Even after all this shit with my ex, I can’t stop thinking about that man in the bar. Here I am, sitting in my new apartment in Montreal, fantasizing about another man.

There are bigger fucking problems in my life, but I can’t stop thinking about his rugged face—so different from Rafael’s—and his five o’clock shadow, which gave him the perfect balance of disheveled and sexy. He’s the kind of guy who haunts your dreams after only one glance. Tall, dark, and handsome, but so gentle with his hands. He said things to me that I should hate for how fucking rude they were, but they gave me such a thrill from his honest voice. There’s something really sexy about a man who knows what he wants and doesn’t hesitate to go after it.

Tony was a breath of fresh air right when I needed it. He told me I was beautiful, promised to make me come on his tongue, and I wanted to let him. It was like feeling a ray of sunshine after a really long winter. I wanted to feel desired by a guy like that. Who wouldn’t?

But I panicked.

I slapped the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and I can’t stop obsessing over it. It’s ridiculous. My ex-boyfriend wants me dead and this is what my brain chooses to obsess over.

I fantasize about that sexy bastard while I get ready for work in the apartment Tommy hooked me up with, hoping that Tony will be there.

No, stay the fuck away. Rafael was a nightmare, remember?

A grim sort of satisfaction stretches my face when I look in the mirror. Maria would be so proud. Here I am, making the same mistakes over and over again. The last thing I want to do is start dating, but when I think about how it felt to have Tony’s hands squeeze my tits, all reason flies out the window.

Maybe Rafael moved on. All week he’s been silent.

I eye the dark phone sitting on the white sink. A thrill of apprehension runs through me when I pick it up and turn it on. He hasn’t left any messages for days, but then I see a new voice mail and it’s from my sister.

I play it.

“Elena, where the fuck are you? Your psycho boyfriend has been over here three times—he’s completely out of his mind. What the fuck were you thinking, just leaving like this? You can’t just—”

I end the message, breathing hard as I stare at my whitened face in the mirror. My hands grip the edge of the sink and blood pounds in my ears. I never meant anything like this to happen. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

My phone rings on the hard counter, and I watch it like a bomb. Even though I deleted his name from my contact list, the numbers don’t lie. It’s him.

I need to talk to him—to explain to him that it’s over. Maybe then he’ll leave me alone. A stab of fear clenches my heart painfully, and I pick up the phone gingerly. It’s going to explode in my hands. I accept the call, cringing as I press it to my ear.

“I just got out of jail. Your cunt of a sister called the cops on me—Where the fuck have you been?”

So that explains his silence over the last few days. Fuck.

“Raf, it’s over. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“So this is how you do it, you dumb fucking bitch? You just get up and leave in the middle of the night like some coward?”

Fuck him.

“Right, I’m the coward. You’re the one beating on a defenseless woman. Go fuck yourself!”

“What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch? I’ll cut your fucking tongue out!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

The phone trembles in my hand. His voice strikes me to my very marrow, infecting me with fear. It’s as though he’s standing right outside my bathroom.

“Did you really think you could hide from me in Montreal? Did you really think that would work, that I wouldn’t fucking find out? I’m on my way right now, and when I get there you better have my fucking money—”

“I’m not giving you anything—it’s my money, so you can go fuck off and find some other bitch to beat up on!”

“FUCK YOU! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU—!”

I rip the phone away from my ear and end the call, tossing the phone away from me as though it’s a live snake. The bathroom echoes with my gulping breaths, which sound unnaturally loud.

Don’t fucking cry.

The room spins and I stumble to the toilet, sitting down hard as blood rushes to my face. It’s over—it’s all fucking over. He’s going to go straight to Johnny, who will tell him exactly where I am, and there’s no defending against him. I’m fucked. Fucked!

The loud, buzzing sound of my phone vibrates in my ears as if it’s inside my head. On silent, the phone rattles against the sink and finally falls to the floor. I have the strangest impulse to smash it—to kill it.

I can’t spend the night here. That’s an easy enough problem to fix, isn’t it? I could find a hotel or something easily.

But if he finds you there, you’re just as fucked as you are here.

