When we entered the sleek bar, to the right of the check-in lobby, soft French pop music played in the background. Only a handful of patrons sat at the cherry-wood tables, quietly chatting.

I wouldn't complain. The fewer people, the better.

We settled at the bar, and Chi ordered some complicated cocktail in their mangled French, while I drummed my manicured nails on the glass table, crossing one leg over the other and swinging my foot back and forth.

"Chill," said Chi, gently kicking my leg. "What's up with you?"

I requested a glass of Zinfandel and tried to settle. "Nervous. This wedding is monumental and I just know I'm going to fuck up."

"No," said Chi, nudging me. "You're still thinking of that fine piece of ass from the lobby."

I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. My makeup had melted and there were considerable bags under my usually vivid hazel eyes. "Even if I am, what does it matter? It's not happening."

Chi's arm jostled beside mine as they picked up their cocktail, took a sip, then froze. "And you're sure about that?"

My glass of red arrived before me, and I sniffed at the bitterness, pleased. "Yes, because even if I were to accept his proposal, I'm a fucking mess who hasn't slept in twenty-four hours. No way am I having a drink with someone looking like," I frowned at my reflection again, "this."

Chi turned to me, grinning from ear to ear. Had the cocktail already hit them hard with liquor? "He's here," they mouthed, jutting their head to the side, indicating the opposite end of the bar.

My eyes widened as I discreetly tipped sideways, to see what, who Chi had gestured at. And there he was—sitting facing the bar, and he apparently hadn't seen us. A dark ginger-haired hottie with a focused look in his eyes, and a glass of amber liquid near his lips.

I'd never forget that face, that body.

Chi smirked. "Fate."

"Chi—" I gulped, well aware of what came next. Chi would shove me into this man's arms, even if a meteor shower rained down on us.

With deft hands, Chi quickly toyed with my hair, then extracted a few things from their purse—concealer, lip gloss, and a travel-size deodorant.

I snickered. "I need a shower, not all this shit."

"Hush." They dabbed the tip of the concealer onto my skin. As I opened my mouth to protest about the color—my tone was much lighter than Chi's—they shushed me again. "I carry many shades in my magical bag, you know this. This one matches you." They shoved the deodorant spray into my hands, indicating that I should use it. "You, uh..." they gestured at the space between my legs, "freshened that up earlier, I assume?"

I scoffed as I reluctantly peppered under my arms with the deodorant. "Not that it's your business, but yes. Why do you have all this stuff?"

Chi, lips pursed in concentration, continued working on turning me from a pumpkin to a somewhat functioning carriage. "Magical bag. And anyway, we're wedding planners, so shouldn't we plan for everything?"

"For the wedding, yeah," I said, grunting through Chi's violent fingers as they poked at my skin, my lips. "Not for me to get laid."

"Shhh." Chi pulled back, pinched their lips side to side, then nodded. "You're good. Good enough, anyway."

"But—"

"—no buts." Chi nudged me off my chair, and I knew that tone—they truly wanted me to consider having some fun with this man.

It wasn't that I didn't want to, but I didn't think it was appropriate to do so while on a gig. I wanted to be focused, not get wrapped up with some sexy, wealthy man who might give me a good time.

"Go," they said, urging me towards the man who just then realized we were there. He perked up upon noticing me, recognizing me, and raised his glass, smiling.

I tensed. This was it—the moment to get my frustrations out, to escape my lonely thoughts, for one night. The opportunity to unwind after a long trip and take it easy before the stressful events to come.

I pulled my shoulders back, poking out my chest. Sadly, I was not wearing the right kind of outfit for this. The shirt underneath my jacket was a crisp white, slightly see-through, but not something I was comfortable seducing in. I undid the top three buttons of the shirt, and peeked down; my black bra was now almost visible, my neck and higher parts of my breasts exposed.

"Better," Chi said, smacking my ass encouragingly. "Now go get some, lady. You and I both need it."

Heart racing a million miles a minute, I stood up straight, adjusted my moderately-sized boobs, and proceeded towards the man.

Even from afar, his sultry gaze nearly stopped me in my tracks. His lips were plump, a sheen of alcohol over them as they slid into another grin. I gritted my teeth as he watched me approach, taking me in from head to toe.

"Changed your mind?"

He'd switched from his sexy navy suit to an equally sexy pair of jeans, tight-fitting around his muscular legs. His baby blue shirt was open, down to between his pectoral muscles, a few ginger and brown hairs poking out. He smiled, displaying a set of straight, bright white teeth—not that I would have expected anything else from a man of this exquisite stature.

