Chapter 1
Elara
The bass thrummed through my chest as I clutched the martini glass Vivienne had just pressed into my hand. My third drink tonight, or was it my fourth? The Plaza Hotel's bar was all dark wood and brass fixtures gleaming under amber light, and the alcohol was making everything softer around the edges, blurring the anxiety that had been eating at me all week.
"To love," Vivienne said, raising her own glass with that dazzling smile of hers, the one that had graced magazine covers across three continents. Her red lips curved perfectly. "And to finally getting what you deserve."
I laughed, the sound coming out too loud, too nervous. "Viv, stop. You're making this sound like some kind of mission."
"Isn't it?" She leaned closer, her signature perfume wrapping around me. I'd always loved that scent on her, something I could never afford myself. "You've been together two years, Elara. Two years of being the perfect girlfriend while he figures out his career. Tonight's his last night before London, and you're finally going to show him what he's been missing."
My cheeks burned, and I took another sip to hide my embarrassment. The cocktail was sweet and strong, sliding down too easily. "I just want it to be special, you know? I want him to remember tonight."
"Oh, he will." Vivienne's hand covered mine, her fingers cool against my overheated skin. "Trust me, babe. Marcus is now probably pacing around like a nervous wreck, waiting for you."
The image made me smile despite my nerves. Marcus, with his gentle eyes and careful hands, had always been so patient with me. Never pushing, never demanding. And tonight, finally, I was ready. I'd spent twenty-three years being the good girl, the one who followed the rules, who kept her head down. But Marcus made me want to be brave.
My head was swimming now, the alcohol making my thoughts slow and syrupy. "Are you sure it's okay ? I mean, we didn't really plan—"
"Elara." Vivienne cut me off, her voice firm but affectionate. "Stop overthinking. Marcus loves you. He's been dying for this moment just as much as you have. Now finish your drink, fix your lipstick, and get up there before you lose your nerve."
She was right. I was overthinking, the way I always did. I drained the rest of my martini, the alcohol burning pleasantly down my throat, and fumbled in my purse for my compact. My reflection looked flushed and bright-eyed, my brown hair falling in waves instead of its usual practical ponytail.
"You look beautiful," Vivienne said, pressing the key card into my hand. "Now go. Don't keep him waiting."
The elevator ride felt like floating. I leaned against the mirrored wall, watching my reflection sway slightly, and pressed the button for the twelfth floor with trembling fingers. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. In my mind, I rehearsed what I would say when I walked in. Something sexy? Something sweet? Maybe I wouldn't say anything at all.
The hallway stretched out before me, long and carpeted. I counted the room numbers as I walked. 1210, 1212, 1214. My hands were sweating, and I wiped them on my dress before pulling out the key card. When I pressed it against the lock of room 1216, the light blinked green.
The room was completely dark. I hesitated, my hand fumbling for a light switch, but then I heard water running from the bathroom. The shower. Marcus was in the shower.
"Marcus?" My voice came out barely above a whisper, swallowed by the darkness and the sound of water. I took a few tentative steps forward, my eyes adjusting until I could make out the shape of the bed. My shin bumped against the mattress, and I sat down carefully, gripping the duvet, trying to steady my breathing.
This was happening. This was really happening.
I lay back against the pillows, my dress riding up around my thighs, and closed my eyes. Just for a second. Just to calm my racing heart.
The water shut off. The bathroom door opened.
I opened my eyes but couldn't see much in the darkness, just a tall silhouette. Then that scent hit me. That perfume. Vivienne's perfume. He must have asked her what I liked, must have gotten it as a surprise for tonight. The sweetness of the gesture made my throat tight.
"You came." His voice was different than I expected, lower, rougher, but I was drunk and nervous and my ears were ringing with my own pulse.
"Of course I came," I whispered, holding out my hand in the darkness. His fingers found mine, warm and strong, pulling me up from the bed and against his body. He was taller than I remembered, his frame more solid, but I pressed my face against his chest and breathed in that familiar perfume.
He kissed me, and his mouth was demanding in a way Marcus's never had been. Some distant part of my brain registered that this felt different, but then his fingers found the zipper of my dress and I stopped thinking altogether.
The dress pooled at my feet. When he laid me back on the bed, when his weight settled over me, when he pushed inside me—the pain was sharp and real and I gasped out, "Marcus, oh God, Marcus"—he covered my mouth with his, swallowing the sound.
It hurt the way I'd been told it would, but there was pleasure too, building beneath the pain. I clung to his shoulders and whispered his name over and over. He never responded, never said my name back, just kissed me harder every time I tried to speak.
When it was over, when he rolled off me and I felt the slickness between my thighs, I curled against his side with my head on his chest. I was so tired suddenly, so completely exhausted. His hand stroked my hair with unexpected gentleness, and I fell asleep thinking I'd never been happier.
I woke up to warmth.
Not the kind of warmth you get from blankets or morning sunlight streaming through hotel curtains. This was different. This was body heat—solid, real, wrapped around me like I belonged there.
I pressed closer without thinking, letting myself sink into the feeling. My whole body ached in ways I'd never felt before, muscles sore and tender, but I didn't care. I didn't regret a single second of last night.
Two years. Two years of saying no, of pushing Marcus away every time his hands wandered too far, every time his kisses got too heated. I'd wanted to wait. I'd wanted it to mean something.
And last night, it finally did.
I smiled against the chest I was pressed against, letting my fingers trace lazy patterns across warm skin. God, I hadn't realized Marcus was this fit. Every muscle was defined, solid under my touch. When had he gotten so—
"Mmm... you're awake?"
I froze.
The voice above me was deep, rough with sleep. Wrong. Completely wrong.
"Last night was... intense."
My brain short-circuited. That wasn't Marcus's voice. Marcus's voice was lighter, softer, with that slight nasally quality he got when he was tired. This voice was—
"Marcus?"
Silence.
Three seconds of absolute, horrible silence.
Then we both moved at once, jerking apart like we'd been electrocuted. I twisted toward the nightstand, my hands shaking so badly I nearly knocked over the lamp before I managed to hit the switch.
Light flooded the room.
The man in the bed with me was not Marcus Cole.
I'd never seen this face before in my life.
Sharp jaw. Dark hair that fell across his forehead in a way that would've been devastating under any other circumstances. Gray-green eyes that were currently staring at me with the same shock I felt coursing through my own body.
I screamed.