I slowly deflate, thinking hard. It shames me to admit it, but I need someone to protect me. For tonight, that’ll be easy enough, right? Just find someone at the bar—and—

You’re that fucking desperate?

The pale shadow of a bruise stretches down my white face.

Yeah, I am.

* * *

It takes me three minutes to remove my boots and put my heels on until I realize I’m trying to put them on the wrong foot. Rafael is coming for me. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out exactly where I am. I need to be in another place, but more than that, I need to be protected.

Basically, I need to go home with a guy.

My face burns as I stare at myself in the mirror, imagining my sister’s voice.

Typical Elena. Always relying on someone else to fix your problems.

This plan is so fucking pathetic. One night isn’t enough.

The horrible, clenching feeling inside me trembles and almost breaks. A sob rises in my throat and I stamp it down.

No. Do not do this. Do not give up yet.

I want to give up.

You can do this.

But that voice sounds weak.

I’m wearing a lovely blouse I picked up with a diving neckline and leggings tight enough so that they won’t miss a curve. High heels. Hair teased into a dark, messy mane.

It’s a funny thing. When your life is in danger, you really stop giving a shit about everything else. Pride. Ego. Decency. Whatever. All you care about is making it through the next day.

The panic pulses inside me, fighting to claw its way out of the clenched muscles around my stomach. I shouldn’t be here. I should be miles away, running for my life.

Fuck’s sake—just go to work.

With a shaky sigh, I turn the knob and leave the bathroom, passing by the office on the way to the bar. Tommy does a double take from his desk and gives me a friendly smile. It warms me for a moment and then I feel a swooping, guilty sensation.

“You’ll get nice tips tonight.”

“Tommy,” I say in a heavy voice. “We might have trouble.”

He frowns and sits up straighter. Before he can say anything else, I head out into the bar, limbs shaking.

It isn’t packed, but it’s getting there. Men in business suits hang out near the counter, talking in rapid French. Young guys dressed in casual clothes leer at me as I walk by.

A different sort of fear makes me grin a little too widely. Growing up, I never had this kind of attention from men. It’s intimidating and flattering at the same time.

“Ey, Pitoune! Viens ici’t!”

A voice calls out from my left, and I’ve learned enough French to realize that this probably means: Hey, baby. C’mere!

Or something like that.

I turn toward the obnoxious voice. He leans against the wall and shakes his Molson beer.

“Un autre.” Another one.

A sweet smile spreads across my face as I slowly size him up. He might be connected—he’s not wearing a suit, but he looks too young anyway.

I gaze at the men, completely alien to the way men are when no one knows who I am or who my father was. It’s strange to feel so many eyes on me like this. I keep scanning the crowd, but deep down there’s really only one guy who made an impression on me. My heart pounds, thinking about how confident Tony was when he kissed me. He knew I had an ex-boyfriend in the mob, and he didn’t care.

He wanted me anyway.

The energy in the bar is warm and rowdy. I scan the crowd as I give out drink orders, stumbling through French and English to find out what they want. The hours fly by, and the bar slows down. I remember why I’m here and I peek at my phone, seeing another barrage of text messages from Rafael. My throat closes up as Tommy peers into the bar, looking surprised to see me.

“Elena, your shift ended an hour ago.”

I grit my teeth and look into his unconcerned eyes. “Please—I don’t want to go home. Just let me work.”

The edges of his lips lift slightly and he nods. “All right.” He gives me another long look and disappears into the back. I know that if I’m here when Tommy’s around, I’ll be safe.

What the fuck am I going to do when the bar closes?

Genevieve, the bartender, flies around me with drink orders as I scan the men sitting there. In sheer desperation, I study them. Some of them don’t even glance at me. They’re too busy texting on their phones. Then my gaze almost skips over him.

Tony.

The man who I slapped just a few days ago.

He’s the biggest guy in the bar by far and he sits in his seat, twirling his cocktail with a small smile as he looks across the beer taps, right at me. His eyes strike at me with the force of a javelin. I feel immediately warm, and my face flushes as I smile back at him.

He’s not pissed.

That washes over me in a wave of relief.

