Chapter 1
The whiskey burned going down and I welcomed it. What else could I do than drink my night away.
Third one tonight. Maybe fourth. Who's counting? When you are twenty six, single and the only thing waiting for you at home is a stack of unread medical journals and a bed that's too big for one person?
I waved my hand at the bartender, some old man who had seen too many lonely women drown their sorrows in this shithole. He slid another glass my way without asking. Good man. He knew the drill.
Seneca Falls in January was a special kind of hell. Seeps into your bones and made you question every choice you've ever made in life that landed you in upstate New York instead of anywhere with palm trees. But Med school debt didn't care about the weather.
The bar was half empty which I found quite nice. I've always hated crowds. Few stragglers taking their beers, some couple in the corner having a fight they will forget in the morning. The usual soundtrack of broken dreams and cheap liquor.
I was halfway through my fourth when I felt some dimwit before I saw him.
The stool scraped against the floor, the cheap cologne and desperation. Threatening to take the life out of me.
"Hey there, pretty thing." His voice was slurred and disgustingly close. "What's a fine woman like you doing all alone on a night like this?"
I didn't bother looking up. "Plotting your murder. Now fuck off."
The lunatic laughed like I had told a joke. That's the thing about men like this... they never believe you mean it. They've been told "no" their whole lives and somehow still think it means "try harder."
"Feisty. I like that." His filthy hand landed on my thigh, fingers digging in. "How 'bout you and me.."
How gross! I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Now I needed another shower.
"I would rather shove a rusty scalpel through my eye than spend another second breathing the same air as you." I finally turned to face him, letting him see exactly how much I wanted to rip his hand off and beat him with it. "So unless you want to find out if I'm bluffing, I suggest you remove your hand and crawl back to whatever gutter you stumbled out of."
His face went red like a rotten tomato. "You little bi..."
The hand on my thigh disappeared. Not because he listened. Because someone else had grabbed his wrist and was squeezing hard enough to make the bastard yelp.
"That's enough, habibi." The voice was deep and husky like velvet. "The lady said no."
I looked up.
And regretted it, the moment I did.
Because the kind of man standing there was the kind of gorgeous that made you forget your own name. Olive sun kissed skin, sharp jaw and dark brown eyes that glittered with something dangerous. Hair black as midnight, slightly disheveled like he had just run his fingers through it. And a body that his tight white T shirt did absolutely nothing to hide.
Fuck me, my mind mentally screamed so.
The drunk asshole scrambled off his stool, mumbling something about bitches and better places to be. The beautiful man watched him stumble away then turned to me with a smile that stole my breath away.
"You okay?" He asked.
"Didn't need your help," I sneered "I had it handled."
"I know." He slid onto the vacated stool, way too close for comfort. It's not like I did mind. He was the most beautiful creature i had ever laid my eyes on. "Buf watching you verbally castrate him was the most entertainment I've had all week. I wasn't about to let it end early."
I stared at him. "So you intervened to keep the show going?"
"I intervened because that's what you do when a man's about to get his face rearranged. I thought I'd save him the embarrassment of being beaten up by a woman half his size."
"You're not?" His eyes traveled down my body, lazily. "Could've fooled me. You're tiny."
"I'm five-four," I snapped. "That's not tiny."
He grinned. "I like that. Feisty and not tiny. You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
"Look, Romeo—"
"Selim." He extended his hand. "Selim Demir. And before you ask, yes, the name is as exotic as I look. Am not from around here."
I stared at his hand like it might bite me. "I didn't ask."
"No, but you were thinking it. I can tell." He wiggled his fingers. "Come on, don't leave me hanging. I just saved you from a very uncomfortable situation."
"You interrupted a situation I was handling perfectly well on my own," I said, but I shook his hand anyway.
Big mistake.
His palm was warm against mine, calloused in all the right places, and the way his fingers wrapped around my hand sent a shiver up my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Kamarah," I said, pulling my hand back too quickly. "Kamarah Reign."
"Kamarah." He tasted my name like it was something sweet. "That's beautiful. What's it mean?"
