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Chapter 1: Games

Melissa

In the cool darkness of the semi-crowded bar, I study the glass in front of me and consider my journey, how many steps I’ve taken in the last two years, how far I’ve come. Memories of my old life fade like smoke in a glass. The shame that held me so tightly now dances at the edges of my mind like the whisper of a bad dream, a flicker of shadows that no longer make sense in my world.

Young women in shiny slip dresses twist and laugh on the dance floor, but instead of resentment, my lips curl into a smile. My old self—cynical, bitter, defeated—is a memory I have to work hard to recall. These days I could dance all night with them, but I’d rather spend my energy on other things.

The slim glass holds a pale amber liquid, and I can’t resist taking a sip. An involuntary wince pinches my eyes as I put it down. Seven and seven. Refreshing citrus dragged down by the heavy undertone of whiskey. So gross.

Sliding my palms over my thighs, I realize my outfit isn’t much different from the girls’ on the dance floor. The deep red silk is fitted at my waist, and drapes loosely over my torso. My long, dark hair is swept over one shoulder revealing a thin spaghetti strap. I lightly touch the delicate gold chain around my neck leading to the floating heart pendant that sits between my collarbones, and light glances off the thick gold cuff on my wrist.

Unlike that night almost two years ago, I’m alone. My best friend Elaine is miles away with her new husband, most likely indulging in that blissful honeymoon period of early marriage. Make that, most certainly indulging. I know those two well.

No, I came by myself to this bar in Princeton after finishing my business with a client in town. My infant son is in Wilmington, spending the weekend with his grandmother. Studying my hands, I admire the deep blue sapphire ring on my finger, but I have no wedding band.

At thirty-two, I’m an unmarried mother of a beautiful little boy, and I wouldn’t change a thing... Yet. The tiny silver scar at my hairline reminds me of what a bad marriage looks like, and with my successful marketing business and the gorgeous cottage at the beach I own, I’m satisfied with my life. Calm, not desperate. I’ll take my next steps deliberately, with certainty.

All these thoughts preoccupy my mind when I blink up and catch him watching me from across the square-shaped bar. Blue eyes, strikingly blue because of the way they stand out beneath his dark brow, coupled with collar-length thick dark hair.

He’s massive, at least six-two, and elegantly dressed with a thick stainless watch on his wrist. I can spot his type a mile away—rich, powerful, accustomed to getting what he wants. I can’t deny the hum his gaze sets off under my skin. I know what he wants.

Catching my lip in my teeth to stop my grin, I know what I want, too, and it’s no coincidence I happened to look up at that exact moment to meet his stare. Still, I’ll make him work for it.

He starts to move, his eyes never leaving mine. I don’t look away either. Thick cords of muscle ripple beneath the thin black sweater he wears as he glides past the oblivious patrons talking and laughing. Some are more animated than others, waving their arms and putting their drinks in peril.

Yellow lights hidden in the recesses above the bar illuminate rows of liquor bottles in all colors and shapes. Glasses hanging upside down above also catch the flickering light. It’s a raucous atmosphere, but this man and I are in our own secret place of longing and desire.

As he rounds the final corner, and I see him in full, my breath quickens. My eyes drift from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, grey slacks and black shoes, then back up just as he reaches me. A close beard shadows his face, and the muscles low in my pelvis tighten at the thought of how it feels brushing the soft skin of my inner thighs.

“Can I buy you a drink?” The low vibration of his voice touches every part of me, and the intoxicating hint of his cologne surrounds me.

Casually, I motion to the glass. “I have this.” My voice is softer and higher compared to his.

“You don’t like it.” A tease twinkles in his eyes, and I almost forget my line.

“How can you tell?”

He leans in close, “You make a face every time you sip it. I’ve been watching you.”

Soft lips graze my skin, and I catch his forearm to steady myself. “Why?”

The tables have turned, it seems, and now I have to work to stay focused. My body is like a spoiled child accustomed to instant gratification, and my insides are clenching, demanding him.

He straightens and clears his throat. “Maybe I should introduce myself. Derek Alexander.”

I slide my noticeably smaller hand across his large palm. “Melissa Jones.”

“A last name, Miss Jones?” A sexy grin curls his small nose, and a million pornographic memories floo

d my mind of that nose nudging into my dark spaces, those lips plundering areas of my body he knows will drive me wild as I moan and twist in white sheets, my fingers threading in his dark hair.

Clearing the thickness in my throat, I say under my breath, “I messed up.”

His fingers close over mine. “Sweet Melissa, that’s impossible.”

At once I remember, and I take back my hand. “I’m not so sweet.”

“Let’s skip the cava.” His eyes are dark, but I’m back to coy.

“Aren’t we celebrating?”

“We can celebrate after I show you the stars.”

“Where exactly are you planning to do this star gazing?”

“I have the key to a condo just across the street. It has a private balcony.”

For a moment, I consider how intimidating this mountain of sex standing in front of me is. At the same time, I’ve never felt afraid. Thrilling anticipation, yes, but never fear. “Why do you have a key?”

“Because I used to live there.”

“That sounds dangerous.” My elbow is in his firm grip, and I allow him to help me off my barstool. Even in my tall stiletto heels, my head only reaches the top of his shoulder.

“I’ll keep you safe.”