I pay the Uber driver and head for the hotel lobby, making my way to the bank of elevators. The doors are just starting to close on a car going up when I round the corner.

“Hold the elevator!”

A hand juts out to stop the doors, and I leap, breathless, through the opening. My toe gets snagged on the threshold, and I fall headlong into the only other occupant. I’m smiling, ready to apologize, when my eyes click up to onyx ones that I will likely be thinking of in the shower for the next however many days.

He smirks down at me. “Tequila.”

“I-it’s you.”

“So it is,” he teases, not bothering to help me right myself as he reminds me of his name. “Nixon, but you can call me Nix if you want.”

I push away from him, halfheartedly at best, until I’m on steady footing. “Nixon,” I repeat. “I like Nixon.”

Nixon.

Does Nixon rhyme with velvet? Because that’s how it sounds to me—like velvet.

Niiiiiiiixon.

Velllllllll-vet.

Lux-urrrrrrrrr-ious.

It may be the alcohol talking, but the fine hairs on my arms stand up as a shiver works its way down my spine.

“I-I’m Haley.”

“It’s a pleasure, Haley.”

“What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

His grin widens into a laughing smile. “Well, considering I was in the elevator first, I’m gonna have to say no. I didn’t follow you.”

“Oh, right.”

Discombobulated, I stand rooted to the spot, staring silently up at him until he finally asks, “What floor?”

“Oh. Four.” He presses the button. The doors hiss closed. When he doesn’t press another, I ask, “Which floor are you on?”

“Fourth.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Actually, I am.” He watches me for a few seconds, humor written in every line of his face. “Still think I’m following you?”

I think for a moment before narrowing my eyes on his. “Did Lia put you up to this?”

“Put me up to what?”

“Coming here like this.”

“I don’t know who Lia is.”

“She’s the girl I was with at the bar.”

“Ah.” He nods. “No, she didn’t. I’m not up to anything except going to bed.” He pauses, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Unless you have a better idea.”

A surge of heat sweeps up from my belly into my chest and lands on my face. “Oh, no. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…” I can’t even finish such an embarrassing sentence.

The elevator opens on the fourth floor with a muted ding, and I exit the car. Nixon is right behind me. I go left, and he goes right. He walks away without looking back.

I watch him until he stops at a room on the left, halfway down the hall, and inserts his key. Sure enough, I hear a distant bleep, and he presses the lever to open the door.

Before he steps inside, he glances over at me. Even from here, I can see the gleam of desire in his coal eyes. “Sure you don’t want that drink? I’ve got a terrible craving for tequila for some reason.”

Want, white hot want, blossoms within me. It gives me pause. I’ve never considered, not for one second, indulging in a one-night stand with a stranger. Not ever, in all my years.

Until right this minute.

I debate in silence. He waits in the same manner.

In the end, as much as I’d love to be plastered, naked and sweaty, to this man right about now, I’m still not comfortable with it. Not even if several parts of me want to be.

“I’m sure, but thanks again for the offer.”

He nods and disappears inside.

I make my way to my own room, which is in the opposite direction of his. The closer I get to it and the farther I get from his, the more I want to take a risk I’ve never taken. The more I want to do something I’ve never done. The more I want to be someone I’ve never been, if just for a night.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m down the hall, and my hand is poised to knock on the door Nixon, the hot stranger, went through. My knuckles don’t even make contact when it swings open. There he stands—Nixon with his burning eyes and killer smile—shirtless. Gloriously shirtless.

My mouth drops open. I want to say something, feel like I should say something, but there’s no time and no need. Before I can formulate a single word, I’m yanked into long, thick arms and pulled inside.

Flattened against his chest, Nixon pivots as the door slams shut, leaning back against it.

Though my heart is hammering and my knees are knocking, my ears are working fine. I hear his deep rumble just before he kisses me.

“Tequila.”

And then he dives in, dives in like a man who’s been thirsty for far too long.

I know the feeling. Being in his arms, in his possession, seems like I’ve been thirsty my whole life, just waiting for this man, this touch, this kiss to slake my thirst.

He wraps his arms tighter around me and lifts me off my feet. Brazenly, I wind my legs around his slim hips. I’m rewarded with a growl that vibrates from his mouth into mine as he palms my ass and carries me to the bed.

He turns to sit on the edge. The delicious assault of his lips and tongue doesn’t let up as he runs his hands from the curve of my butt down to the backs of my thighs. He grips my legs and tugs them apart, settling me astride him in a spine-tingling way. I feel the ridge of his erection pressing against me through the thin material of my shorts. Heat gushes into my panties. I moan into the cavern of his mouth when he circles his hips under me.

Nixon drags his mouth down to my throat as his hands find their way back up to my ass. My breasts hang heavily inside my bra as he kisses his way along my collarbone.

I thread my fingers into his hair, trying not to lose myself completely. At least not yet. “I…I don’t usually do things like…like...”

“Like what?” he asks, his voice muffled against my skin.

“Like this.”

“You don’t usually kiss?”

“No, I mean have…have sex with strange men.”

“What if I’m not strange?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“And who said we’re having sex?” He doesn’t stop kissing and licking and lightly biting his way down to the swell of my breast. My nipples pucker when he tugs the scooped neckline of my shirt down and trails the tip of his tongue along the edge of my bra. I arch into him, torn between confusion and bone-deep want.

“Wh-what?”

“I don’t have sex with drunk women.” Even as he speaks, he brings one of his hands between us to knead my aching flesh. His other hand guides my hips into a slow, steady rub, back and forth over his. I let my head fall back as sensation assails me.

“Then why—” I pause to catch my breath. My thoughts, my words, my breath—everything is getting harder and harder to control. “Why did you bring me in here?”

Nixon raises his head but doesn’t stop moving me on him. He simply stares into my eyes as he pushes my body higher and higher. “Because I want you. I want to touch you. And I like getting what I want. Do you want me to stop?”

As he asks, he urges me into a faster rhythm with one hand while the other rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. My fingers dig into his muscular shoulders, and I can’t think of a single thing to say. I can only feel. I can only climb. And then I can only soar.

My breath begins to come in labored pants as I tip over the cliff. With a lusty snarl, Nixon leans forward to claim my mouth with his as he drops his hand between us and presses one finger under the hem of my shorts and right into my needy center.

I rip my lips away from his, crying out as I squeeze my eyes shut and buck against him. My body takes on a life of its own, riding his finger to places I can’t remember going with anyone else. Flood after flood of liquid sensation curls through me, stealing my breath, my mind, my will.

Nixon holds me to him as I float back to earth. When my breathing finally returns to normal, he withdraws his long finger from me and turns to lay me on the bed.

He stares down at me for several seconds before he whispers, “Get some sleep.” It seems that his lips softly brush my temple and then I’m drifting off into the best rest I’ve had in months. Maybe even longer.

But despite how blissfully erotic the last moments have been, I wouldn’t have kissed him, wouldn’t have slept here, wouldn’t have come here at all if I’d known what the next day would hold.