She looked down. She was completely naked. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes locked onto the dark, angry purple bruises scattered across her collarbone and the swell of her breasts.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. A violent wave of panic crashed over her.
Flashes of the night before ripped through her mind. The smell of cedar. The scorching heat of skin against skin. The sound of a silk tie ripping.
She gasped for air, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she grabbed the edges of the blanket and yanked it up to her chin, wrapping herself into a tight cocoon. She darted her eyes around the room.
Minimalist luxury. Cold gray tones. An abstract painting on the wall that belonged in a museum, not a hotel. This was a private penthouse.
Click.
The sound of the bathroom door unlocking echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.
Krista scrambled backward, pressing her spine hard against the tufted headboard. She stared at the frosted glass door, her chest heaving.
Thick white steam rolled out into the bedroom as the door swung open. A man walked out.
He wore nothing but a white towel slung dangerously low on his hips. Water droplets clung to his broad shoulders, tracing the deep grooves of his eight-pack abs before disappearing into the terrycloth. He was drying his wet black hair with a smaller towel, his movements slow and lazy, yet radiating an overwhelming, suffocating dominance.
Krista's pulse skyrocketed. Her throat squeezed shut. She couldn't look away from the sheer physical power of his chest.
The man felt her stare. He stopped moving. He lowered the towel, and his eyes-cold, dark, and precise as a sniper's scope-locked onto her.
The temperature in the room plummeted to freezing. Krista's fingers dug so hard into the silk sheets that the fabric threatened to tear.
"Awake?"
His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated right through the floorboards and into her bones.
Krista swallowed hard, fighting the bile in her throat. "Last... last night was an accident." Her voice shook violently. "We are both adults. It happens."
She darted her eyes toward the floor, desperately searching for her shredded dress.
A dangerous shadow crossed the man's eyes. He tossed the towel onto a velvet armchair and took a step toward the bed.
With every step he took, that intoxicating scent of cedar and body wash wrapped around Krista, suffocating her.
He stopped at the edge of the mattress, towering over her. He looked down at her like a hunter observing a trapped rabbit.
"An accident?" he scoffed.
He suddenly leaned forward, planting both of his large hands on the mattress on either side of her knees, carefully avoiding the thick blanket she had wrapped around herself like a shield. His sheer physical presence blocked out the light from the windows. He caged her in completely.
Krista shrank back, the air crushing her lungs. She pressed herself flat against the headboard, but there was nowhere left to go.
He leaned in closer. His hot breath brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
"You took my innocence," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with dark authority. "And you think 'we are adults' is going to dismiss me?"
Krista's eyes went wide. The blood rushed out of her head. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
The man straightened up. He casually brushed a non-existent piece of lint off his bare shoulder, looking entirely justified.
His eyes turned to ice as he delivered the final blow.
"You need to take responsibility, Ms. Cain."
Krista's jaw trembled. Her brain short-circuited entirely, leaving her completely speechless.