Page 2

Chapter

Two

J ason leaned back in the booth, his fingers wrapped loosely around his glass of scotch, as the woman from the bar made her way toward him. He’d noticed her earlier—the way she laughed too easily, the confidence in her stride. She had that kind of presence, the kind that turned heads without trying. Wavy auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders, catching the dim glow of the bar lights, and her body—well, her body was made for sin. Painted-on jeans. A low-cut top that hinted at more than it revealed. And those green eyes—sharp, assessing, with just enough challenge to make his pulse tick up a notch.

She stopped beside his booth, one hip cocked, her lips curling into something between a smirk and an invitation.

“Anyone sitting here?”

He didn’t bother playing coy. Instead, he shifted deeper into the booth, stretching his arm across the back of the seat, and gestured beside him. “You are, darling.”

Her lips twitched. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

He took a slow sip of scotch, letting the warmth settle in his chest before he answered. “You came to me, sweetheart. Seems like things are looking up.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she slid in next to him, her thigh pressing against his. Even through denim, the contact sent heat licking up his spine, a stark reminder that he’d spent too much time alone, too much time pretending he didn’t need this.

Then again, tonight was his last night of freedom. Tomorrow, he signed his soul away—his career, his name, his goddamn pride—all neatly packaged in a contract he hated. But tonight? Tonight, he could take what he wanted.

Or, at least, he thought he could.

Because before he could do anything about the stunning woman pressing up against him, a second woman slid into the booth on his other side. Blonde, blue-eyed, and radiating irritation.

Shit.

It had been a while since he’d had two women in his orbit, but judging by the daggers the blonde was shooting him, this wasn’t that kind of party.

The redhead—Stacia, apparently—let out a sigh and cast her friend a look that hovered between exasperation and amusement. “Jason, meet Sophie. Sophie, meet Jason. Try not to bite him.”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “No promises.”

He huffed out a laugh, glancing between them. “So, what’s the deal? You travel in pairs? Some kind of bodyguard situation?”

“Something like that,” Sophie muttered, arms crossed.

Stacia ignored her. Instead, she turned to him, extending a hand like they were about to discuss business instead of flirt. “Stacia.”

He took it, shaking once, noting the contrast—soft fingers, firm grip. “Jason. So what’s a gorgeous woman like you doing in a place like this?”

Her lips parted like she might say something else, but Sophie made a sound of disgust. “Oh, come on. ‘So what’s a gorgeous woman like you doing in a place like this?’ That’s what you’re going with?”

Jason grinned. “Hey, don’t knock the classics.”

Stacia laughed, and something unfamiliar tugged in his chest. Amusement? Actual enjoyment? Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt either.

“You’re ignoring her, right?” Stacia asked, tilting her head toward Sophie.

“Completely,” he confirmed, his fingers drifting up to play with a strand of her hair. He didn’t miss the way she shivered, the way she instinctively leaned into the touch.

Sophie, however, was immune to charm. “I’m serious. You hurt her, and I will make your life hell.”

Jason barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “She looks like she can handle herself.”

“She can,” Sophie shot back. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t intervene if necessary.”

“Jesus, Sophie,” Stacia muttered, a tinge of red coloring her cheeks. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

“You need someone looking out for you,” Sophie countered.

Jason took another sip of his drink, watching the exchange with fascination. Whatever had brought Stacia here tonight, it clearly had her friend on edge.

A moment later, Sophie’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and muttered a curse under her breath.

“Great. I have to go.”

Jason fought a grin. “Aw, and just when we were bonding.”

Sophie shot him a glare hot enough to melt steel. Then, turning to Stacia, she hesitated. “You good?”

Stacia leaned into Jason’s side, her cheek brushing against his shoulder. “Just about.”

Sophie snorted. “Remember, I have your picture.”

She slid out of the booth, making sure to smack him with her bag on the way out. Jason smothered a chuckle as she disappeared into the crowd.

“She’s a little protective,” Stacia admitted, picking up her drink.

“A little?” He arched a brow. “She nearly patted me down for weapons.”

She grinned. “She means well.”

“And yet, you came over here anyway,” he mused.

“I did.”

His curiosity flared. “Why?”

She traced the rim of her glass, her expression turning thoughtful. “It’s been a rough year. I’ve spent too much time being the responsible one, putting everyone else first. Tonight, I just wanted… something different. Something fun.”

