Accidentally Crossing the Tycoon

Audrey's POV:

The luxury hotel suite bathes in amber light, thirty floors above London's restless streets.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, London's bustling streets pulse with the chaos of traffic and the brilliance of neon signs, while inside, dim lighting casts the room in soft shadows, revealing only the silhouettes of two figures entwined.

Ice melts slowly in crystal tumblers. The subtle scent of cologne hangs in the air, mingling with the unmistakable electricity of desire.

I can hardly remember how all this happened.

Now his weight presses me into the mattress, deliciously heavy, impossibly right.

My body moved on its own, and the next thing I knew, our lips met.

He seemed stunned for a moment, but that was quickly replaced by a heat I couldn't describe.

His long fingers threaded through my hair, gently cupping the back of my neck as he pulled me toward him. Our breaths mingled, becoming rapid and burning.

His fingers roamed across my skin, each touch triggering uncontrollable shivers. The temperature between us kept climbing, our breathing becoming ragged and urgent.

I felt like a fallen leaf caught in a storm of passion, swept into the abyss.

I respond instinctively, my mind still wrapped in a fog between dreams and consciousness.

In this twilight state, I arch toward him, my fingers threading through hair I don't recognize.

"More," I whisper, not fully awake, not fully aware of where I am or who I'm with.

All I know is the delicious weight of his body, the intoxicating scent of cologne mingled with something distinctly masculine.

Sunlight pierces through the gap in the curtains, slicing across my face.

My eyelids flutter open, immediately protesting against the invasion of morning. Pain throbs behind my temples.

Where am I?

The question takes a moment to process as I register the unfamiliar ceiling.

I attempt to move and wince. Every muscle in my body feels stretched and used, a delicious soreness that tells its own story before memory catches up.

I turn my head slowly and freeze.

A strange man sleeps peacefully beside me, one muscular arm flung above his head, the pristine white sheets barely covering his lower half.

Our clothes were scattered across the floor, telling the tale of last night's madness.

Oh God. What have I done?

Fragments of last night flood back in disjointed flashes.

Last night, my friend Finley, upon hearing the news that I was going back to my home country, insisted on drinking with me until we were both drunk, and eventually we returned to our respective rooms intoxicated.

I remember riding the elevator alone to my floor, slightly unsteady on my feet.

I stumbled into the room without turning on the lights, heading straight for the bed.

However, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I was shocked to discover someone was already lying there—a man.

He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, breathing steadily, looking like he was resting or asleep.

Moonlight filtered through the curtain gaps, illuminating a breathtaking face—sharp features, a prominent nose, and thin, pressed lips, like an exquisite sculpture.

I shook my head as an absurd thought popped into my mind. *This has got to be one of Finley's pranks. *

The alcohol was making my judgment increasingly fuzzy.

I approached the bed, studying this "surprise" carefully. He wore a half-open white dress shirt, revealing a solid chest and abs.

"That physique is insane..." I murmured, unconsciously reaching out to touch his face.

My fingertips hover just above his stubbled jawline and I poke his cheek repeatedly with unsteady fingers. The alcohol still clouding my judgment, I let out a small, inappropriate giggle.

"Hey, hey you. Wake up. Stop pretending," I slur slightly, poking him again. "Mission accomplished, okay? You can go report back that you successfully scared the hell out of me."

But as I turned to leave, a strong hand suddenly grabbed my wrist.

The unexpected contact sends me off-balance, my body betraying me as I topple forward without grace. I land against his chest, my free hand instinctively bracing against his solid shoulder.

I lift my head, ready to protest, but the words die in my throat as I find myself staring into eyes that could swallow galaxies.

"Who are you?" His voice was deep and husky—sexy as hell.

I couldn't answer because the alcohol was rapidly taking effect. My rationality was being stripped away layer by layer, leaving only the most primal desires.

I leaned down to kiss the man's lips and closed my eyes, surrendering to this unexpected encounter, letting myself fall into the whirlpool of sensation, forgetting everything else...

This was so unlike me.

I carefully lift the sheet, confirming what I already knew. I'm completely naked.

My heart pounds against my ribs as panic sets in. I need to get out of here—now.

Every second I linger increases the risk of him waking up, of having to face the awkwardness of morning-after conversations with someone whose name I can't even remember.

I scan the room frantically, locating pieces of my clothing strewn about like evidence at a crime scene.

No time for shame. No time for regret. Just get dressed and get out before those gray-blue eyes open and complicate everything.

I slip into the bathroom, avoiding my reflection as I quickly dress.

My hair is a disaster, makeup smudged beyond repair. I look exactly like what I am—a woman fleeing the scene of her impulsivity.

When I emerge, he's still sleeping deeply.

I linger by the door, hesitating. What if he tries to find me later? The thought sends a chill down my spine.

I dig through my purse, searching for some cash to leave behind—a clear message that this was just a transaction, nothing more.

To my dismay, I find only a single hundred-dollar bill tucked into the inner pocket. Not nearly enough for a high-end escort in London, but it would have to do.

In the taxi to the airport, my mind replayed fragments of the night in vivid detail. The heat of his skin against mine. The pressure of his hands on my hips.

Back to reality.

I close my eyes again, trying to ignore how my body still thrums with the ghost of his touch.

Tomorrow, I'll be Audrey Lane again—professional, composed, in control.

I leaned my forehead against the cool window glass, watching London fade into the distance.

One night of passion with a stranger.

No one would ever know. And I would never see that man again.

Little did I know how wrong I was.