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Is my raw vulnerability because I’m desperate to be desired or simply because our undeniable connection was the realest thing I’ve felt in years?

I’ve been alone all this time, waiting around for somebody who never truly loved me. And Mr. Penthouse awakens something in me, but I’m too emotionally paralyzed to actually go after it.

Part of me holds back, afraid that opening the door will only lead to more heartache. The uncertainty weighs heavily on my shoulders, making it difficult to breathe. But the other part of me is so damn tired of feeling alone.

Chapter 4

Lucy

In the silence of my hotel room, a wave of regret washes over me for not inviting him in. My heart and mind wage a brief but intense battle; on one hand, I was just dumped today, making any thought of being with someone else so soon feel like a betrayal to my own feelings.

But then there’s this undeniable spark between us that seemed to crackle in the air. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like it, and part of me is so damn tired of doing the right thing—the safe thing. For once, I just want to live in the moment, to embrace the possibility of happiness, however fleeting it may be.

The decision not to invite him in feels both like a loss and a necessary caution, a step back to honor the heartache I’m still nursing, yet also a step away from a chance to momentarily forget it.

The excitement lingers, tantalizing and tempting me. I barely catch my breath before impulsively pulling the door open again and standing at the threshold.

“Wait.” The urgency in my voice echoes down the hallway.

He stops, the movement so sudden, so full of purpose.

As he turns around, there’s no smile on his face—none of the easy charm he displayed on the rooftop. Instead, his gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat. In that moment, I see it… his hunger. For me. I did that. The thought is empowering. It’s the push I need to know that what I felt up there wasn’t just me fantasizing—it was something real.

I stand there, a mix of emotions swirling within me.

I’ve been trying so hard to rationalize away all the reasons I shouldn’t do this and focus on the one reason I should.

Because I want to.

“Watch the sunrise with me?” The question hangs between us, fragile and bold at the same time. It’s an invitation, driven by a desire to not let this fleeting connection slip away into the night.

“You do realize that the sun doesn’t come for hours?”

“That’s kind of the point,” I whisper.

In a few quick strides, he’s back at my door, standing at his full height, towering over me.

With urgency, he reaches for me, his movements swift and purposeful, as if driven by an insatiable need that matches my own.

He leans down, sealing his mouth over my own in a desperate collision, pressing his hard body to mine. But he doesn’t just kiss me. A kiss is too simple to describe what his lips are doing to me. He’s exploring, teasing, asking, demanding.

His hands find my waist, and my arms reach up to wrap around his neck as we stumble through the door. It clicks shut with a thud as he walks me backward to the nearest wall.

His proximity feels electrifying, his breath warm against my skin, as if daring me to surrender to the moment. For once in my life, I want to do something not on a list, not planned.

He tastes like a contradiction—a mix of the champagne we’ve shared and the promise of something thrilling. Beneath that initial sweetness, there’s the unmistakable hint of something darker… something wild. Something I could get drunk on.

Suddenly, the robe I’m wearing feels too heavy, too concealing.

As if reading my mind, his hands find the edges, slipping it off my shoulders to expose the lingerie below. His touch ignites a fire within me, setting my skin ablaze, leaving me breathless and desperate for more. He kisses his way down my shoulder, the stubble of his beard scratching my skin.

He grabs my ass and groans. “Are these the panties, Sunny?”

I moan an inaudible mmm-hmm into his mouth.

“You’re killing me,” he groans.

Instinctively, I jump into his arms, my legs around his waist, my silk nightie riding up as his body pins me into place. His touch is both possessive and tender.