“And you think I’m fun?”

She met his gaze, something hot and knowing flickering in her eyes. “I think you could be.”

Arousal burned low in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. His life was a goddamn disaster, his future a cage, but Stacia? She was offering something simple. No promises. No expectations. Just heat and distraction.

It was tempting as hell.

But he still had to ask. “You looking for a night of bad decisions, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, studying him. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, she leaned in, her breath warm against his jaw. “I prefer to think of it as seizing the moment.”

He huffed out a laugh, then downed the rest of his scotch. What the hell.

"Dinner, Miss Stacia?"

D inner had been a blur of sharp banter and heated glances. By the time they stepped into the hotel elevator, the air between them crackled like a live wire. Stacia pressed her back against the mirrored wall, pulse thrumming, her fingers absently toying with the strap of her clutch.

Was she having second thoughts? Was he?

Jason caught her eye, his gaze dark, assessing. His jacket stretched tight over broad shoulders, and she imagined how he’d look without it—without the shirt beneath it—without anything at all.

A slow, teasing smile curved her lips as she tilted her head. The ball was in his court.

Was he up for this?

She didn’t give him a chance to decide. Instead, she leaned in, brushing her lips against his in a soft, testing kiss. He was warm, solid, the faint taste of whiskey lingering on his tongue when he responded.

Her fingers trailed down his chest, the hard ridges of muscle beneath his shirt sending a delicious shiver through her. Lower still, her hand brushed over the rigid length straining against his jeans.

“Are you happy to see me, or is that your phone?” she murmured against his lips.

He grinned, lifting his phone in his other hand. “Guess that answers that.”

Game on.

The elevator dinged.

She stumbled slightly as she stepped onto the hotel’s plush carpet, her heel catching on the lip where the floor met the hallway. Jason’s hands caught her instantly, steadying her, his grip firm and sure. Heat flared where he touched her, a full-body tingle spreading from his hands up her arms and straight to her core.

She sucked in a breath. Maybe it was the Southern Comfort sours she’d nursed earlier, or maybe it was the anticipation of what came next, but her entire body felt like it was floating. No artificial courage needed—she was flying high on the thrill of this.

His hands slid down, lingering on the curve of her lower back before drifting lower still. A teasing squeeze over the curve of her ass had her body humming in response.

She turned into him, inhaling his scent—leather, cedar, and a hint of danger.

His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Are you sure, Stacia?”

She curled her fingers into his jacket, yanking him closer. The force sent her stumbling back against the hallway wall, but she didn’t care—his weight pinned her, his scent surrounded her, his mouth—God, his mouth—captured hers in a kiss that stole her breath.

His tongue swept inside, slow and thorough, teasing, taking. Her fingers tangled in the short strands at the nape of his neck, nails scraping, needing him closer.

He groaned, the sound raw, and pressed against her, his arousal unmistakable. Heat pooled low in her belly, her thighs clenching in anticipation.

Then, abruptly, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his breath ragged.

She wasn’t the only one losing her mind.

Jason let out a rough chuckle. “We need to get inside before I take you right here.”

“Then open the damn door,” she whispered, dragging her nails down his chest.

His fingers fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the key card. But when he tried to slide it into the lock, his hands weren’t steady.

A devilish thought struck her.

She pressed against his back, arms sliding around his waist. Her hands skimmed over the tight muscle of his abs, lower still, fingers teasing the hard ridge of his erection through denim.

The key card slipped from his fingers, bouncing on the carpet.

“Jesus, Stacia,” he growled, his voice half-laugh, half-warning. “You’re killing me.”

She laughed, reveling in the way she could unravel him. She, the good girl. The responsible one. The one who never did anything reckless. If her father knew what she was doing right now, he’d probably keel over.

That thought only made her press closer, emboldened.

Jason spun in one swift motion, grabbing her wrists, pinning them against the door above her head. His eyes burned, the control he was barely hanging onto fraying at the edges.

“Behave,” he murmured, his mouth brushing her jaw, his stubble grazing her skin.

She swallowed hard, her breath catching. “Make me.”

His growl was pure sin as he finally slid the key into the slot and shoved the door open.

