Chapter 1
The sharp click of her heels echoed through the near-empty street as she sprinted toward the bus stop, the night heavy with the scent of rain and hot concrete. The city was half-asleep, neon signs flickering like lazy eyes. It’s almost midnight, and the last bus was already pulling in, headlights cutting across the dark like a judgment.
“Wait!” she breathlessly calls out.
She darted across the curb, barely making it as the doors wheezed shut behind her.
Inside, the air was thick with body heat and the quiet hum of exhaustion. Despite the late hour, the bus was packed, standing room only. Juggling her bag on one shoulder and a book in one hand, she navigated along the aisle, gripping the overhead bar, and tucked herself into a cramped corner near the back. Her dress clung damply to her thighs, her hair was fuzzy because of the humidity, and the bodice of the dress dipped seductively with every breath.
But she wasn’t focused on any of that, unlike the two sets of eyes that noticed everything about her. Rhea’s nose was buried in a book - one she probably shouldn’t have brought out in public. The chapter had taken a turn: the heroine pinned against a cold stone wall, the hero’s mouth at her throat, his hand between her legs, rough and demanding. Her breath hitched softly as she read, the words whispering heat against her thoughts.
She did not notice when someone nearby stood up. Did not really register the gentle tap on her arm. But her body shifted instinctively, stepping forward, and she found herself slipping into the newly vacated seat. It was near the very back. Tucked close to the window. Secluded, almost hidden by the crowd.
Exhaling, she settled in. The hum of the engine vibrated through the cushion, a low purr under her thighs, the hem of her dress inching higher as the bus jolted forward again.
She was just about to return to the book, to lose herself again in fantasy, when she felt a quiet presence, very close to her left.
She turned, just slightly, and her breath caught.
The man sitting beside her was... stunning. Not in the polished, boyish way models looked in magazines, but in a raw, heavy presence sort of way. He was large, broad in the shoulders and chest, his white shirt stretched just slightly across his torso, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing thick arms. His dress pants encased muscled thighs and long legs. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom or a fight ring or someone’s fantasy, probably mine, but not in a late-night city bus.
His jawline was sharp, made even more dangerous by the neat beard framing it. A trim moustache shadowed full lips, and something about the way he held his face - so still, so sure - radiated control. Authority. A kind of quiet dominance that settled into the air between them like heat.
And his eyes. God, those deep, forest green eyes.
Despite her heart stammering in her chest, she gives him the smallest smile, a mixture of awkward and shy, then turns back toward the window, praying he didn’t notice the way her cheeks had gone pink.
Of course, he didn’t.
Men like him didn’t notice women like her. Not really. Not in that way.
She was no beauty. Her frizzy red hair always did what it wanted, no matter how she tamed it. Freckles scatter across her nose and cheeks like someone had flicked them there just to be cruel. Her eyes were plain, simple brown, nothing arresting, nothing that would hold a man’s gaze. And her barely five-foot height made her easily overlooked in every room she had ever entered.
Invisible. That’s what she was used to being.
But still... the air between them shifted. She could feel his body heat, so close it made her skin prickle. The scent of him - clean, faint leather and spice – made her want to run her nose along his throat. That’s why she shouldn’t read such books in public; she couldn’t control her thoughts!
And when she was focusing on the book in her hand, she felt a faint brush of his thigh against her, sliding the hem of her dress higher. She swallowed hard, pulse fluttering again. It was probably an accident.
Probably.
