Love My Way

The early morning light poured in through the half-open blinds, casting uneven shadows across the tangled sheets. The king-sized bed was in chaos-pillows on the floor, a discarded shirt hanging off the footboard, and in the middle of it all, a woman lay curled under a blanket, only her bare back exposed.

Blair Thompson stirred beneath the covers. Her limbs ached, her mouth tasted like cotton, and her skull throbbed with every heartbeat. A faint blush colored her cheeks-not from modesty, but the kind of heat that clings after a night of wine and bad decisions.

She groaned softly and stretched an arm, blinking groggily as she tried to figure out where she was. Her head was spinning, her throat dry. What time was it?

Her eyes darted to the digital clock on the nightstand.

8:42 a.m.

Panic shot through her. "Crap..."

Work started at nine. And after being late twice this month, another slip-up meant a salary deduction-again. She sat up in a hurry, only to wince as a wave of soreness pulsed through her body.

Her brows knitted.

Something was wrong. Her entire body ached in unfamiliar places. Slowly, she lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked beneath it.

She was naked.

More than that-her skin was marked. Faint bruises, love bites, the unmistakable aftermath of a long, messy night.

Blair's heart dropped into her stomach.

She remembered the wine. A whole bottle. Cheap, strong, and very stupid. She remembered storming out of the restaurant in a haze. She remembered the red hallway of the hotel.

She remembered opening a door. Not her door.

Then-a man. Someone strong. Tall. Sharp shoulders. A fall. And heat. A lot of heat.

She jolted upright, clutching the blanket to her chest. The room was empty now, eerily still. Her eyes scanned the floor for any sign of a familiar pair of shoes, a wallet, a jacket-anything that might confirm who she'd spent the night with.

Nothing.

Her thighs were sore, her legs trembling when she tried to move. She could still feel the dull ache between them, and when she saw a faint trace of dried blood, her stomach twisted into a knot.

She clenched the blanket tighter, feeling exposed in every possible way.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned toward the sound, hopeful. Maybe it was her boss-Nathaniel Renford-the one she'd meant to ambush. She'd had this whole plan: seduce him, force his hand, secure her position.

Desperate times called for reckless actions. But desperate didn't mean stupid. She wouldn't have slept with a stranger... would she?

The door creaked open.

A tall man stepped into the room, drying his hair with a towel. He was barefoot, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing toned forearms and a silver watch. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and his sharp features looked carved by a sculptor-calm, cold, and maddeningly attractive.

Blair's heart plummeted. Her fake smile froze mid-bloom.

She had no idea who this man was.

"Who are you?" she demanded, yanking the blanket higher. "Why are you in my room?"

The man raised a brow and crossed his arms casually. "Your room? I live here."

Her stomach flipped.

"Live here?"

Was he housekeeping? Security? Some gigolo her friend set her up with as a joke?

She squinted at him. "Wait... are you Nathaniel's new driver? Assistant? I don't remember him mentioning you."

"I have no idea who that is," the man said, frowning slightly. His voice was low and calm, with a hint of annoyance. "This room was booked under my name."

Blair's head spun. This was not how today was supposed to go.

The man continued, more to himself than to her. "I was at a business dinner last night. Drank too much. Didn't want to drive. Found this hotel nearby. Checked in. Took a shower. And then..." His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, "You barged in."

"I what?"

"You barged in. Drunk. Hugged me. Fell on top of me."

Blair's face burned. "No, no, no. That's not-" she paused, brain trying to catch up with the memories. "You're saying I... broke into your room?"

"Correct."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the memories began to line up. She had pushed open a door. She'd assumed it was Nathaniel's suite. She'd told herself she'd take control of her future. But the man standing in front of her now was most definitely not Nathaniel Renford.

As if reading her expression, he added, "You kept clinging to me, muttering something about making it a done deal."

Blair's jaw dropped.

"I tried to get you off me," he continued calmly. "But you were like... sticky candy. And you bit me." He unbuttoned his shirt and pointed to a faint red mark on his chest. "Here."

Her eyes widened.

He buttoned the shirt again slowly, eyes never leaving hers.

"I told you to stop. You didn't listen."

Blair stared, speechless.

"I tried to do the right thing," he said softly, as if trying to convince himself more than her. "But I was drunk too. And you weren't exactly... resisting."

She swallowed hard. "You still should've stopped."

"I know."

They stood in silence.

Then she snapped. "This is sexual assault. You-"

He held up a hand. "Let's not pretend you're the victim here. You stormed into my room."

"Because I thought you were someone else!"

"Doesn't change what happened."

Her voice shook. "If this gets out, my job, my reputation-"

He cut in. "Mine too."

She paused. "Who are you?"

The man hesitated for a long second. "Graham Prescott. Acting Mayor of Crestwood Falls."

Blair blinked.

The Graham Prescott?

She stared at him, mouth slightly open.

Oh, she was so screwed.

Before she could respond, the door to the suite opened again. They both turned toward it.

A sharply dressed woman in a black suit stepped inside. Her eyes flicked between the two of them, landing on Blair-bare shoulders, tousled hair, wrapped in a hotel quilt.

The woman's lips curved into a faint smirk.

"Mayor Prescott," she said, "The press is waiting downstairs. You're already ten minutes late for your conference."

Blair's blood turned to ice.

Graham glanced at her, then nodded. "I'll be right down."

As the woman left, he turned back to Blair. "We'll talk later."

And with that, he slipped on his jacket and walked out the door.

Blair sat frozen, wrapped in silence and linen.

The Mayor. The actual mayor.

Her stomach churned. Her plan had gone nuclear. She hadn't seduced her boss. She hadn't secured her job.

She'd accidentally slept with the most powerful man in town.

And now the press was involved.

She barely had time to process it before her phone buzzed. A message from her best friend lit up the screen:

"Blair. Have you seen the news? You're trending."

Blair's heart stopped as she clicked the link.

And there it was.

A blurry photo of her stepping into the hotel last night, hand clutching the collar of a very familiar white shirt.

The headline read:

"Mayor's Secret Mistress? Exclusive Photo Reveals Late-Night Rendezvous With Mystery Woman"

Blair stared at the screen, her fingers trembling.

She was in trouble.

But she had no idea just how much...