“Alessio.”
I wait for more—a last name, something—but he doesn’t offer. I guess that sets the tone for what’s about to happen. It’s a transaction, nothing more.
But then I make the mistake of really looking at him. He’s tall, easily over six feet, with the kind of lean, controlled build that speaks of contained violence. His dark hair is perfectly styled,and his amber eyes seem to see straight through me. There’s a dimple in his cheek when he almost-smirks, and despite everything, I find myself cataloguing these details like they matter.
Jesus, Nina. Are you actually attracted to him?
Yes.Fuck. I am.
But it’s not just his looks. It’s the way he’s handling this whole thing. No grabbing, no threats, no attempts to intimidate me into compliance. Just a proposition and the space to consider it.
When was the last time you had sex?The thought surfaces unbidden. Not since the divorce, that’s for sure. And the last few months with Eric weren’t exactly mind-blowing. He’d grown even more selfish as our marriage crumbled.
But this is dangerous thinking. This man is dangerous, period. The smart thing would be to walk away, figure out another solution to Eric’s mess.
The problem is, there isn’t another solution. Not one that doesn’t destroy what’s left of my life.
“I’d rather deal with one night and be done with this,” I hear myself say.
It’s the truth. Some people might find this decision unsavory, but at least it’s a decision I get to make for myself. And maybe... maybe I won’t hate every second of it.
I look at his outstretched hand again. Long fingers, scarred knuckles.
Before I can lose my nerve, I place my hand in his. “Okay, Alessio. Take me to bed.”
I expect him to lead me outside, to a car or somewhere else entirely. Instead, he guides me toward the bank of elevators that lead to the hotel rooms above. I dimly realize I just walked out on my shift, but that problem feels distant compared to what I'm about to do.
The elevator ride is torture. My nerves are firing like live wires as reality sets in. I’ve never been the type to have one-night stands. I’ve always been in relationships with the men I’ve slept with, always known them.
This is completely different.
As if sensing my thoughts, Alessio squeezes my hand. When I look at him, his amber eyes are already focused on my face.
“We should discuss limits,” he says quietly.
“Limits?”
“Boundaries. Hard lines you don’t want to cross.”
The fact that he’s asking catches me off guard. “Is that something I’m allowed to have?”
His mouth turns down in a frown, and I swear he looks offended. “Of course it is.”
I clear my throat. “Uh... I don’t want to be hurt. Physically, I mean.”
Not that I think I’m in danger of being hurt emotionally. We both know there are no feelings involved in this.
He nods. “Anything else?”
“I don’t... I don’t know.” God, I feel so awkward. I’m way out of my depth here.
Thankfully, the elevator stops then, the doors opening to reveal we’ve gone straight to the penthouse level.
We step out, and I’m immediately hit by the opulence. The penthouse suite is at least three times the size of my apartment, all modern luxury and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Vegas in its neon glory. Everything screams expensive, from the marble kitchen counters to the sleek furniture so fancy-looking I’m afraid to touch it.
“The bedroom is this way,” Alessio says, and suddenly it feels like the ground is sliding out from under me. This is happening too fast, but what’s the point in delaying?
I follow him, pulse hammering, trying to project confidence I don’t fully feel.
