Sunlight sliced through the half-drawn blinds of Fiona's Lunara Cove apartment like golden knives. She woke face-down on her bed, still in last night's emerald dress crumpled, twisted around her thighs, the zipper half-undone. Her mouth tasted like regret and vodka; her body ached in places that reminded her exactly how reckless she'd been.
She rolled over slowly, wincing as the room tilted. The clock on her nightstand blinked 10:47 a.m. Sunday. No work today. No Marcus today. Just her, the empty ring finger, and the faint, delicious soreness between her legs that made her cheeks flush even now.
God. That man.
Dark hair falling into storm-gray eyes. Hands that knew exactly where to touch, how hard, how slow. The way he'd growled her name no, wait, they hadn't exchanged names. Not once. Just bodies, heat, mirrors reflecting every filthy, perfect angle.
She pressed her thighs together at the memory, a low throb answering instantly. One night. One glorious, no-strings, revenge-fuck of a night. And it had felt… freeing. Like she'd reclaimed something Marcus had stolen without her even noticing.
Fiona dragged herself upright, bare feet hitting the cool hardwood. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee she hadn't made and the sea breeze sneaking through the cracked window. She padded to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and froze.
Her reflection looked wrecked in the best way: lips swollen from rough kisses, faint red marks on her neck where his teeth had grazed, hair a wild tangle. Between her breasts, a small bruise bloomed his thumbprint, probably, from when he'd pinned her against the chaise and taken her so deep she'd seen stars.
She touched it lightly. A shiver ran through her.
"Get it together, Flare," she muttered to the mirror. "It was sex. Amazing sex. Done."
She stripped off the dress, letting it fall in a silk puddle, and stepped into the shower. Hot water cascaded over her skin, soothing the aches but not the memories. As she lathered soap across her breasts, her nipples peaked at the lightest touch still hypersensitive from his mouth. Lower, between her thighs, she was tender, slick even now at the thought of him thrusting into her again and again, whispering filthy praise against her ear.
"You feel so fucking good… come for me again, beautiful…"
She bit her lip, fingers lingering a second too long before she forced herself to rinse and step out.
Wrapped in a towel, she made coffee strong, black and sat on the tiny balcony overlooking the cove. The water sparkled under the late-morning sun, boats bobbing lazily. Normal life. Her life. Without Marcus. Without that stranger whose name she didn't know but whose touch she could still feel everywhere.
Two months down the line Fiona havent been doing much since the breakup from Marcus.
Than night still lingered in her mind only if she could meet with him again.Right now all she could think about was job hunting...
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Lena Sparks best friend, hairstylist extraordinaire, and the only person who cared about her enough to check up on her anytime
Fiona set the phone down and sipped her mug, staring at the horizon, but something else lingered a low, rolling nausea that crept up her throat like a warning. She swallowed hard, chalking it up.
She stood, intending to change into something simple. Sudden violent upset stomach made her rush her way up.She barely made it to the bathroom before she was on her knees, retching into the toilet.
When it passed, she sat back against the cool tile, breathing shallow. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
"Shit," she whispered.
She hadn't eaten much yesterday. Stress. Champagne. Vodka. It could be anything.
But a small, terrified voice in the back of her mind whispered something else.
She havent seen her period last month. And that night… no condom. She remembered the heat of him spilling inside her, the way they'd both been too lost to care.
Her hand drifted to her stomach, flat for now, but suddenly foreign.
"No," she said aloud, voice cracking. "No way. Not possible. Not now."
But the nausea rolled again, gentler this time, like a promise.
She pulled her knees to her chest, towel slipping off one shoulder, and stared at the wall.
One reckless night.
One stupid, beautiful, earth-shattering night.
And maybe just maybe the beginning of something she wasn't ready to face.
The phone buzzed again. Lena.
Fiona closed her eyes.
She wasn't ready to say it out loud yet.
But deep down, she already knew.
And the man who'd put it there?
He had no idea his world was about to tilt just as hard ....