I gestured at the seat closest to him. "This one taken?"

His smile widened. "It is." He waved at the bartender. "By you."

The young man behind the bar flurried over, depositing my glass of red wine in front of the barstool where I was about to sit. "Mademoiselle," he said, before rushing back to Chi.

I locked eyes with Chi for two seconds—a wink and a "good luck"—before dropping onto the barstool and taking hold of my drink. I twisted to the man and raised the glass. "Cheers?"

He leaned in close to let our cups collide. His spicy scent infused my nostrils, warming my insides. A hint of cinnamon incense and pepper hit my senses, waking me up. He was better than any dose of caffeine I'd ever tasted.

"Cheers." He pulled his glass to his lips, and took a sip without breaking eye-contact. His gaze was a dark chocolate, but hinted with specks of a lighter brown, a few flecks of green, dots of blue. "So, business or pleasure?"

"Business," I said, sipping on the scarlet-hued beverage, delighted by the aroma. "You?"

"A bit of both," he said, his voice deepening as he set his glass down. "So tell me, what is your—"

"—no," I interrupted, shaking my head, sucking my lips in. "No names, no details. Let's keep this mysterious, yeah?"

As much as I wanted this man naked in my bed, I didn't want complications; names were complicated. One-night-stands were meant to be just that: one night. No talk of jobs or where we were from or what our life aspirations were. The less talk, the better. Exchanging names led to exchanging numbers, which led to second, third, fourth times. If this man was here on business, like me, I'd probably never see him again...and that was the intent.

If offended, he didn't show it, and instead took hold of his glass, raising it again. "Fine by me. A French mystery hook-up?" He winked as he angled forward, his face so close to mine that I forgot to breathe. "I'm game."

This game took us to the third floor, on the far left, where Mystery man's lodgings awaited us. The Presidential Suite.

While I'd visited a few of the rooms at the Villa des Tropiques, I'd definitely not seen this one.

It wasn't a suite—it was an apartment. Vast and luxurious, with touches of gold and silver accents, an in-your-face decadence. The main door opened into a spacious living area with several velvet divans around a glass coffee-table, lounging chairs nestled in corners near sleek, black bookshelves, and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a balcony overlooking the Gulf.

"Damn," I said, as the Mystery man closed the door behind me.

I remained near the door, peering into the opulent space as if my sight alone would break something. The paintings adorning the wall looked expensive, the marble vases on side-tables and in corners like the ones exhibited in a Parisian museum.

Mystery man set a hand on the small of my back; firm, but gentle enough to indicate that it was okay for me to enter this room without fear.

"Bienvenue," he said, in his choked-up French, guiding me towards the window. A few stringed lights lined the balcony railing. The moon's glow lit up the darkened waters below as they crashed onto the soft sand.

"Wow," I let out a breath, "so you're filthy rich, aren't you?" I covered my mouth, having almost forgotten who I was talking to, so taken aback by the scenery, the display of wealth.

The man laughed; I caught his bright smile in the window's reflection. "To be fair, you must be as rich as me if you're able to get a room in this place."

"Actually, I'm not paying for my room. My employer is covering it. But," I twisted to the man and tried not to launch myself onto him too fast, "my room is down on the ground floor and much smaller than this. This," she whistled, "is way above my pay-grade."

His eyes narrowed, but his smirk remained as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "And here I was thinking you were some posh, New York City socialite." He eyed me up and down, biting on his lower lip. "With that stylish suit?" He took my hand and twirled me around, drinking in every inch of my curves, the grace in my movements. "Very metropolitan and chic."

I flushed as my hand fell to my side. "This thing?" I unfastened the button of my suit jacket and lifted the fabric. "It's cheap, recycled L.A. couture." I shook my head as I prepared to re-fasten the coat. "I'm not a woman of means. So hopefully that's not what you were looking for..."

"No," he said, his voice nearing a growl as he seized my hand, preventing me from re-buttoning my jacket. His obscure eyes were serious, laced with something I couldn't read. His touch was warm, sending shivers up and down my arms. "I was looking for you. Just you."

I gulped as he brought my fingers to his mouth, pressing my fingertips to his fiery but wet lips. Just you. The electricity between us was flagrant, and had been from the moment we'd spotted each other in the hotel lobby.