Despite his immaculate suit, there’s something rough about him. Maybe it’s the dark hair, flying around his head as if he intentionally mussed it up—or his hooded, unflinching eyes, or the way he watches me with a thrilling confidence. I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

A slow burn builds up over my face as I watch him closely, unable to sustain his heated gaze. What a joke. I slapped him when he hit on me the other day. It was one of my first few days in Montreal, and I was stressed out of my mind. He still deserved it, but he’ll probably laugh in my face if I ask him out now.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a grin and his eyes flick down to my cleavage, slowly raking up my body until he meets my gaze again. His eyebrows lift and he gives me another devious smirk, one that sends a hot line of desire all the way down my back. Holy fuck, if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.

Then I know that he’s the one I have to go home with. Just like that, my mind is made up.

My cheeks flush when I think about straddling his waist, his full mouth kissing a line down my throat. I wanted to go home with the meanest-looking man in the bar, and he fits the bill exactly. He turns his head and the smile evaporates from his face. Suddenly he looks like a viper, ready to strike. Like he could fuck up the first person who touches him.

Jesus.

I’m startled by the transformation, and I lose my nerve for a moment. Suppose he’s worse than Rafael?

Don’t really have a choice. Yeah, I’m that desperate.

So how do I do it? Do I just ask him now? Apologize first?

I’ve never done this before. Rafael was my first, and he was the one who pursued me.

It shouldn’t be that hard—just pretend you’re someone else!

I grab a glass from the counter and pour a beer, blushing hard as I walk from the bar to give him a drink.

No, this won’t work if you act like a blushing virgin. You need to be desirable. Be desirable.

Right. I compose myself for a moment and head for his back, trying to ignore the wildly flying butterflies in my stomach. The bar is so packed that I have to squeeze my body beside him.

My heart pounds somewhere in my throat as I take his shoulder with my left hand and slide the drink under his nose. God, this guy has muscles. I can feel them through his suit. His shoulder is rock hard.

His head turns slightly. “Who is this from?”

I smile at him, cocking my head. “Me.”

His lips pull slightly. “If you’re here to hit me again, think again. You got me once, sweetheart. You won’t get me again.” He takes a sip from the drink politely and licks his lips slowly. Damn. The way he looks at me sends shivers down my spine.

“I really—I wanted to apologize for that. It was rude, I’m sorry.”

Actually, you kind of deserved it.

“Are you? Or are you just here to ask me for something?”

There are other women looking at him hopefully from across the bar, and a spasm of fear suddenly clenches my heart.

Now what do I do?

My heart pounds absurdly hard against my chest as he leans on the bar, turning his body toward me. I’m struck by his size, and his closeness momentarily robs me of breath. His eyes watch me with an unrelenting intensity, and he smiles, deep dimples carving into his face. A swooping feeling in my stomach makes me weak, and I forget about my brazen plan.

“I am really sorry. I was just—really stressed.”

My fingers brush his shoulder again, and he turns his head. Heart hammering, I lean closer and touch my lips to his cheek. The smell of his hair surrounds me for a moment and then I pull back, already blushing hard.

He doesn’t smile. “Look, I told you before. I can’t help you.”

“I know.” I sit down next to him, not knowing where the hell I should start. He was all over me the other night, but now he’s keeping his distance.

You did slap him, idiot.

“I—I want to take you up on your offer.”

“Take me up on my offer?” He smiles, laughing through his nose. “It’s called fucking, Elena. You want me to fuck you. Say it.”

The word slams through me. Fuck. From his mouth, it sounds so damn dirty. I won’t lie, the thought of going home with him and stripping off all my clothes scares the shit out of me. The man’s gorgeous, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that the only man I’ve ever been with is Rafael. I’ve never had a one-night stand. Never would have considered jumping into bed with a guy this quickly.

Spending the night alone might mean a death sentence. I’d much rather be wrapped in Tony’s arms, with his sweat clinging to my skin. I’d rather feel his lips all over my body, and his tongue gently stroking my clit.

Jesus.

“I want you.” I don’t think it’s possible for my cheeks to burn any brighter than they are. He raises his eyebrows. “I want you to fuck me.”

“What if my offer expired?”

My heart skips in my chest as I search his face desperately. He can’t—he doesn’t mean that, right?

“Then I just have to change your mind.”

