Aria Williams clutched her purse strap as she stepped into the lavish hotel bar, her heart heavy with frustration. The muted golden lighting and soft jazz music did little to soothe her frayed nerves. Tonight had been another dead end – yet another design client who refused to pay her for weeks of work. Keep it together, she told herself, blinking back angry tears. She wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
At twenty-four, Aria expected to be further along in her fashion career. Instead, she was struggling to pay rent, taking freelance gigs that barely covered her bills. To the world, she was just another aspiring designer with big dreams. No one here knew she had left behind a wealthy family name and all its privileges. And that was how Aria wanted it – she was determined to succeed on her own terms, without her family's influence hanging over her.
But independence came at a price. Why did I think I could do this alone? she wondered bitterly, sliding onto a barstool. The bartender eyed her sympathetically as she ordered a ginger ale. Aria rarely drank, but tonight the temptation to numb her disappointment was strong.
A commotion at the far end of the bar caught her attention. A loud, inebriated businessman was pestering one of the cocktail waitresses. Aria frowned as the waitress tried to pull away. People were starting to notice, some snickering, others looking away uncomfortably. Aria's stomach twisted in disgust. She knew what it was like to be cornered by entitled men – memories of past unwanted advances made her clench her fist around her glass.
Before she could overthink it, Aria slid off her stool and marched toward the scene. "Sir, I think she asked you to leave her alone," she said firmly, positioning herself between the stumbling man and the nervous waitress.
The man reeked of alcohol and annoyance. "Mind your own business," he slurred, reaching for Aria instead. She dodged back, heart pounding, but kept her chin high.
"Is there a problem here?" A deep, cool voice sliced through the air before the drunk could respond. Aria turned her head and felt her breath catch.
The man who had spoken stood a few feet away, tall and imposing. Sharp charcoal suit, crisp white shirt open at the collar – he exuded wealth and authority effortlessly. But it was his face that rendered Aria momentarily speechless: strikingly handsome with chiseled features, dark brows and colder gray eyes that assessed the situation in an instant. A slight scowl touched his lips as he looked at the drunk.
"None of your damn—" the drunk began, but his words died as the newcomer stepped forward, his gaze like ice.
"Leave," the stranger commanded quietly. It wasn't a shout, but a low order that vibrated with menace. For a second, Aria wondered if the drunk would fight, but the man's drunken bravado faltered. With a curse, he staggered off, disappearing into the lounge.
A breath Aria didn't know she held escaped her lips. Who…? She turned fully to thank the man, but her words stuck in her throat. Up close, his presence was overwhelming – broad shoulders beneath that tailored suit, a face so flawlessly sculpted it looked unforgiving. His eyes flicked to her, stormy and unreadable.
"You shouldn't put yourself in danger like that," he said. His tone was cool, almost scolding.
Aria bristled, heat rising to her cheeks. "I couldn't just watch and do nothing," she replied, a bit more sharply than intended. She wasn't a damsel needing rescue; she had stepped in first, after all.
Something flickered in the man's eyes. Surprise? Respect? It was gone in a blink. "I see," was all he said.
The waitress murmured a shaky thank-you and hurried off, leaving Aria alone with the stranger. An awkward silence settled. Aria realized her heart was thumping from the adrenaline of confrontation – or was it from the way this man's gaze lingered on her? She couldn't tell.
She cleared her throat. "Thank you, by the way... for, um, backing me up."
He inclined his head slightly. "It was the right thing to do."
That voice – deep and smooth like aged whiskey – sent an inexplicable shiver through her. There was an accent too, barely there, hinting at expensive British boarding schools or something equally elite. He's probably some rich hotel guest or CEO, she thought, noticing the watch on his wrist that probably cost more than her apartment's yearly rent.
Realizing she was staring, Aria glanced away and tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her simple black dress and scuffed heels. "Well… I should get going," she managed, though a part of her wished she had something wittier to say.
As she stepped past him, her heel caught on the edge of the plush carpet. "Ah—!" Aria stumbled, bracing for a hard fall.
Strong hands caught her by the waist, steadying her. She found herself pulled against a solid chest. For a heartbeat, everything froze. Aria's palms were flat against the silky fabric of his suit jacket, and she could feel the warmth of his body through the thin layers of clothing. Her eyes traveled up of their own accord, and she realized just how close his face was to hers. Those slate-gray eyes were watching her intently.
"Careful," he murmured, his breath fanning against her forehead.
Aria's face burned. She should move away, apologize, anything. But her body refused to cooperate. The world around them seemed to fall away; all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne – crisp cedar and spice.
"I— I'm sorry," she whispered, finally finding her voice. She tried to step back, but one of his hands still rested at her waist, holding her lightly in place.
The corner of his mouth quirked almost imperceptibly. "For what?"