As he continued to kiss my fingers, slowly, sensually, I didn't want to fight it any longer. I'd finished my work for the day and had nothing to worry about until tomorrow. A round of sizzling sex with a stunning stranger in a fancy hotel would do wonders for my psyche; a rebound to help heal my wounded heart.

"Hm," he said, leaving one last peck on my fingertips, his hand sliding down my arm, under my sleeve. "One more drink?"

We'd barely finished our beverages down at the bar, too eager to hurry upstairs. There wasn't enough alcohol in my system to settle me down, ease me into this fun but nerve-wracking situation. I'd had my fair share of one-night-stands, but not recently; and while sober, I wasn't as bold, as enticing as I wanted to be.

"Yes," I said, turning to the window again, lost in the nighttime scene below. I sighted figures on the sand—brave young adults running naked into the water, screaming and giggling at the near-freezing temperature.

I admired their bravery before remembering I was being just as brave. Breaking my own rules—no sex during gigs—and succumbing to a sexy, delightful man in a not-so-familiar place.

Mystery man returned to me with champagne in a crystal flute. He slid the cup into my grasp before clinking our glasses and whispering "cheers" as he gazed into my eyes.

I took a sip of the bubbly liquid and smiled. "Oh, this is the good stuff."

He drained half his glass and smirked. "The real champagne, yes. I always make sure I have some on hand to entertain gorgeous women like you."

My cheeks heated as I sipped again, maintaining eye-contact, doing my damndest not to blink. Doing my damndest not to shatter this languorous exchange of gazes by reaching up to touch his tawny and ginger scruff. By using my fingers to apply pressure to his mouth once more, relishing in the shivers he'd provoked, the warmth he'd awoken in my belly.

"So tell me, woman who won't give me her name," said the man, after another swig of champagne. "If I'm so filthy rich, what do you think my job is?"

I quirked an eyebrow, studying him. A CEO of some high-level corporation, for sure. Part philanthropist, donating to charitable causes, running an ethical business spanning several continents. He didn't come off as a jackass; he gave me the impression of being a good man, with a good heart. Sassy, willing to do anything to get what he wanted, but not pushy. I couldn't say what made me think that, but his vibe—composed, polite, holding doors, and not attacking my mouth the minute we were alone—was positive.

Not that it mattered what he did for a living. Rich or poor, he was delicious, he smelled like something straight out of a bottle of expensive perfume, and he exuded the kind of confidence that assured me he'd know what to do to me in bed.

I took hold of his shirt collar, sliding my fingers along the silky material until I met with his skin. Smooth hairs tingled my fingertips near his pectorals, where I paused, waiting for him to urge me further down or stop me. He did neither, only peering down at me, a curious twinkle in his eye.

"I don't give a shit what you do or who you are."

One of his eyebrows shot up at my language, but he didn't imply he wanted me to take my hand off him. He leaned a smidgen forward, pressing my palm harder against him. "Oh yeah? So you want a real one-night-stand, then? The no bullshit, getting straight to the point kind of fun?"

I swallowed the bubbles caught in my throat. I was coy most days, and especially when on location for a job and in front of vendors and staff-members. But behind closed doors, or when off work and unwinding, and with a bit of liquor in my stomach, I never minced my words. I was a go-getter who said things straight, exposed my feelings without remorse. More so when there was something I wanted.

And I wanted this man bad.

"A business transaction," I said, my voice close to a raspy whisper. I lowered my hand to his shirt button and undid it, then slipped inside to caress the smoothness of his upper abdomen, sensing the six-pack I'd envisioned many times already. "I don't want to waste time, because I don't have time. No attachments."

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, watching my hand as it glided low, lower, pausing at his belt. "Got it." He tipped my chin up, licking his lips before approaching, speaking into my mouth. "Let's get started, then."

As he crammed his mouth to mine, hungrily kissing me, immersing his tongue inside without preamble, I unbuckled his belt and whipped it out of place, letting it drop to the floor. He removed my jacket, then cradled the back of my head to tug me deeper into his kiss. Our tongues gyrated in a rhythm so intense I couldn't breathe; but I didn't want to. All I wanted was for this man to sweep me off my feet and knock me unconscious with his skill.

And he was skilled. Tasting my tongue while undoing my shirt, slithering the thing down my arms, his touch titillating me into losing my mind. He was only touching my arm, for fucks' sake; what would it be like when he got under my panties?

