I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight. Socializing is not my favorite thing, especially with stuffy suits. Which is ridiculous, I know, because, duh, I’m enrolled in business school.
But then I ran into him, and the world just stopped—the rest of it fell away as my eyes locked with his.
In those minutes of being in his gaze, I felt stripped bare and exposed, but I felt no vulnerability or hesitation.
And dear lord, the lust that roared through me was… Shocking.
I had never had a one-night stand before. I wasn’t even all that sexually experienced, but standing in front of him, staring up at his tall, broad body and stunning face and eyes, I wanted to climb him like a tree.
When the dean had distracted him from pulling me further into sin and mayhem with that piercing icy-blue gaze, I regained control over my raging hormones and got the hell out of there.
That guy screamed danger. Not the kind where I worried about my physical safety, but rather the safety of my pulsing core. He was sin on legs, that much I knew for sure. And I was here, in San Diego, for one purpose—my family. I didn’t need any distractions from my goal.
So, I slipped into the crowd even though my body wanted to fight me every step of the way. But it was the right move because each step away from him allowed my head to regain control to rule my decisions rather than my lust and hormones.
I chatted with Zac and a few other classmates, but I had little interest in talking with any of the industry leaders present tonight, even though I knew that was specifically the reason I had dragged myself here.
Sighing, I stiffen my spine with resolve. Have two conversations, then I can leave.
With that decided, I scan the room for Audrey and Luc Augustin, successful investors and philanthropists. I would love to talk about the organization they support, which helps women and children flee domestic violence. As I look for them, my skin tingles, and a shiver runs down my spine as if fingers have trailed its length in a caress.
I turn. And instantly, I’m caught like a rabbit ensnared in the wolf’s gaze. Warning bells clang in my head.
Oh God, he’s coming for me. Looking ready to consume me.
Rather than flee like my brain is warning me to do, my hormones and lust gleefully jump into the decision-making seat to take control, shoving logic and self-preservation aside.
Holy hell, my body hums, each pulse synchronized with his every step toward me, like the rhythm of a dark, forbidden dance.
He stalks with intent toward me, his beautiful eyes hard and hot on me. I’m trapped, waiting for this man to devour me whole. Wanting this man to devour me whole.
I want him to do the filthy things that only come out in my dark fantasies. I want to submit wholly to him, fall to my knees and swallow him. I want him to slap my ass until it burns and squeeze my hips until they bruise as he pummels me from behind. I want him to use me like I’m his personal fuck toy.
I need to get away from him.
My mind tells my body to run, yet I stand there, waiting for him. Waiting for him to come and take everything from me because I’d willingly give him whatever he asked for.
My body trembles with the intensity of my need, and he’s only walking toward me.
His absolute, unwavering attention, solely on me—like the roomful of people doesn’t exist—makes it hard to breathe.
His hands flex, and his chin tilts up slightly. Both actions pull my attention to his tattoos. His shirt is unbuttoned to show a bit of his chest, and the ink is full coverage across his exposed skin and up his neck, where it stops at his sharp jawline. The entire backs of his hands have intricate designs.
I’ve never been into tattoos myself or found them attractive on men; however, his are hot. He’s extraordinary.
I wonder if his dick is tattooed as well.
I nearly groan, hearing the voice of my abuela in my head: Sophie Camilia Demeanus!
I need to go to confession. Maybe five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers will cleanse my head of the lustful thoughts running rampant right now.
I need to run because he is here now. Within reach.
“Angel.”
Oh, dear lord, I think wetness just exploded between my legs.
That voice… deep, low, and all sorts of rumbly.
I can’t speak; I can’t move. Because at any second, I’ll lose control and tell him to take me to his car and fuck me over the hood.
That isn’t me. I’m not that kind of girl.
And I do not need a distraction of this magnitude in my life. I have a purpose for being here. I have a goal.
One night with this god of a man won’t derail that. My mind, it seems, is hopping on the lust train with my body. Have some fun. Then, tomorrow, it’s back to focusing on your future to help take care of the family.