Aria's mind went blank. For what? For nearly falling on you? For making a fool of myself? For how fast my heart is racing right now? "Nothing… I just—"
"Don't apologize," he said softly, and to her astonishment, a hint of a smile ghosted over his lips. It transformed his face, easing some of that coldness.
They were still far too close. Aria forced herself to take a step back, and this time he let her go. She instantly missed the warmth of his touch, which was absurd. She didn't even know this man's name.
An awkward tension crackled between them. He cleared his throat. "Can I get you a real drink? Something tells me you could use one after tonight." He nodded toward the bar, where her untouched ginger ale still sat.
Aria hesitated. Common sense said she should decline. He was a stranger – an incredibly attractive, magnetic stranger, but still. And yet, she found herself nodding. "A drink sounds good, actually."
They sat at the bar, side by side. He ordered a top-shelf whiskey for himself and waited for her choice. "Just a glass of white wine, thanks," Aria said. She wasn't about to get drunk in front of this man, but one glass to relax wouldn't hurt.
As the bartender moved away, the man turned to her. "You handled that situation bravely," he remarked.
Aria shrugged, swirling the wine in her glass. "I just did what anyone should do."
A wry sound escaped him, almost a chuckle. "Not everyone would. Most people here were content to watch." His gaze flickered over her face, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "You don't seem like the type to visit hotel bars often."
Aria bit her lip. Was it that obvious she was out of place? "Is it that hard to believe I'd come somewhere like this?" she tried to joke.
He studied her for a moment. "No… but you have this look in your eyes. Like you'd rather be somewhere else."
Aria was taken aback by his perceptiveness. She offered a half-smile. "Long day." She wasn't about to spill her troubles to a stranger, no matter how easy he was to talk to or how attentive those storm-gray eyes were.
"I can relate," he said, surprising her. He ran a finger along the rim of his whiskey glass, a distant look crossing his features. "Some days, it seems like the whole world is trying to test you."
A flash of pain in his eyes made Aria's chest tighten unexpectedly. This man had his own burdens – that much was clear. "Yeah," she said softly. "I know that feeling."
They fell into an easy silence, sipping their drinks. Aria felt a strange kinship with him, as if the space between them was charged with an understanding she couldn't explain. It was dangerous, how comfortable she felt.
Time slipped away, one glass turning into two as they exchanged first names and spoke in low, earnest tones. Aria even found herself sharing a bit about her passion for design and the struggle of starting her career on her own (careful to keep her personal life vague). Damien revealed little about himself, but he listened with such focused intensity that Aria felt like the only person in the room. His undivided attention sent warmth to her cheeks more than once.
When the bartender announced last call, Aria was startled by how late it was. She slid off the stool, a pleasant warmth buzzing through her – from the wine or the company, she wasn't sure. "I should go. Thank you for the drink, Damien." Speaking his name felt intimate on her tongue.
He stood as well, smoothing his jacket. "Let me walk you out. It's the least I can do."
They strolled through the grand lobby in silence. Aria's heart thudded with each step. She didn't want the night to end yet. What are you hoping for? she chided herself. That he might ask for your number? That this isn't just a chance encounter?
In front of the elevator bank, they paused. Aria turned to face him and found him already watching her. The intensity in his eyes made her breath catch again.
"Well... goodnight," she said softly, unsure what else to say. Her hand hovered over the elevator call button.
Damien's jaw tightened, as if he were waging an internal battle. Then suddenly, he closed the distance between them. Before Aria could think, he dipped his head and captured her lips in a kiss.
A soft gasp escaped her. His mouth was warm and insistent against hers, a shock of electricity shooting through her veins. Aria's mind went blank. All the reservations, the careful walls she maintained, crumbled as she melted into the kiss. She found herself kissing him back, fingers curling into the lapels of his suit for support as her knees went weak.
He tasted of whiskey and something inherently him – a taste that Aria realized she could become drunk on far too easily. Damien's hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, deepening the kiss, and a low groan rumbled in his throat that sent heat pooling in her stomach.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing unsteadily. Aria's lips tingled and she pressed her fingertips to them, stunned by what had just happened. "I—" she started, but words failed her.
Damien's eyes were dark with desire, a hint of vulnerability lurking behind them. "Come with me," he said, voice husky. It wasn't an order this time, but a request – almost a plea.
Aria knew what he was asking. Every sensible thought told her to say goodnight and walk away. This was madness; she wasn't the type to have a fling with a stranger. She had responsibilities, a life to get back to in the morning.
And yet, here in this moment, she was just a woman who yearned to forget her loneliness and hurt for a few hours. Looking into Damien's eyes, she felt a spark that she hadn't felt in years – maybe ever.
Her heart pounded wildly. Just this once... a voice in her head whispered.
Aria swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. Damien exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath. He took her hand in his, and together they stepped into the elevator.
Aria's heart pounded in her throat. There was no turning back now.