They stumbled inside, the door slamming shut behind them. Then Jason had her pressed against the cool wood, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss so deep, so demanding, it left her gasping.

He was fire and chaos and temptation wrapped in six-foot-plus of pure masculine power.

She wrapped a leg around his waist, pressing into the hard, insistent length of him. His fingers gripped her thighs, dragging her closer, as his mouth left a scorching path down her throat.

Somehow, her blouse had slipped off one shoulder. His hands traced the exposed skin, teasing the strap of her bra down with his knuckles. When his thumb brushed her nipple through the lace, sensation speared through her, hot and sudden.

Her breath hitched.

He grinned against her skin, the rogue in his smile making her knees weak.

“You’re playing dirty,” she whispered.

He dragged his lips lower, across her collarbone, lower still. “Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The next thing she knew, her blouse and bra were gone, and Jason’s mouth was on her, tongue and teeth and lips working her into a frenzy.

Her fingers raked through his hair, holding him close. He groaned, nipping, licking, making her squirm against him, friction delicious but not nearly enough.

When he finally pulled back, she was dazed, breathing hard, her body on fire.

Jason, for all his self-control, wasn’t faring much better. His chest heaved, his pupils blown wide. He looked at her like he was barely keeping it together, like she was his last good decision before a series of very bad ones.

She reached for his waistband, her fingers teasing the button. “I think you’re overdressed.”

He let out a shaky breath, a wicked smirk curving his lips. “You offering to fix that?”

“Oh, I’m insisting.”

She popped the button open, dragging the zipper down. He kicked his jeans off, and holy hell?—

“Commando?” She arched a brow, running her fingers over the velvet-hard length of him.

“Too constricting,” he murmured, his hands sliding down her sides.

“Thank God for that.” She returned her attention to his cock, tentatively stroking him lightly. He groaned in response as it jerked. She laughed and renewed her attentions, running her fingers lightly up and down, then harder, rubbing the drop of pre-come at the tip over the wide, dark head.

After a few seconds, Jason grabbed her hand and slid out from under her, shucking his jeans in a smooth, practiced motion. He returned to the bed, pinning her, kissing her with a stronger urgency, more insistent. Her passion rose to a fever pitch.

He slipped his fingers between her legs, stroking her wetness. He pressed his fingers into her core, sinking one finger into her channel. She gasped, her muscles going boneless and weak. Her head fell back against the pillow and her legs fell open, giving him better access. He explored her gently, flicking one finger against the small bundle of nerves at the apex while swirling his fingers up and down her slit to tease her opening, then darted them away. He plunged one then two fingers deep and took her mouth with his, his tongue mimicking his fingers’ action below, with an occasional flick of his thumb.

Passion thundered in her blood, swamping her in emotions. Her breath came in shallow pants as she struggled to pull in oxygen. Her muscles tightened, heels digging in the mattress. She clenched the sheets, twisting and pleading for something that danced just out of reach. Suddenly, she exploded, her back bowing on the bed. She cried out and sagged into the bed, relaxed, but not fully satisfied. He leaned over to the bed stand and pulled a condom out of the drawer.

Doubt reared its ugly head again, the condom a reminder that she was one of possibly many women in his life. But he did choose her over all of the other women in the bar, including Sophie, who always got the guy. “I wasn’t the only one planning for this.”

“Always prepared.” He slipped on the condom then turned back to her, his impressive erection pointing toward the ceiling.

“Never figured you for a Boy Scout.”

“Right again. Just hopeful.”

She raised her arms. “I’m so glad. Now get over here and finish the job.”

He gently lowered himself over her, his skin slowly gliding over hers, creating a friction that made her shiver. He guided himself into her slick channel, inching slowly forward, then back out again. Every time he slipped in, he went a little further, teasing her, readying her.

Sensations built much quicker, her nerve endings heightened and primed for the next step. The slow pace was killing her. She wrapped a leg around his torso and pulled, arching her back to meet his thrust. When he finally slid inside her, inch by slow, torturous inch, she gasped, her nails digging into his back.

He paused for a moment, his forehead against hers, while she adjusted to the fullness. Her breath caught and she moaned, low and long, the feeling of completeness unexpected and unfamiliar. The world seemed to pause while she absorbed the sensations; she clenched the muscles in his back, panting, another orgasm just out of reach.

