"No," I lied, the word bitter on my tongue. "This was just for tonight."
He pressed another kiss to my shoulder, this one lingering. "Then let's make tonight count."
His hand began to move, tracing patterns on my skin that grew increasingly purposeful. Despite what we'd just shared, I felt desire rekindle, my body responding to his touch with embarrassing eagerness.
This time was slower, more deliberate. He turned me to face him, taking his time exploring my body with his hands and mouth until I was writhing beneath him, begging in broken whispers. When he finally entered me again, it was with aching tenderness, his eyes never leaving mine as he moved within me.
Afterward, exhaustion pulled at me, the emotional and physical intensity of the night catching up with me at last. As sleep began to claim me, I turned in his arms, pressing my face against his chest.
He smelled of cedar and bergamot, with an underlying note that was purely him—warm, masculine, oddly comforting.I breathed deeply, committing the scent to memory, knowing instinctively that it would haunt me long after tonight was over.
"Thank you," I murmured against his skin.
His hand stroked my hair. "For what?"
"For truly seeing me."
I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head, but he didn't respond. Perhaps he understood that no response was needed.
As I drifted into sleep, wrapped in the warmth of a stranger's arms, I had one final coherent thought: This night had ruined me. Not because it had been a mistake, but because it had been real. Because for the first time, I'd experienced what it meant to be truly desired, truly seen.
Nothing—and no one—would ever measure up again.
Chapter 4
Savannah
Morning light spilled through curtains I'd forgotten to close, painting warm stripes across rumpled sheets.
I stretched, muscles pleasantly sore, before reality hit me—I was alone.
Of course I was. What had I expected? A goodbye? A number?
The pillow beside mine still held the impression of his head, and I couldn’t resist pressing my face to it, catching the lingering scent of cedar and bergamot.
Evidence that last night hadn't been just a particularly vivid dream.
Good.
I didn't want it to be.
I showered, washing away physical traces of the encounter while mentally replaying every moment.
The hot water beat against my skin, but I could still feel the press of his hands, the weight of his body. Could still hear that low groan he'd made when he'd lost control.
No regrets, I reminded myself.
This was exactly what I'd wanted—one perfect night of freedom before returning to real life. To being Savannah Blake.
Marketing executive.
Woman rebuilding herself after a failed relationship.
Not the kind of woman who had anonymous sex with silver-haired strangers at weddings.
Except, apparently, I was exactly that kind of woman. And I'd enjoyed every second of it.
I dressed carefully in a sundress that hit just above the knee, modest enough for brunch but still flattering.
