The grand ballroom of the Regency Hotel glittered under a constellation of crystal chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne and ambition. Erin Voss stood near the center of the room, a vision in a crimson dress that clung to her like a lover’s whisper, the fabric tracing every curve of her athletic frame with ruthless precision. Heads turned as she moved, her heels clicking with purpose against the polished marble floor, a predator in a sea of prey. She knew the power she wielded tonight, and she reveled in it, her sharp green eyes scanning the crowd for a worthy challenge.
Across the room, Isaac Reed nursed a glass of cheap bourbon, the amber liquid doing little to ease the knot in his chest. He felt like an imposter in his rented tuxedo, the collar too tight, the room too loud. His gaze, however, was fixed on Erin. He couldn’t help it. She was a flame, and he was the hapless moth, drawn to her despite the certainty of getting burned. Her laughter rang out, sharp and confident, as she tossed her dark hair over one shoulder, and Isaac’s grip on his glass tightened. He imagined her closer, her breath hot against his ear, her hands—God, those hands—guiding him with that same unyielding authority she exuded now. He shifted uncomfortably, willing himself to look away, but failing miserably.
“Lost in thought, or just lost?” A voice cut through his reverie, and Isaac turned to see a coworker, Mark, smirking at him. “You’ve been staring at her for ten minutes straight, man. Might as well go say hi.”
Isaac snorted, heat creeping up his neck. “Yeah, right. She’d eat me alive.”
Mark chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Probably. But what a way to go.”
Before Isaac could retort, a new figure entered the fray, commanding the room with an effortless swagger. Dinesh Kapoor, CEO of some tech empire Isaac couldn’t pronounce, strode in like he owned the place—and for all Isaac knew, he might. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline that could cut glass, Dinesh’s presence was magnetic. His tailored suit screamed money, but it was the sly, knowing smirk on his lips that drew Erin’s attention. Isaac watched, a bitter taste in his mouth, as Dinesh made a beeline for her, ignoring the dozens of others vying for his attention.
Erin’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile as Dinesh approached, her posture shifting subtly, like a panther sizing up its equal. “Well, well,” she purred, her voice carrying just enough to reach Isaac’s ears over the hum of the crowd. “If it isn’t the man who thinks he can buy the world. Come to slum it with us mortals, Dinesh?”
Dinesh’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he stopped in front of her, close enough that Isaac could see the tension crackling between them. “Only if the mortal in question is worth my time, Erin. And I suspect you are.” He tilted his head, appraising her with a gaze that was both predatory and appreciative. “That dress should be illegal. Or at least come with a warning label.”
She laughed, low and throaty, the sound sending a shiver down Isaac’s spine even from a distance. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Kapoor. But I don’t play easy. What’s your pitch?”
“Oh, I don’t pitch,” Dinesh replied smoothly, his voice a velvet blade. “I persuade. Care for a drink? I promise I’m better company than half the suits in this room.”
Erin arched a brow, her smile sharpening. “Bold claim. Prove it.”
Isaac watched, his stomach twisting, as the two of them moved toward the bar, their banter a dance of wit and innuendo that left him feeling more inadequate by the second. He downed the rest of his bourbon in one gulp, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache of watching Erin’s hand brush Dinesh’s arm, her laughter ringing out again as if it were meant for him alone. Isaac turned away, muttering a curse under his breath, and made for the exit. The night was over for him. He didn’t belong here, not with her, not with them.
Hours later, the hotel’s opulent corridors were silent, the revelry of the ballroom a distant memory. Isaac lay in his bed, the thin sheets tangled around his legs, staring at the ceiling of his cramped room. Sleep eluded him, his mind replaying every moment of Erin’s presence—her smile, her voice, the way her dress had hugged her hips. He groaned, rolling onto his side, trying to banish the images, when a sound pierced the stillness.
A low, rhythmic thumping came through the wall, faint at first, then growing insistent. Isaac froze, his breath catching as he realized what he was hearing. The wall separating his room from the one next door was paper-thin, and the sounds were unmistakable. A woman’s moan—Erin’s moan—cut through the quiet, raw and unrestrained, followed by a man’s deep, guttural growl. Dinesh. Isaac’s fists clenched the sheets, his heart pounding as the sounds painted vivid, torturous pictures in his mind. The bedframe creaked in time with the thumping, Erin’s gasps rising in pitch, each one a dagger to Isaac’s already fraying restraint.
“Harder,” came her voice, sharp and commanding even now, laced with a hunger that made Isaac’s skin prickle with heat. “Don’t hold back, Dinesh. I’m not fragile.”
Dinesh’s response was a low chuckle, the sound dripping with confidence. “As you wish, darling. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Isaac squeezed his eyes shut, but it only made the images more vivid—Erin’s body arched beneath Dinesh, her nails digging into his back, her lips parted in ecstasy. The thumping grew faster, more urgent, and Isaac’s own body betrayed him, a desperate ache pooling low in his gut. He gripped the sheets tighter, his knuckles white, torn between the urge to block out the sounds and the darker, more primal urge to listen, to imagine himself in Dinesh’s place, to feel Erin’s commands directed at him.
Her cries peaked, sharp and breathless, and Isaac bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, his chest heaving as the sounds finally slowed, then faded into heavy, satisfied breathing. The silence that followed was worse, somehow, leaving him alone with his racing thoughts and unfulfilled need. He stared at the ceiling, the echoes of Erin’s pleasure haunting him, a cruel reminder of what he could only dream of touching.
Tomorrow, he’d see her again. Tomorrow, he’d have to face her, knowing what he’d heard, knowing the fire she carried. And God help him, he wasn’t sure he could look away.
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