He drags his thumb over his bottom lip, and I almost whimper in need. “We weren’t properly introduced, angel. I’m—”
“No!”
Even I’m surprised by my nearly yelled response and my hand flying up to ward him off—like his words are some sort of confession that will alter the trajectory of my world.
But if we keep it anonymous and don’t exchange names, there are no expectations or future temptations. This will be casual. One and done. A one-night stand with a stranger who I’d never see again. I wouldn’t know his name to try to seek him out, even if I wanted to. And the same for him; he wouldn’t know me.
Well, I guess it’s decided that I’m going to fall into insanity and allow myself one night of sin and mayhem.
This is so not me.
A blush heats my cheeks. “Bob, wasn’t it?” I refer to his costume.
His magnificent frame emits a low, rumbling laugh in that perfectly cut suit. The sound is as dangerous to my ovaries and vagina as his voice.
He tilts his head to the side, and I want to rub my fingers over the shaved skin on his head right above his ear to see if it is as smooth as it looks. “Really, angel? This is how you want to play?”
I can’t help smiling, and his piercing blue eyes darken behind the glasses. When he tongues his cheek and rubs his jaw, eyeing me intently, I know I’m a goner.
“Damn, I want to make you smile every day, angel.”
My breath hitches, and I instinctively lean toward him before I catch myself.
What the hell is happening to me?
He steps toward me. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Yes.”
What the hell am I doing?
He holds out his hand to me.
I can’t walk out with him, hand in hand. Not that I’m embarrassed. Hell, I want to scream over the sound system that I—yes, Sophie Demeanus, all-perceived little sweet and innocent goodie-two-shoes—am leaving with this mountain of godly hotness. However, if my classmates saw it, that’s a link from this night to the future.
‘Sweet Sophie’ doesn’t need ‘Siren Sophie’ to follow her after tonight because I know, without a doubt, Siren Sophie would be trouble for my goals. Plus, keeping this on the down low feels like it will keep this intoxicating man separate from my actual life.
I stare at his hand, extended to me, wanting nothing more than to take it, but I resist. “I’ll meet you outside.”
His hand lowers to his side as his unique, beautiful eyes hold me, trapped in his gaze. “Are you going to stand me up, angel?”
I’ll stand you up as I climb you like a tree if you keep calling me angel.
“I’ll be there,” I say instead of my wanton inner dialogue. Again, this is not me or how I normally act.
“You won’t disappoint me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and loaded with dominance.
Something in me reacts to that dominance. And not in a pissed-off, angry way, but in a way that’s keening and yearning to never disappoint him ever.
“No. Never,” I whisper, and his eyes flare.
When he drags his thumb along my jawline, I have no control over my body as I lean into his touch. Staring at my lips, he licks his. “Good.” His low voice rumbles through me like a seismic tremor blasting the last of my resistance.
Then he strides away from me. I fist my hands to stop myself from latching onto his broad back as the muscles elongate and contract under the perfect fit of his suit as he moves.
Between my legs is wet. I’ve never responded to a guy like this. Hell, I’m hardly even interested in sex. So not interested that I often contemplate going to the doctor to see what is wrong with me because maybe I need medication or hormones or something.
I glance around for Zac, wondering if I should tell him I’m leaving.
Am I really going to leave with a stranger? Someone I don’t even know his name?
All my common sense and the warnings from my family rattle in my head, but needless to say, yep, my feet move toward the door.
“This is how women get raped and killed, you idiot,” I hiss quietly to myself; however, I continue to walk.
The fleeting thought of telling Zac I’m leaving with a guy pops into my head again. However, he’d likely not believe me because I’m as straight-laced as they come, and he could demand to meet said guy, which would make a link from this night to the future.
Plus, Zac and I aren’t exactly friends. Well, we are, but on the down low. We have some classes together, but our social circles are very different. He’s the quarterback with a great chance of being signed for the big leagues—or is that the term used for baseball? Hell if I know. I grew up in Mexico, not the States, and my life wasn’t exactly similar to an all-American upbringing. Zac is a great guy; he just refuses to show his true self to anyone here, hiding behind the facade and cockiness of a talented and coveted jock.