He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, breathing ragged.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She cupped his face, staring into stormy eyes that held something deeper than just lust.

“More than okay,” she breathed. “Now move.”

His slow control shattered.

He took her hard and deep, drawing out every sound, every shiver, every last ounce of pleasure. The world disappeared—there was only Jason, only heat and friction and the perfect push and pull that sent her spiraling into bliss.

She shifted slightly and he moved within her, her muscles grabbing and pulling at him, the sweet friction making her eyes roll back. She wiggled her hips again, nudging against him, growing more insistent. Finally, he began to move again, slowly at first then faster as she matched him thrust for thrust. Soon, groans filled the air, along with the rising scent of arousal. The headboard banged against the wall, but she had no time to register or even adjust as she was swept along the tide of their lovemaking. Stacia came with a tight clench of muscles and a loud cry. Jason followed her over the edge, sagging onto her, breathing heavily.

After several long moments, he rolled to his side and pulled out gently, preserving the condom. He tossed it in the wastebasket, and fell back onto the bed, his breathing still labored. He put an arm around her and she snuggled close, spent, tangled in sheets and him, struggling to catch her breath.

Jason pressed a lazy kiss to her shoulder, his voice rough with amusement.

“Damn, Stacia. You’d be worth any bad press.”

S unlight speared through the gap in the curtains, an unrelenting blade of gold slicing directly into Stacia’s skull. She groaned, instinctively trying to burrow beneath the covers, but something—or rather someone—was holding them in place.

A heavy, warm weight draped across her torso, solid and unyielding. She blinked against the sharp pulse of a headache pounding behind her eyes, her senses slowly catching up to reality. The arm across her waist flexed, tightening, and a deep, masculine grumble vibrated against her ear.

Oh. Hell.

Her breath hitched.

Last night came rushing back in a flood of tangled limbs, rough kisses, whispered confessions, and the kind of pleasure that still tingled through her body even now.

Jason.

She dared a glance over her shoulder.

Dark hair tousled from sleep, strong jaw shadowed with stubble, lips slightly parted as he breathed in slow, even drags. He looked different like this—softer, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen last night when his eyes had burned with hunger, when his hands had held her like he couldn’t get enough.

And she knew exactly how it felt to be beneath him, against him, wrapped up in his body like she belonged there.

Her stomach flipped.

What the hell had she done?

Heat crawled up her neck, shame and exhilaration tangled into a tight, confusing knot.

This wasn’t her.

She didn’t do one-night stands. She didn’t wake up in hotel beds with gorgeous strangers after an unforgettable night of reckless, mind-blowing sex. She didn’t throw caution to the wind because she’d been fired and wanted to drown her sorrows in whiskey and poor decisions.

But she had.

And God help her, she didn’t regret a damn thing.

Except that she had to leave.

Her father’s voice echoed in her head, cold and dismissive. You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t follow the rules, Stacia.

A chill ran down her spine. If he ever found out about this, he’d lose his mind. Not just the night of drinking and the scandal at work—but this. The proof that she wasn’t the perfect, obedient daughter he’d always tried to mold her into.

She needed to go. Now. Before she lost what little sense she had left.

Holding her breath, she carefully peeled Jason’s arm from around her waist. He muttered something unintelligible, shifting, but didn’t wake as she tucked a pillow into her place.

Only when she slid out of bed and stood on shaky legs did she let out a slow, relieved exhale.

Her gaze flickered around the room, taking in the chaotic evidence of last night. Her jeans draped over the armchair. Her blouse—was that hanging from the light fixture?—and her bra and underwear lay in a careless heap near the bathroom.

She winced at the soreness in her thighs as she tiptoed toward the pile, grabbing her things. Her body still felt thrummed with pleasure, hypersensitive and warm. A reminder that no matter how much she tried to pretend this never happened, her skin would remember.

She slipped into the bathroom, flipping on the light and wincing at her reflection in the mirror. Smudged mascara, tousled hair, lips swollen from hours of kissing.

She looked—satisfied.

She looked alive.

And that was dangerous.

With quick, efficient movements, she splashed cold water on her face, ran her fingers through her hair, and slipped back into last night’s clothes. The outfit screamed walk of shame, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

Her heart thudded as she opened the door, stepping quietly back into the room.

Jason was still sprawled across the bed, one arm stretched into the space she’d just vacated, his breath deep and even.

