Harry wiped himself clean with the same detached efficiency he applied to everything else in life, tossed the soiled towel into the hotel hamper, and finally took the long-overdue shower. The water was scalding, just the way he liked it after a night that had spiraled so far out of control. Carmen’s scent still clung to his skin, faint traces of milk and hotel soap and desperate woman, but he scrubbed until the only thing left was the sharp bite of the hotel’s generic body wash. Whatever almost happened (or did happen) behind that bathroom door was already filing itself away in the “finished business” folder of his brain. He hadn’t actually fucked her. That was the line he’d drawn for himself tonight, and he’d managed to stay on the right side of it. Barely. Good enough.He dressed quickly, stepped into the hallway, and let the heavy door click shut behind him. The electronic lock engaged with a soft beep. End of episode. Carmen was gone, blocked, erased. Whatever guilt or regret she

Harry leaned against the warm metal of his car door and stared at the woman across the narrow gap between their vehicles. The playful mask she’d worn inside the gym had slipped; now there was something sharper in her eyes, like she was testing how far she could push before he pushed back.He exhaled through his nose, already tired of the game. Part of him wanted to reverse out of the spot with zero care and let his rear bumper kiss the pristine white paint of her Tesla. A five-figure repair bill and a polite “my bad” would send a clearer message than any conversation: I can buy ten of those cars before breakfast, try harder.Instead, he just asked, flat and direct, “Did you box yourself in on purpose?”Her eyebrows shot up in mock offense. “What, you think women can’t park?”“No,” Harry said, voice dry as desert sand, “I think you specifically can’t. Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to keep talking.”She held the serious face for half a second longer, then burst out laughing, head t

Harry felt a quiet satisfaction settle over him as the final pieces clicked into place. Everything was unfolding exactly as it should. A year ago he had been a ghost haunting his own life; tonight he was the one holding all the cards, and for once he wasn’t complaining. Melissa was on her way, nervous, hopeful, practically vibrating with anticipation. He had kept her waiting just long enough. Any longer would have been cruel; any sooner would have cheapened the moment.He didn’t particularly care if Clara spotted Melissa coming or going. Let her see. Let her realize he was exactly the man she already suspected: someone who enjoyed women, plural, without apology. Brandon was solid, their partnership locked in. Harry would never cross that particular line, and he trusted Brandon’s marriage was equally solid. Clara had two kids, a comfortable life, zero incentive to blow it up over a fleeting attraction. Desire was one thing; stupidity was another.Still, he lit one of the fancy candles

Harry’s fingertip traced slow, deliberate circles along Melissa’s soaked folds, each pass sending electric shivers racing up her spine. Her breath came in shallow, trembling bursts; her eyes fluttered shut as his face drifted closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. She tilted her chin, lips parting in anticipation, already tasting the kiss she was certain was coming.It never landed on her mouth.Instead, soft, wet heat pressed against the sensitive column of her throat. A low, appreciative hum vibrated against her pulse point.“You taste so damn good,” Harry murmured, voice rough with hunger. “I wonder if the rest of you is just as sweet…”Melissa’s hands flew to cover her burning face. She wanted to disappear. He’d seen her pucker up like a desperate teenager and had deliberately kissed her neck instead. The embarrassment was searing.Before she could spiral any further, his fingers curled deeper inside her, pressing firmly against that spot that

Brandon had put together the monthly quota like always, but with the money he was expecting soon and the project he was already planning, his life was about to shift. The renovation of that apartment building was staring him in the face like a golden ticket. In a city drowning in a housing shortage, owning and fixing up the entire place wasn’t just smart, it was borderline genius. Once it was livable, he could rent out every unit, and that would finally give him the financial breathing room he’d been craving since forever.He was sitting behind his desk, trying to get through paperwork, when chaos erupted outside. Brandon usually liked to give his employees the first chance to handle customer drama without him swooping in. He hated managers who barged in just to show off. Some customers lived for that. They didn’t want help, they wanted a power trip.But one of his workers knocked on his door and told him it was getting ugly. That meant it wasn’t just noise; it was becoming a problem.