My Divorce Came With a Billionaire

Episode 2

Ninette's POV

I felt him before I saw him. The air shifted, grew heavier somehow, like the atmosphere changed to accommodate his presence. I turned my head, and there he was.

He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my car, tailored so perfectly it looked like it had been sewn directly onto his body. His dark hair swept back from a face that could have been carved from marble, all sharp angles and dangerous beauty. But his eyes were what made me freeze.

Silver-gray eyes like storm clouds, like nothing I'd ever seen before.

He didn't ask if the seat was taken. He simply sat down, gestured to the bartender, and ordered whiskey neat. His voice was deep and smooth, the kind that made you think of dark rooms and secrets whispered in the night.

We sat in silence for several long minutes. I should have felt uncomfortable, should have moved to a different seat or said something. But I didn't. There was something about his presence that felt like an anchor in the chaos, like as long as he sat there, I wouldn't completely fall apart.

Finally, he spoke without looking at me.

"Are you trying to forget or trying to disappear?"

The question was so perfectly accurate that I almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, I drained my seventh shot and set the glass down harder than necessary.

"Both."

He nodded like this made perfect sense. "How's that working out?"

"Not great." I gestured for another drink. The bartender hesitated, but the stranger gave him a look that made him pour immediately. "Turns out tequila can't erase the image of your husband f*****g your best friend in your bed."

The words came out flat, emotionless. Somewhere around shot five, I had moved past hysterical and landed in numb.

The stranger turned to look at me fully for the first time. His eyes scanned my face with an intensity that made me feel exposed, like he could see every broken piece inside me.

"Your husband is an idiot."

I let out a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a sob. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough." He took a sip of his whiskey, never breaking eye contact. "I know you're beautiful, and he made you believe you weren't. I know you're here drowning in tequila instead of at home burning his clothes, which means you're too kind for your own good. And I know that right now, you want to feel anything except the pain you're in."

Every word landed like a punch. Or maybe like a caress. I couldn't tell anymore.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not."

He leaned closer, not invading my space, but closing the distance enough that I could smell his cologne. It was something expensive and woodsy that made me want to lean in and inhale deeply.

"I can help with that," he said quietly. "With feeling something else. Just for tonight."

I should have said no, should have told this dangerous stranger to leave me alone. I should have gone back to my hotel room and called someone, anyone, who cared about me.

Except there was no one to call. My parents were dead. Tessa had destroyed that friendship along with my marriage. My coworkers barely knew I existed. I was alone in every way that mattered.

And this man, this beautiful dangerous stranger, was looking at me like I was worth looking at. Like I was desirable. Like my pain mattered.

"Okay," I heard myself say. "Help me forget."

Something flashed in those storm-cloud eyes. Triumph maybe, or satisfaction. He stood and offered me his hand.

I took it.

His fingers were warm and strong, and the moment our skin touched, a wild sensation shot up my arm. He pulled me to my feet gently, steadying me when I swayed. The tequila had hit harder than I realized.

"Room number?" he asked.

"412."

He didn't let go of my hand as we walked through the lobby toward the elevators. The few people we passed didn't look twice. I was just another woman going upstairs with a man in a nice suit. Nothing unusual and nothing worth noticing.

In the elevator, he stood close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. My heart was pounding, and I wasn't sure if it was fear or anticipation or the tequila. Maybe all three.

"You can change your mind," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the floor numbers climbing. "At any time. Just say the word and I'll leave."

The fact that he said it made me want him more.

"I won't change my mind."

The elevator dinged on the fourth floor. We walked down the hallway in silence, my hand still in his. At room 412, I fumbled with the key card, my hands shaking. He took it gently, slid it through the reader, and pushed the door open.

Once we were inside with the door closed behind us, everything changed.

He moved fast, backing me against the door, his hands framing my face. For a moment, he just looked at me, his eyes searching mine for something.

"Last chance," he murmured.

Instead of answering, I grabbed his tie and pulled his mouth down to mine.

The kiss was hungry and desperate and raw. He tasted like expensive whiskey and something darker, something that made my toes curl. His hands moved from my face to my waist, pulling me against him hard enough that I could feel every inch of his body.

I moaned into his mouth, and he growled in response. His fingers found the buttons of my blouse and started undoing them with practiced efficiency. I should have felt self-conscious about my curves, about the body Damien had made me hate. But the way this stranger was touching me, like he couldn't get enough, like every inch of me was treasure he needed to claim, made all those insecurities scatter like leaves in the wind.

My blouse hit the floor, then my skirt. He stepped back just enough to look at me standing there in my simple cotton underwear, nothing fancy or seductive. Just plain beige because I had stopped trying to be sexy for Damien months ago.

"Gorgeous," the stranger breathed, and the reverence in his voice made my eyes sting with tears I refused to shed. "Every single inch of you is perfect."

Then he dropped to his knees.