I covered her hands with mine. "And I'm freedom to you?"
"Tonight you are." She rose on tiptoe, her lips a breath away from mine.
"A beautiful mistake that's all mine."
"I'm not in the habit of being anyone's mistake," I murmured.
She smiled, a flash of that challenge I'd seen at the bar.
"Then be the exception. For me."
I was a man who lived by rules. Who calculated risks. Who never acted without considering all potential outcomes.
But when her lips met mine—soft, full, tasting faintly of scotch and something sweeter—I stopped thinking entirely.
She pressed against me with a hunger that left no room for doubt, her curves molding to me like she’d been waiting to do exactly that.
Her body was all heat and surrender, silk and intent, and the way she kissed me—bold, unapologetic—made something primal snap loose in my chest.
There was no second-guessing, no pretending we didn’t want this.
I made a choice in that moment, sharp and certain: to be exactly what she needed.
The beautiful mistake that didn’t feel like a mistake at all.
It would be hours before I understood just how correct that assessment was.
Chapter 3
Savannah
Waiting was a new kind of torture.
I paced the length of my hotel suite, champagne still sweating on the table, untouched.
My heart thudded in my throat like it knew precisely how reckless I was being.
What the hell had possessed me to invite a stranger to my room?
Almost a year of rebuilding after Miles.
Months of therapy, promising I’d stop chasing validation from emotionally unavailable men.
And here I was—about to welcome the walking embodiment of unavailable into my bed.
I didn’t even know his name.
But maybe that was the point.
No name meant no expectations.
No history meant no disappointment.
No future meant no heartbreak.
Just heat. Just now. Just this.
This wasn’t me.