"Moonlight," I said automatically. "My mother named me before she died. Thought I'd shine bright even in the dark. She was wrong about a lot of things."
Something flickered in his eyes, surprise, maybe, or sympathy. I hated both.
"Your mother sounds like she knew exactly what she was talking about," he said quietly.
"Yeah, well, she died when I was eight, so her track record isn't exactly stellar."
I turned back to my whiskey, hoping he'd take the hint and disappear. No such luck.
"So, Kamarah Reign" he said, leaning his elbow on the bar and turning to face me fully. "What brings a beautiful woman to a dive like this on a Friday night?"
"Bad decisions," I said. "Same as everyone else."
"Fair enough." He signaled the bartender. "Another round for the lady, and whatever I'm having."
"I'm not drinking with you."
"Not yet," he agreed. "But I'm very persuasive."
I snorted. "I bet you think you are."
"I know I am." His eyes caught mine, dark and intense. "I always get what I want, habibti. Always."
There was something in the way he said that.. possessive, certain.. that made my stomach flip. But I ignored it, anyway.
"Then you must be very disappointed most of the time," I said, "because the world doesn't give a shit about what you want."
A laugh escaped him, low and warm, wrapping around her like a melody. It was effortless in a way that made him even more breathtaking.
"God, you're something else. Who hurt you, Kamarah?"
"Life," I shrugged. "Next question."
"Fine." He shrugged back, easy and relaxed. "What do you do?"
"I'm a doctor."
His eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"
"What, I don't look smart enough to be a doctor?"
"I didn't say that." His eyes raked over me again, and this time there was something hungry in them. "You look like a lot of things, habibti. Dumb ain't one of them."
"Then what do I look like?"
He leaned closer, close enough that I could smell him, something expensive and masculine, sandalwood and spice. "You look like trouble," he murmured. "The good kind. The kind that keeps a man up at night."
My pulse jumped. I hated that it jumped.
"Yeah?" I forced my voice to stay steady. "And what kind of man are you, Selim?"
"The kind that likes a challenge."
"Then you must be very bored with me. I'm not a challenge. I'm a brick wall. Solid, immovable, and covered in razor wire."
"That so?" He was close now, too close, and I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the slight stubble shadowing his jaw. "Then why can't you look away from me, Kamarah?"
He was right. I couldn't.
And that made me furious.
"Because I'm trying to figure out where the exit is," I said. "Now if you're done with whatever this is—"
"One drink." He held up a hand. "One drink, and I'll drive you home. No strings. No expectations."
"I don't need a ride."
"You don't need a lot of things. Doesn't mean you shouldn't take them." He smiled, slow and devastating. "One drink, Kamarah. What do you have to lose?"
My pride, I thought. My sanity. My carefully constructed walls.
But the whiskey had loosened something in me, and the way he was looking at me—like I was something worth pursuing, worth fighting for—made something dangerous stir in my chest.
"Fine," I heard myself say. "One drink. Then you take me home and you leave me alone."
"Of course." He signaled the bartender again. "I'm a man of my word."
"You're a man, period," I muttered. "That's the problem."
He did that sexy laugh again, and the sound did something ridiculous to my insides.
"We're going to have so much fun together, habibti."
"Don't call me that."
"Would you prefer something else? Moonlight? Trouble? Doc?"
"I would prefer silence."
"You would prefer a lot of things," he said, sliding a fresh glass toward me. "You're very good at telling people what you don't want. I wonder what happens when you finally find something you do."
"I'll let you know if that ever happens."
His smile was sharp, knowing. "It's happening right now, Kamarah. You just haven't admitted it yet."
I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his overconfidence, but the bartender chose that moment to set our drinks down—mine a fresh whiskey, his something amber and expensive.
"To moonlight," he said, raising his glass. "And to the trouble it brings."
I stared at him for a long moment. Then, against every instinct screaming at me to walk away, I raised my glass.
"To bad decisions," I said. "May we regret them in the morning."
He clinked his glass against mine, eyes never leaving my face. "Oh, habibti. I guarantee you, you won't regret a single thing about tonight."
And somewhere deep in my chest, something whispered, that's exactly what I'm afraid of.