As I approach the front door, I don’t see Sir Hotness—yes, that’s what I’m dubbing the godly hot guy as—anywhere, but a tingle runs through me as if his eyes are on me. The thrill of what I’m doing increases, pushing my doubts to the ground, and I gleefully stampede all over them.
“Hey guys,” I say to Ivan and Gene, who are working the greeting desk. They’re in my economics and business analytics classes. “I’m heading out.”
“So soon?” Ivan looks disappointed, and he bites his lip, looking at me.
I keep my innocent, clueless look, as if I don’t understand his tone or body language. People see the innocent and sweet package when they look at me; I hide my dark fantasies of dirty sex—I’ve never acted on them. And the not-so-innocent-and-sweet siren that has been born tonight under the heated stare of an intoxicating god of a man is new.
“Big social things aren’t really my thing,” I say, which isn’t a lie. I’m the queen introvert.
Gene frowns in disapproval. “Business is a social thing, Soph.”
I grit my teeth as he uses the nickname only those closest to me do.
“We’ll train you.” Ivan smiles, running his hand down my arm. “Get you used to being more social.”
Jerking away, I smile tightly. “Goodnight.”
“Wait,” Ivan calls, his dark blonde brows pulling together. “You’re not walking back to the dorm, are you?”
“My Uber will be here soon,” I lie smoothly and without hesitation so they don’t ask any more questions.
Leaving the building and industry mixer behind, I step outside. The cool evening air brushes my cheeks, and I inhale the scent of the Pacific Ocean from the bay. Being so close to the water is one of the best perks of being here. I love the ocean. In Mexico, my family lives in a small inland community. My estranged father is a sicario in the Garcia Cartel, and my mother—may her soul rest in peace—never would let me have anything to do with him. Instead, we lived with my abuela and abuelo, living a simple and quiet life as off the radar as we could.
“Who were those two assholes?”
I whirl around, seeing Sir Hotness leaning against the neighboring building. He has removed his glasses, and his eyes narrow on Ivan and Gene through the window.
“I didn’t like how they looked at you or how the one dared to touch you,” he growls darkly.
“Whoa.” I hold up my hands, even though heat erupts between my legs and my sex has started to throb. “Ease up on the possessiveness, jackhole.”
His piercing blue eyes swing to me. The darkness and hardness make me shiver, but his look softens now that he’s looking at me and is no longer glaring at Ivan and Gene through the window. “Jackhole?”
I groan and roll my eyes. “Sorry. It’s one of my young cousin’s newest and favorite sayings.”
“You’re close with your family,” he guesses, and the thought seems to please him.
“Yes, with my abuela, abuelo, and cousins. Especially my oldest cousin, who is more like an uncle.”
“Tío.” When I tilt my head in surprise, he continues, “That’s uncle in Spanish, right?”
My Latino heritage is easy to recognize from my coloring and features.
He motions with his fingers, beckoning me closer. My mind doesn’t question it; my body just obeys. I have no choice; I’m sucked into his orbit. He’s like the sun, the center of the solar system, and its gravity keeps all the planets in its orbit.
The wind catches my hair, and he pushes it gently out of my face. “Uncle in Italian is Zio… Very similar.”
“You’re Italian.” I look up at him.
God, I want to crawl under his skin and never leave.
He nods and holds out his hand to me. Unlike inside when I declined to take it, I take it now, making his eyes flare with satisfaction.
I gasp when my skin touches his for the first time. Heat spreads from the point of contact and quickly radiates outward.
“Will you trust me?” he asks in that deep, sexy voice.
All common sense tells me to say no, pull my hand free, and go back inside. But something deeper within me responds, “Yes.”
A primal look flashes over his face, drawing me closer instead of frightening me.
“Good.” He brushes my hair back from my face with his free hand, his fingers trailing lightly down my neck, making goosebumps follow in the wake of his gentle touch. “I won’t do anything to abuse your trust, angel.”
