Chapter 1: A One-Week Stand
In the cool darkness of the semi-crowded bar, I could allow the last year to dissolve into a hazy fog, a far-off memory. Each low thump of bass that disappeared into the dull roar of voices beat it further down. With a little more alcohol, it could even become a dream—something that never occurred in real life. Something that could be brushed aside like a phantom, not a true form. Not a reality that burned shame, low and deep in my stomach.
Bars had become a thing of my past, along with flirtatious passes from unfamiliar men, but sitting alone in this hotel club, hundreds of miles from home, I felt wonderfully liberated. I could be anyone. Any anonymous woman having a drink before bed. I could pretend to be free.
My eyes traveled to the dance-floor where younger women in shiny slip dresses and chunky stilettos twisted and swayed, their smooth blonde or red hair matching their movements. They squeal-laughed when songs they liked came on, and the lines around their eyes disappeared as soon as their cheeks relaxed. They could dance all night and still make it to work tomorrow, eyes sparkling.
A bitter laugh slid from my throat as I stared back into the amber drink I’d ordered. The thought of dancing all night made me tired.
The bartender didn’t notice me. I’d stood for almost five minutes trying to get his attention to order this drink, and it was gross. “Seven and seven” was all I could remember from the days when I used to order drinks for myself. It was a popular combination then, but I never liked the flavor. Refreshing citrus dragged down by a heavy undertone of bitter syrup. I took a long pull from the tiny red straw and winced.
I should’ve gone back to the room with Elaine. My best friend since childhood said what I needed was a trip to the desert. She’d booked us a week at the Cactus Flower Spa in Scottsdale, where we could get massages, sit in steam rooms, soak in mud, and let our tensions melt away with hot-wax pedicures. She said it would break me out of my “funk,” as she called it.
I didn’t have anything else to do this week.
It was with those sunny thoughts in my head that I saw him. At first I thought it was an accident, my eyes flickering across the square-shaped bar at the same time as his. Blue eyes, strikingly blue because of the way they stood out beneath his dark brow, coupled with collar-length, thick dark hair. He had a beard. I didn’t like beards—not even close-trimmed ones like his. He was huge. I could see his muscles from where I sat. His chest strained against the tight, black shirt he wore, and his biceps stretched the sleeves. I preferred smaller men, long and lean model-types.
But he didn’t look away. And like a deer caught in headlights, I couldn’t either. My breath stilled as my eyes stayed on his, as I waited for him to release me. He would release me. I knew he would. I simply had to wait.
Men in bars were after those baby-faced innocents on the dance floor, not me. They wanted energetic young ones with their tight bodies, high-pitched breasts, and even tighter vaginas. Those were the girls men wanted to fuck. They would scream and moan all night and tell them they were the best ever, the king. I wasn’t looking for a king. Still, in the next moment, when the mountain of sex holding my gaze stood and began his slow glide in my direction, all I could think was maybe...
I watched as he passed the patrons facing each other, talking and laughing. Some were more animated than others, waving their arms and putting their drinks in peril. They all shone in the yellow lights hidden above, in the recesses of the wooden shelves that held dozens of upside-down glasses in all shapes and sizes. Liquor bottles were arranged on the top shelf. For some reason, though, the lights didn’t seem to reach him. Or me. We were in our own secret, shadowy place.
When he rounded the final corner and I could see him in full, my breath caught. My eyes traveled quickly from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, down his grey pants ending in sleek, black loafers. Just as fast, they were back to his face, and he was in front of me. I’d never been confronted with so much male presence focused on me in my life. He had to be six-two and twice my size.
“Can I buy you a drink?” The low vibration of his voice shot a pleasing charge right between my legs, and my cheeks warmed.
Blinking back to my glass, I poked the half-empty contents with the straw. “I have this,” I said, my voice softer and higher in contrast to his.
“But you don’t like it.” A small smile was on his lips. It made him the slightest bit less intimidating.
“How do you know?”
He leaned against the bar in front of me, bringing his face closer to my level, his body almost touching mine. A faint scent of warm cologne swirled around me, tightening my chest.
“You make a face every time you sip it,” he said. “I’ve been watching you since you walked in with your friend earlier.”
My brows drew together. “Why?”
His tongue touched his bottom lip, and my jaw dropped. I quickly closed it, thinking how insane it was the way my body responded to him.
This was not me. I did not fantasize about hooking up with strange men in bars. And a cocky alpha who studied me like I was a frontier landscape he was ready to conquer had never been my type. He probably wanted to tie me up or handcuff me to something. A delicious shiver passed through me at the thought. I put my eyes on my drink.
“Maybe I should introduce myself,” he said, holding out a large palm. I stared at it a moment. “Derek.”
My eyes lifted to his blue ones, which were still holding me in that intense gaze. He had a small nose and a full mouth. A million pornographic images flooded my brain of that nose nudging into my dark spaces, of that mouth kissing areas long-neglected. That beard scratching the insides of my thighs as I moaned and twisted in white sheets, threading my fingers in his silky hair. I cleared the thickness in my throat, feeling heat everywhere in my body.
“Melissa,” I said, placing my noticeably smaller hand in his. His fingers closed over mine, and instead of overwhelming, it felt... right.
“Sweet Melissa,” he said with a little grin. The side of his mouth lifting the way it did made me want to kiss him.
“I’m not so sweet,” I said, taking my hand back.
“Aren’t others supposed to make that judgment?” His eyes never left me as he motioned to the bartender, who immediately came to us. Apparently it wasn’t only the perky blondes who got instant service.
“Two glasses of your best cava,” Derek said, giving the boy a quick glance before turning back to me.
“Cava?” I did love the crisp, Spanish sparkling wine. Why I hadn’