We broke apart, breathless, to remove pants and make our way towards the bedroom—another enormous space with a spectacular view of the pristine waters. I turned to the window to glance out at the scenery, and Mystery man came up behind me, pressing his body against mine. I sensed his firmness against my buttocks, hard and throbbing, cutting off my breaths as I imagined the length, the girth of what I was about to feel inside me.

I splayed my hands on the glass, the cool spreading up my arms, tingling down my waist and legs. In the window's reflection, I saw him chewing on his lip as he parted my hair to the side and angled forward to dab kisses on my neck, my upper back. Seeing myself reflected, too, in my mismatched black bra and red underwear, my temperature rose, my center swelled with desire.

He reached around, tiptoeing his fingers over my belly, not dismayed by my rolls or the worn-down, cotton-like feel of my high-waisted, flattening panties. He crept beneath the hem and continued his trek down to my core, not waiting, not teasing before plunging directly into my wetness.

"Mm," he moaned, his lips near my ear, "so wet already, yeah? How long have you been wanting this?"

His fingers parted my lower lips and gently rubbed my moisture, locating my clit within seconds of exploration. "Uh," I panted, my extremities numbing from the pleasure of his touch, "since I saw you downstairs."

He nibbled at my earlobe and looked into the window, at my reflection, studying me as I lost myself. "I've been watching you," he whispered, pushing his erection harder against my ass. "Been wanting you."

His fingers accelerated, flicking at my sensitive spot, making my legs shake so hard I could barely stand up. The more his dick throbbed against my backside, the more I wanted to swing around, yank his boxers down, and shove his cock all the way inside me.

As if reading my mind, he flipped me and set his mouth on mine, his hot, champagne-tinted tongue taking hold of mine. He leaned into me, pinning me against the cold window. The mix of his heated skin against mine, and the cool glass on my spine created butterflies in my gut and a fluttering sensation in my center.

While kissing me, he snuck his finger into my underwear again, bypassing my clit and entering me quick and easy, drawing sharp, hissing breaths from me. "Mm," he said, his tongue still locked with mine, the sound sending reverberations into my throat, up my neck.

I extended my hand to get a feel of his member, and gasped at the width of it. I crept into his boxers, seizing the pulsating penis, stroking it to better gauge its length. He released a groan of pleasure, slowing his caresses as I sped up mine.

"Fuck," he said, pulling off my mouth, resting his forehead to mine. He had to crane his neck to be level with me, and I could almost hear his heartbeats as I handled his shaft, alternating between short, swift moves and slower, sensual rubbing. "Fuck," he gasped, "yeah, that's it, that's it."

His body tensed, and for a moment I feared I'd gone too far, driving him too close to explosion; but he stepped backward, and smirked at me, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you so hard right now, you naughty girl," he said, voice hoarse with lust.

My back was glued to the window, my legs jerky from the near orgasm. I watched as he went to a nightstand by his California King-sized bed, extracting a condom. He sat on the edge of the mattress, facing me as he slid down his boxers, fully exposing his erection.

I'd seen bigger dicks in my life; but his was girthy, and still a perfect length to reach deep inside me and pull out some of my loudest screams. I salivated as he rolled on the condom, then meandered over to me. He crouched to delicately remove my panties, stroking my thighs, gripping my ass as I stepped out of the fabric. He hefted my shirt up over my head, tossing it to the floor. My bra followed suit, my nipples tingling with the need to be touched.

Naked, my butt crammed against the frigid window, I admired his grace as he straightened back up, desire reddening his cheeks. Without difficulty, he heaved me up, my legs dangling and parting to straddle him. Once he had me balanced, our hips aligned, he eased into me. An immediate shockwave of electricity ran through me as he penetrated me deep, filling me completely.

I held in a yelp of passion, unsure how loud I could be; this wasn't my room, and I had no clue how thin the walls were. But he softly bit my lip and thrust into me so fast, so profoundly, that I couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Fuck," I released, my shoulders jerking into the window, my body melting against the glass, my arousal soaking his penis. My thighs were on fire, and I couldn't imagine the pain he experienced by holding me up, gripping my thighs to ensure I didn't fall.

"Yeah," he breathed, shoving in and out, in and out, the motion rendering me deliriously dizzy. His arms quivered with effort, and yet he kept at it, his pleasure, my pleasure more important than his fatigued upper limbs. "Yeah, let it out. Scream for me, baby."

One more plunge was all it took to send me absolutely over the edge, cries of ecstasy shooting out my mouth.

☼☼☼