Kane Maddox stood at the far edge of the room, a dark silhouette against the chaos, his broad shoulders tense beneath a tailored black jacket. His jaw was a hard line, shadowed by a day’s worth of stubble, and his eyes—the deepest of ocean blues, unreadable—scanned the crowd with predatory focus. He wasn’t just a man; he was a storm waiting to break, a force of raw, unbridled power that drew every hungry gaze in the room. Including mine. I’d spent weeks tracking him down after our last encounter—a night of bruising passion in a hotel penthouse that left my thighs trembling and my pride in tatters. He’d walked away without a word, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of his touch and a gnawing ache I couldn’t satisfy. Not with anyone else.
Tonight, I’d have him again. Or I’d destroy him.
My dress clung to my curves like liquid sin, a deep burgundy that matched the fire in my veins, the hemline barely skimming my thighs. I shifted, letting the fabric ride up just enough to reveal the lace of my stockings, and felt his gaze snap to me like a whip. The heat of it seared through the crowd, pinning me in place. I didn’t flinch. Instead, I tipped my head back, letting a slow, deliberate smirk curl my lips as I dragged my fingers along the rim of my glass. Come and get me, bastard.
He moved like a panther, all controlled menace, weaving through the throng until he loomed before me. Up close, his scent hit me—leather, smoke, and something darker, something that made my cunt clench with raw, visceral need. “You shouldn’t be here, Brooke,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my skin. His hand braced against the bar beside me, caging me in, and I felt the heat of his body like a furnace.
“And yet, here I am,” I purred, leaning closer, letting my breath ghost over his jaw. “Did you think I’d forget how you fucked me raw and then ghosted me? I’m not some doe-eyed fling you can discard, Kane.”
His eyes darkened, a dangerous glint sparking in their depths. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I don’t play nice.”
“Then don’t,” I challenged, my voice dripping with venom and desire. I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, and dug my nails in just enough to make him hiss. “I want the beast, not the gentleman.”