The door to the building opens, spilling noise outside to burst the bubble that has descended around us. Sir Hotness’s back is toward the glass building, shielding me from view. Still holding my hand, he walks us away from the building and onto the sidewalk. We don’t go far, and he stops at a pub a few doors down. I hold back, shaking my head.
“I’m not old enough.” I just had my nineteenth birthday.
He smiles. “Freshman, right?”
“How old are you?” I hadn’t gotten a good sense of it, but he isn’t of an early college age.
“Twenty-eight.” He cocks his head to the side and my stomach flutters. That move and dragging his thumb over his lip might be my undoing. “Does that bother you?”
“That you’re an old man?” I arch a brow, making a show of apprising him. “I guess I shouldn’t discriminate based on that. Wouldn’t want to be accused of ageism, now, would I?”
He laughs, and I want nothing more in the world than to hear that sound again. Preferably with me pressed close to him because I know the sound will rumble through that muscular, hard body.
When he tries to go inside again, I resist. “I can’t—”
“You said you’d trust me. So, trust me.”
Then he pulls us inside the dark and busy pub. The bouncer looks at me, about to ask for ID, but Sir Hotness steps up to him. I watch as the bouncer seems to recognize him and steps back without a word, nodding at me as we walk in.
What the actual hell?
He holds my hand as he weaves us through the crowd, and I don’t hate the possessive feel of it. In fact, I love it.
What is happening to my head?
He stops at a table with a guy as large as him, who has two women almost in his lap.
The guy’s brown hair is smoothed back, and his dark blue eyes are glassy but filled with laughter. “Told you I’d be tits-deep when you were done.”
“I see you didn’t follow the ‘don’t be shitfaced when I’m done.’”
The guy scoffs. “You’ve seen me shitfaced, and this ain’t it.” He inclines his head. “You joining or what?”
The two women aren’t hiding that they want to devour my Sir Hotness. Jealousy rears its head—something I’ve never felt before—and I step into their line of sight from being slightly tucked behind. Their eyes narrow into slits, seeing our joined hands. The guy’s eyes fall to our clasped hands and widen as he chokes on his drink. He pushes away from the two women and gets up from the table, eyeing me with wonder while wiping his slack-jawed mouth.
I regret wearing a skirt suit right now. It isn’t my style, and I’m sure I look like a little girl trying to play dress-up in her mother’s professional work clothes. I hold my chin high with a quiet confidence I don’t quite feel.
The guy looks so shocked by our clasped hands, it’s almost comical. “Holy fuck, Creed.’
Creed?
Between my legs clenches.
Did I really just have a horny reaction to a guy’s name?
“You never hold hands in public.” The guy grins from ear-to-ear looking at me but speaking to Creed, “Holy fuck. You found your Minnie.”
“What?” I laugh, and Creed’s hand on mine tightens.
“The cufflinks… Mickie Mouse.” The guy points, then bops me on the nose. “Minnie. And you’re mini and adorable as fuck.”
The women are full-out scowling at me now.
Sir Hotness… AKA Creed… lifts our clasped hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, his eyes holding mine. “I call her angel.” He smiles in response to my sucked-in breath. “Angel meet Andro.”
Andro bows, making me laugh again, and winks at me. “I don’t think I’ll get away with calling you angel, so we’ll keep with Minnie.”
A pang of sadness hits me. I’m only giving myself this one night.
Creed… Sir Hotness… Whatever his name is, he’s too much. Too everything. I can’t get lost in him.
My instincts are telling me that if I allow myself to have anything more, then my life will be forever altered.
I can’t have my plan, purpose, and goal derailed. I came here to focus on school and prepare for my future to help my family. They come first, not some lustful—and most definitely sinful—whirlwind of sex. The vibes rolling off Creed warn me he’s a hazard to my focus. The heat and pull between us would consume me; it’s just too intense.
But one night can’t hurt. He doesn’t know my name, and I only know his first.
After tonight, I’ll slip away. I’ll move on with my plan for school, knowing my anonymity will serve me well. But for tonight, I’ll enjoy what it, and this magnificent man, has to offer.
