THE TASTE OF HIS HEAT

FLASHBACK-THE FIRST ONE NIGHG STAND

Eight years ago

The Palermo night pulsed like a living thing, its alleys ablaze with music and laughter. Neon signs flickered above cobblestone streets, spilling light onto crowds that swayed to the rhythm of summer. Inside Club Notte, a haven of velvet and smoke, the air thrummed with bass and desire. The dance floor writhed, bodies pressed close, while the bar glowed like an altar to reckless abandon.

Bianca Romano stood near the edge of the chaos, her fingers tight around a cocktail glass. At twenty, she was a quiet beauty-dark hair cascading in loose waves, hazel eyes wide with a mix of awe and unease. Her simple black dress hugged her frame, borrowed from Natalie's closet, a far cry from the orphanage hand-me-downs she'd known. Tonight was a rare escape, coaxed by her friends Natalie and Verona, who'd dragged her from their shared apartment with promises of freedom.

"Loosen up, B!" Natalie shouted over the music, her auburn curls bouncing as she danced in place. Her grin was infectious, her energy a wildfire. "You're not in the orphanage anymore!"

Bianca managed a shy smile, sipping her cocktail-a sweet, sharp thing that burned her throat. "I'm trying, Nat."

Verona, lean and sharp-eyed, leaned closer, her blonde hair catching the strobe lights. "You need another drink. Or a dance. Pick one." Her tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hint of envy that Bianca didn't notice.

Bianca shook her head, her gaze drifting to the dance floor. The club was a sensory assault-sweat, perfume, and spilled liquor mingling in the air, the beat vibrating through her bones. She'd never been to a place like this, never felt so untethered. The orphanage had taught her caution, but tonight, under Natalie's insistence and Verona's prodding, she wanted to feel alive.

"Fine," Bianca said, setting her glass down. "One dance."

Natalie whooped, pulling her toward the floor, but Bianca's eyes caught on a figure at the bar. He stood apart from the crowd, a shadow in a tailored suit, his presence like a magnet. Tall, with dark hair swept back and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, he exuded a quiet power that made the club's chaos seem trivial. His gray eyes, cold yet searching, met hers across the room.

Time slowed. The music faded to a dull roar, the crowd blurring into insignificance. Bianca's breath caught, her heart stumbling in her chest. He didn't smile, didn't move, but his gaze held hers with an intensity that felt like a touch. She looked away, heat rising to her cheeks, but when she glanced back, he was still watching.

"Earth to Bianca!" Natalie's voice snapped her back. "You okay?"

Bianca nodded, but her eyes flicked to the bar again. He was gone. Disappointment flickered, but she pushed it aside, letting Natalie pull her into the dance floor's sway. The music took over, her body moving with a grace she didn't know she had. For once, she let go, her laughter mingling with Natalie's as Verona watched from the sidelines, her smile tight.

When Bianca stepped off the floor, breathless and flushed, she headed to the bar for water. The bartender slid a glass her way, but a low voice interrupted. "Put it on my tab."

She turned, and there he was-the man from before, now inches away. Up close, he was devastating, his suit molding to broad shoulders, his cologne a subtle mix of cedar and spice. His gray eyes held a storm, but beneath it, something softer flickered, a loneliness that mirrored her own.

"I didn't ask for a drink," Bianca said, her voice steadier than she felt.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "You looked like you needed one."

She raised an eyebrow, emboldened by the cocktail's buzz. "And you're the expert on what I need?"

This time, he did smile-a faint, dangerous curve that sent a shiver through her. "Maybe."

No names were exchanged, no pasts offered. They stood at the bar, trading quiet words that felt like secrets. He was reserved, his voice low and measured, but each sentence carried weight. Bianca, usually guarded, found herself talking-about Palermo's salt air, the stars she'd watched from the orphanage roof, anything but the ache she carried. He listened, his gaze never wavering, as if she were the only person in the room.

The night deepened, the club a haze of light and sound. When he offered his hand, wordless, Bianca took it. His touch was warm, electric, pulling her toward the private lounge upstairs. She glanced back at Natalie, who grinned and waved her on, oblivious to Verona's narrowed eyes.

The lounge was quieter, its velvet booths bathed in soft gold light. They sat close, the space between them charged. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering, and Bianca's breath hitched. There was no pretense, no promise of tomorrow-just a shared hunger, a need to escape the loneliness that clung to them both.

"Do you do this often?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Never," he said, and she believed him.

Their lips met, tentative at first, then fierce. The kiss was fire, consuming, a collision of two souls seeking refuge. The world fell away, leaving only heat and want. He led her to a private suite above the club, the door closing behind them with a soft click. The room was dark, save for the city lights filtering through the window, casting shadows across their skin.

Clothes fell away, their movements urgent yet careful, as if savoring a moment too fragile to last. His hands traced her curves, reverent, while her fingers mapped the planes of his chest, finding scars she didn't ask about. They moved together, a dance of instinct and surrender, their breaths mingling in the quiet. For one night, they were not strangers, not broken-they were whole.

Morning came too soon. Bianca woke in a tangle of sheets, the suite empty. Sunlight streamed through the window, harsh and unforgiving. His side of the bed was cool, his suit gone, only the faint scent of cedar lingering. She sat up, her heart sinking. No note, no trace. Just the memory of his touch, his eyes, his voice.

She dressed quickly, her dress wrinkled, her hair a mess. Downstairs, the club was silent, littered with empty glasses and faded dreams. She searched the bar, the lounge, even asked the sleepy bartender if he'd seen a man in a tailored suit. Nothing. He'd vanished like a ghost.

Bianca stepped into the dawn, Palermo stirring around her. Natalie and Verona waited outside, Natalie's concern softening to relief, Verona's gaze unreadable. Bianca didn't speak of him, couldn't. The night was hers alone, a secret locked in her heart.

She walked home, the city's pulse her only companion, unaware that the man she'd never named would change her life forever.