Something about the way he looked, so utterly unguarded, made her hesitate.

Just one last touch. One last taste.

She drifted closer, the pull of him irresistible. Leaning down, she ran her fingers lightly over the broad expanse of his shoulder, tracing the ridges of muscle. Heat radiated from his skin, and her stomach fluttered at the memory of his weight over her, his breath on her neck, the way he’d looked at her.

She didn’t want to leave.

For once in her life, she wanted to stay, to chase what she wanted instead of what was expected of her.

Her lips parted, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long.

Then, reality snapped back like a whip.

This wasn’t who she was.

This wasn’t who she could afford to be.

Jason was a beautiful, fleeting mistake—one that could never happen again.

She swallowed hard, stepping back. No note. No awkward goodbyes.

This had been one perfect night, nothing more.

With a final, regretful glance, she slipped out the door, letting it click softly shut behind her.

And walked away.

J ason stirred, stretching out the tight pull of muscles and exhaling a yawn so wide his jaw popped. His body ached in the best way, a deep, satisfied burn from last night. He reached out, expecting the familiar warmth of soft curves, the press of a woman still tangled in sleep beside him.

Instead, his hand met only a cold pillow.

His eyes snapped open.

The space beside him was empty, the sheets smoothed as if she had never been there at all. He sat up, scanning the room. His suitcases were still stacked by the armoire, untouched. The easy chair in the corner, where her jeans had landed in their fevered rush to get naked, was bare.

She was gone.

Jason swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face.

He stood and strode toward the bathroom, the sharp sting of rejection slicing through the dull haze of sleep. The light was off, the air still faintly scented with her perfume—something warm and feminine with a hint of citrus. A face towel lay damp on the counter, the only proof she had even existed.

Nothing else. No note. No text. No lingering scent on the pillow.

She’d erased herself from the room, from him.

His jaw clenched as he braced his hands on the bathroom sink, staring at his own reflection. Tousled hair, dark scruff shadowing his jaw, lips still swollen from the way she had kissed him—hard, deep, like she needed to memorize the way he felt before slipping out of his life.

Maybe that should’ve been a sign.

Back in the bedroom, he sank onto the edge of the mattress, rubbing the tight muscles at the back of his neck.

Maybe it’s better this way.

That was the logical answer, the one he should believe. He didn’t need a woman in his life, much less a morning-after disaster. No awkward conversation, no exchange of fake promises. He had enough complications without adding another woman looking for a happily-ever-after with a washed-up, blackballed ballplayer.

Still, his pride took the hit like a fastball to the ribs.

She left him.

Slipped out before the sun was fully up, like she was embarrassed about last night.

Jason frowned, running a hand over his jaw. Was this how women felt when he walked out on them? The ones who woke up expecting breakfast and got an empty bed instead?

Hell.

That realization sat uncomfortably in his gut. He wasn’t the kind of guy who made promises he couldn’t keep. He never gave women false hope or lied about what this was. But Stacia...

She’d been different.

Last night wasn’t just about sex. It had been hot as hell, sure—so hot he was still feeling it in his muscles—but there had been something more beneath it. A connection that went beyond the heat, something he couldn’t quite identify but he knew was there.

And she had been the one to run.

He should be relieved she hadn’t stuck around, looking for numbers or awkward reassurances.

When can I see you again?

What were we thinking?

That was a mistake, right?

The usual script. The game they both knew.

No, she was smart. She didn’t ask for anything, didn’t expect anything. She had walked away.

Then why the hell did it piss him off so much?

His gaze landed on the nightstand, where his wallet and phone sat. Next to them, partially tucked beneath the leather, was a sleek, matte business card.

Jason picked it up, flipping it between his fingers.

Stacia Kendall, Image Consultant.

So, she hadn’t been completely anonymous after all.

He smirked, shaking his head. Clever. He’d swiped the card from her bag at the bar last night, back when she was still playing coy, when he had wanted to know exactly who she was. He hadn’t expected to use it, but now...

At least he knew where to find her.

If he wanted to.

Which he absolutely, one hundred percent did not.

Still, he ran his thumb over the embossed lettering, staring at her name like it held answers he didn’t yet understand.

Yeah, he was still pissed. But he wasn’t sure if it was at her.

Or himself.