Chapter 1 Just One Night

The city pulsed beneath her heels like a living thing.

Up here, on the rooftop bar of Hotel Marlowe, everything shimmered. The skyline was lit in golds and silvers, the air soft with summer heat and the promise of mischief. Somewhere below, New York rushed on, a hum of honking taxis and the occasional burst of music drifting up from an open window. But up here? It felt like another world.

Exactly what Sienna Rae needed.

She tipped back the last of her champagne and let the sweetness tingle down her throat. Her lipstick-stained flute clinked softly against the marble tabletop as she set it down, fingers idly playing with the base. Across from her, her best friend Gia was already deep into her third tequila cocktail and halfway through a monologue about her latest Hinge disaster.

"-and then he actually had the nerve to say he doesn't believe in going down on women. Like it's a political stance or something," Gia huffed, flipping her dark curls over one shoulder. "I told him he better believe in walking his ass out of my apartment."

Sienna laughed, but the sound felt distant, automatic. She appreciated Gia's commitment to being her social distraction tonight, but her mind was elsewhere-fogged with the frustration of her latest brand deal falling through, the never-ending pressure to keep her online audience engaged, and the hollow ache that came with feeling like the curated perfection of her feed didn't match the chaos behind the camera.

She was tired of being "on." Of being flawless. Of being expected to shine.

For once, she wanted to feel something real-even if it was reckless.

"I need another drink," she said, sliding off the velvet stool and smoothing down her satin wrap dress, a deep burgundy that hugged her hips and skimmed her thighs. She was bare-legged, bronzed, and unapologetically sexy. The way heads turned as she walked told her as much. But she didn't care about any of them.

She wanted someone who wouldn't ask for her Instagram handle before her name.

She wanted danger. Mystery. Midnight chaos.

The bar glowed amber, all dark wood and golden backlighting, and as she slid in between two suited businessmen, she didn't immediately notice the man at the end of the bar-leaning back with his bourbon, all casual arrogance and impossible symmetry.

Not until his eyes met hers.

She paused. Something in her tightened, then loosened like warm honey.

Holy Hell.

His gaze held hers-smoky, amused, and entirely unbothered. He wasn't trying. He wasn't posing. He looked like he hated small talk and had a habit of leaving people breathless and pissed off at the same time.

In a city of boys pretending to be men, he was something else entirely.

A Storm in Suit.

She turned deliberately, facing the bartender, heart hammering harder than she wanted to admit.

"Something strong," she said. "Surprise me."

"You sure?" the bartender asked, raising a brow.

"I'm not driving," she smiled.

Behind her, the man's chair scraped softly against the floor. She didn't look, but she felt it-the magnetic pull of him moving closer. Then came the smooth, low voice, as dark and smoky as the bourbon in his glass.

"I'd recommend the smoked old fashioned," he said, tone casual but velvet-edged.

She turned slowly.

He was close now. Closer than necessary. Leaning against the bar like it belonged to him. No name tag, no tie, no need to impress. Just confidence and that simmering, unreadable gaze. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, showing just enough tanned skin to make her stomach flip. A watch gleamed on his wrist-expensive, understated.

Sienna arched a brow. "Do I look like a smoked old fashioned kind of girl to you?"

He studied her like he was in no rush at all. "You look like you could handle anything once."

She smirked, heart pounding. "Is that a challenge or a pickup line?"

"Maybe both."

Their drinks arrived-his refill and hers, mysterious and sharp. She sipped it without breaking eye contact. The burn was glorious.

"I'm Mason," he said finally.

She tilted her head. "No last name?"

"Not unless you're planning to write it down."

Her laugh was low, genuine. "Sienna."

"Sienna," he repeated, savoring it. "Beautiful name."

She could feel the heat of his body, the tension simmering in the air between them. No music played up here. No interruptions. Just the hum of want.

They didn't talk about jobs. Or exes. Or what they were doing in the city. Their conversation was a dance-teasing, edged with something darker, something dangerously close to honesty.

He watched her like he saw through her. Like he knew she wasn't just another flirty, filtered face. And she watched him like she could unbutton that cocky exterior and find out what made him crack.

When the hour hit midnight, she didn't even hesitate.

"Come with me," she said softly.

His eyes flared. But he didn't ask where.

The Suite was Too Expensive.

Too luxurious. Too quiet.

Exactly what she wanted.

Sienna stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite he'd led her to, gazing out at the skyline while she removed her earrings, one by one, heart thudding as anticipation curled through her like smoke.

She could hear him behind her-shedding his jacket, pouring them each another drink from the mini-bar like he did this kind of thing often.

She didn't ask if he brought women here regularly. She didn't want to know.

Tonight wasn't about reality. It was about forgetting it.

She turned when she heard his footsteps behind her. He was holding out a glass, the city lights casting his cheekbones in gold. She took it, their fingers brushing.

"You sure about this?" he asked, voice lower now.

"I was sure the second I saw you."

His jaw flexed.

He set his glass down and stepped closer, slowly, like he was giving her every second to change her mind. She didn't.

Sienna reached for him first-fisting the collar of his shirt and dragging his mouth down to hers.

The kiss was fire and teeth and heat. His hands were strong on her hips, her waist, her back. He didn't ask permission, but he gave her control. When he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapped around him without thought.

He carried her to the bed like she weighed nothing.

The rest was heat and breath and bare skin.

They lay tangled in sweat-damp sheets hours later, breathless and quiet. Her head rested on his chest, his fingers idly tracing circles along her bare shoulder.

She didn't ask if he'd stay. She didn't ask what this meant.

They both knew what it was.

Just One Nig

That was the agreement. That was the rule.

But even as the room settled into stillness, Sienna couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just opened a door she wasn't going to be able to close.

And Mason Wolfe-arrogant, grumpy, insanely sexy Mason-wasn't just a fling.

He was a problem.

A beautiful, complicated, dangerously tempting problem.

And she had a feeling the night was just the beginning.