal slacks and black long-sleeved button-down. The color seems to make his eyes even lighter. Almost colorless. I’ve never seen anything like them.
He smiles, those eyes feasting on each of my features one by one, and all the sparks I haven’t felt in more than two years? Well, yeah, I’ve got them now. My skin is zinging like it’s a methed up version of Fourth of July fireworks.
Luca’s smile grows, and I realize it’s because I’ve somehow drifted closer to him. So close our mouths are almost touching. Nearly kissing. Right here, out in the open.
“Is that a yes?” he hums, his bourbon-infused breath caressing my lips.
Is it? I still haven’t answered.
I survey him, dragging myself back and forcing a sober once-over. I don’t get the serial killer vibes from him. He wants me sober, which means he doesn’t want to take advantage of me. It also means he’s cautious, careful with his lovers. Stupidly, this makes me trust him when I likely should know better.
I blink at him.
“Yes.” No regrets. No holding back. One night to wash away the bad juju of my past and start this new life on an uptick. Sucking in a deep, tremulous breath, I say, “I have a room here at the hotel.”
Now it’s his turn to suck in a deep breath. I don’t think he was expecting me to go straight there. He was probably waiting for me to tell him off or nervously ask if we could spend more time talking. But I don’t need to talk to him if I’m never going to see him again after tonight.
Luca stares at me, those iridescent greens trying to read everything I’m desperate to hide. He says nothing. Doesn’t lean in to kiss me. Instead, his hand slides slowly up my thigh, over the hem of my dress until it’s resting over mine. His fingertips, warm and rough, gently run along the bones of my fingers. The texture of his skin against mine is like magic.
A jolt of electricity courses through me.
His hand twines with mine, knotting our fingers together. It’s so intimate, this position we’re in. His face right here, his hand holding mine, and I inhale the spicy musk of his heady cologne. My heart is beating so wildly in my chest, I know he can feel my pulse thrum through my palm.
“Are you okay with this just being tonight?” he asks gently.
“That’s all I want.” Truth.
“You sure? Because that’s all I have to offer.”
There’s so much behind that statement. Curiosity burns at me, but he doesn’t owe me explanations just as I don’t owe him any. I wonder how many women he’s done this with. How many women told him they only wanted one night and then sought more in the morning. His looks alone could make a nun’s panties wet and have her second-guessing her love of Jesus.
“Then we’re two peas in a pod.”
A chuckle slips past his lips as he stands, releasing my hand. He tugs his wallet from his back pocket, drops a couple large bills on the bar, then retakes my hand. Quick steps rush out of the restaurant, through the opulent marble lobby, over to the bank of elevators.