I get up from the chair and move between his legs as his eyes, shining with amusement, follow me. My hand curls over his massive thigh. Damn, he’s so warm. His warmth blazes through the slacks and sparks fly over my skin.

“What are you doing?”

I ignore him, keeping my eyes locked on his as I slowly ride up his muscular thighs, heading for the bunched-up fabric between his legs. The shape of his cock is just visible.

“What’s it look like? I’m getting you hard.” I try to fight down a grin, but it doesn’t quite work.

Laughter booms from his chest and he shakes his head at me. “Right here in front of everyone?”

“Why not?”

He cocks his head. “If my cock is out in a room filled with guys, I better be fucking a girl.”

I make a sound at the back of my throat as I grab his hardening cock. It twitches in my hand and Tony lets out a small groan.

“Looks like it’s working.”

His face darkens as he lets out a primal growl that makes my core contract. “Any guy will get hard with a chick’s hand on his cock.”

“Oh—so you don’t want to fuck me?”

I find the head of his cock and give it a squeeze and he makes another deep rumble in his throat. His eyes smolder with desire.

I’m in a bar, surrounded with people who can see exactly what I’m doing if they glance over. I suspect the bartender saw something, because she keeps throwing me a big smile.

He suddenly grabs my wrist, pulling it away from his cock. “Enough.”

“Sorry, did you get too close?”

“Please, I’m not that easy.”

Tony’s cock strains against his slacks like an iron rod shoved down pants that are too tight. He shifts his jacket to hide his boner, and then he pulls me close enough to kiss. I turned him on too well, and now he’s pissed. My heart pounds in my head and I’m startled by the electricity between us.

“I don’t like being teased.”

“I’m not teasing you. I just thought you liked cutting through the bullshit.”

A slow smile tiptoes across his face. “Not exactly what I meant.”

He still won’t let go of my wrist, but I don’t really want him to. The noise in the bar drops to a distant rumble. I’m close enough to smell the musky scent clinging to his skin—no cologne at all, just Old Spice. My mouth waters when his thumb caresses my wrist.

“What makes you think you can just grab my dick like that?”

That’s a good question.

“You didn’t stop me.”

His eyes crease as his lips lift in a faint smile, and warmth inexplicably floods my skin. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

I smile back, grateful that he isn’t pissed off. My voice dips lower. “I want you to bring me home.”

My eyes flick toward the other girls in the bar watching us surreptitiously.

“Bullshit.”

His hands suddenly wrap around my waist and my heart flutters. I’m faint as his fingers stroke the exposed area just above my hipbones.

“It’s not bullshit.” Then I soften my voice, loving the attention he’s giving me. “I want you.”

“I don’t doubt that you want me to fuck you, sweetheart. Every girl wants to fuck me. I just don’t know what you really want.”

So he’s a cocky asshole, isn’t he?

I move my lips to his ear, our cheeks pressed together. “Tony, we can argue about what I really want all night, or you can literally take me home right now and fuck me.”

A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest and into mine. His fingernails slightly drag over the skin at my waist.

“You said you could make me forget about my ex. Was that true or are you full of shit?”

He regards me for a moment, his gaze lingering on my lips. “Why should I give you the time of day after you slapped me?”

His tone makes me want to flinch, and I feel like an idiot for pursuing someone like him. He’s a man who spends his days doing God knows what for the mob. There are scuff marks all over his knuckles and his Tough Guy attitude is too familiar. He reminds me way too much of the guys back home.

“Because you want me, too.”

That’s true, isn’t it?

Then I tug his tie and lean my face forward, crushing my lips against his startled ones. I’m determined to make him want me, but I’m surprised at how much I want him.

Heat spreads like a fire under my skin the moment his tongue slides inside my mouth, and I dig my fingers in his hair, which is softer than I realize. God, he smells incredible, and his mouth tastes amazing. My palm spreads over his broad chest and travels down his dress shirt, to his waist. Then I ride my palm over his hardening cock, and I give him a squeeze.

He breaks off the kiss and gives me that sleepy, lustful look that sends a jolt of excitement through my heart. Then he reaches into his pants and pulls out a few bills, slapping them on the counter.