After I Slept with My Ex's Best Buddy

Kiera had no idea how long she'd been out, but the sound of running water jolted her awake. Instinctively, she rubbed her temples, grimacing at the hammering ache of last night's excesses. After a moment to steady herself, she hauled herself up—then went statue-still. The silk sheets slipped, revealing far too much bare skin. Worse, the throbbing ache between her legs shouted proof of last night's recklessness. Hazy memories punched through: drowning career disasters at a bar, drinking until the room spun, clinging to some faceless guy... then being taken apart under him until dawn. Pulse jackhammering, she clutched the sheets and lunged for her scattered clothes— The bathroom door swung open. Muscular calves stepped into view. She stiffened, refusing to look up. The silence choked the room. Then came her idiotic move. Without even glancing at him, she swaddled herself in the duvet and bolted for the door— Only to trip after two steps. Thud! Slammed face-first into the carpet, she writhed like a trussed-up moth. "Tch..." A derisive chuckle above. Then leather soles stopped inches from her nose. "Still drunk, Kiera?" That voice—dark honey laced with arsenic—dripped with amusement. Her head snapped up. Rivulets snaked down his carved abdomen, heat radiating off him like a walking sin. No. No. Of all people... him? Words died in her throat. "H-Heath?" she finally stammered. "So you do remember me." His smirk deepened as his gaze raked over her exposed collarbones. Her gut twisted. Heath Vaughn—Beaville's crown prince of commerce, every woman's fantasy... and her ex Ethan's closest friend. She'd just slept with a living legend—one who'd witnessed her ugliest breakup tears. Shame scorched her from the inside out. The floor couldn't swallow her fast enough. But the moment she tried to move, he hauled her up from the floor in one swift motion. Before she could react, she was flung back onto the mattress. His towering frame pinned her completely, his voice a rough command: "Running's become your new hobby, Kiera? Wasn't it you who couldn't get enough last night? Now you're playing stranger after getting what you wanted?" Pressed this close, she couldn't ignore the unmistakable press of his arousal against her. Pure panic tore through her. She shoved at his chest blindly. "Get off—!" He intercepted her wrists effortlessly, his grip vise-like. His brow arched, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. "'Get off'?" Heath's lips curled in a mocking smirk. "Those weren't your words when you were screaming my name." Watching her face pale, he leaned closer, voice laced with poison. "Need me to remind you, Kiera? How you sobbed for me to take you harder? To never stop?" "Stop it!" Her voice shattered, eyes glistening. "Heath, I was drunk—I take full responsibility. But this was just a mistake. Let me go." He opened his mouth when three staccato raps shook the door. A familiar voice called, "Heath, it's me. Open up." Kiera froze. Her fingers clawed at his arm. "Don't," she whispered, desperate. "Please." The difference between them was almost cruel—her delicate fingers trembling against his sun-kissed, corded muscles. Heath's jaw tightened. Even now, her touch was a lie. Just like last night, when her lips had moved under his, only to gasp another man's name. Fingers gripping her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. "Give me a reason," he hissed, "and the door stays shut." "What?" She blinked up at him, stunned. He barked a joyless laugh. "This is your only chance, Kiera." Every knock sent jolts through her chest. Facing Ethan now—after their ugly breakup, after finally cutting ties—was beyond imagining. Yet here she was, n***d in his best friend's bed. She felt completely vulnerable, like being paraded n***d in public. Scorched by humiliation, Kiera clenched her teeth. Then, shutting her eyes, she tilted her head up and abruptly pressed her lips against Heath's thin, cool lips. The move caught him completely off guard. Their breaths collided and tangled—her inexperience, her quivering tension, the softness of her lips—enough to drive any man wild. Yet the frost in Heath’s eyes turned glacial. Frowning, he gripped the nape of her neck, dragging her into a deeper kiss. Kiera gasped, instinctively recoiling, but his hold was ironclad. Just as she dangled on the brink of blackout, he released her. Standing over the bed, he eyed her with arctic disdain. "Kiera," he drawled, "I’m far from impressed." Blinking dazedly up at him, she jolted upright as he turned toward the door. Panicked, she clutched the robe around herself before bolting into the bathroom. The room pulsed with lingering desire. The moment Ethan stepped inside, he noticed. His gaze flicked to the angry red marks marring Heath’s chest. A wolfish grin spread across his face. "So," he drawled, "playing house now?"