Page 4

His hand drops away from my cheek and closes around mine as we step into the cold Chicago night. Every lesson my father ever taught me about dangerous men fires through my brain in rapid succession.

The scarred knuckles. The watch on his wrist that costs more than three months of my rent. The way he closed out that bar tab without a single glance at the total, as if money is something he breathes without thinking about. All of it screams danger, power, and a world I walked away from the day I buried my father.

And here I am, fingers laced through a stranger's, letting him lead me down a rain-slicked sidewalk at one in the morning.

Good job, Neve. Dad would be so proud.

But my father never taught me what to do when the dangerous man smells like irresistible sin, cold night air, and looks at me like I'm the only person in this whole city worth talking to. His lessons covered the men who want something from you. They didn't cover the ones who look at you like you're the something they've been missing in their lives.

Rain mists over my bare arms and I shiver. He pulls me closer until my shoulder presses into his side, solid and warm, and his thumb draws a slow circle against the inside of my wrist. The motion is small, barely there, and the pulse of heat it sends between my thighs is absolutely absurd.

And delicious.

"No names," I say as we walk, because I need a rule, any rule, to keep this thing from becoming something more than one reckless night. "No sad stories. No numbers. We don't exist after sunrise. Right?"

He glances down at me, those dark whiskey-colored eyes unreadable in the glow of passing streetlights. "I do think we agreed to that earlier.”

I lean into his warmth. “I just need to hear you say it again.”

“Yes, sweetness. You have my word."

I take a shaky breath. I thought putting myself out there was going to be harder. I don’t exactly scream sexy bar fox ready to go home with strangers. I set out tonight with one goal in mind and that is to just forget all about my troubles. I’ve always had to work for every single thing in my life. I thought tonight would be no different.

But this man is making it the easiest decision of my life.

I file all the little details away. The scars on the backs of his knuckles, the money I know he has, the way he carries himself. His shoulders are loose, his stride even, but he scans every shadow on the street without turning his head. Every bit of it screams danger. My father moved through the world the same way.

A hundred questions fire off in my brain, but I zip my lips. I have no right to ask a damn thing about a man who is only a one-night stand to me.

But still, I can’t help thinking I'm either making the best decision of my life or the last one.

We stop in front of a building I've walked past a hundred times without a second look.

“We’re here.”

I raise my gaze up the tall building. It has a vibe about it that feels oddly inviting with its dark brick and clean lines. He punches a code into a keypad recessed into the doorframe and the lock gives with a heavy, mechanical click.

"Is this your place?"

"For tonight, yes. I move around a lot."

More red flags, but all I need from him is a single night.

He pushes the door open and holds it, watching me with steady eyes. Waiting. Giving me the choice of following him or turning back.

My cheeks flame red as does the rest of my body. And then I step inside.

The elevator is sleek metal and silent. He stands close enough for the heat rolling off his body to evaporate the rain clinging to my skin. His scent fills the small space. A combination of spicy sandalwood and something underneath. Like fresh laundry dried in the sun. My lungs take it in so deep I know I'll remember him for days, no, weeks to come after our time together ends.

The doors slide shut and the elevator climbs. I press my back against the cool metal wall to put distance between us because my hands are two seconds from doing something stupid. Like loosening his belt and demanding he take me right here and right now.

The distance doesn't help cool my fires. The space is too small and he is too much. The scent of him is making my brain short-circuit.

As if sensing my mental war, he turns his head. Those dark whiskey eyes drop to my mouth and stay there.

"Let me have a small taste of those pretty lips, sweetness."

His voice is low. Unhurried. Like a man who knows what he wants and always gets it.