Midnight’s Queen (Stroke of Midnight #3)

Chapter 2

Portia almost jumped when she saw her reflection. A flush of color in her cheeks. Blond hair tousled the way only sex could manage. Pale skin swathed in the wrinkled white sheet.

Who was the woman in the mirror? The one who’d slept with another man... and liked it?

That was the worst part. Or maybe the best part. Her heart still missed Tommy. Her body had apparently moved on.

Sure, she’d freaked out when she’d discovered that the man in her bed wasn’t Tommy. But once the tumble to the floor had shaken the sleep out of her system, Portia had remembered Aleksander. Aleks, as he’d said he preferred. Had remembered every touch, every sigh, and every look since he’d spoken to her in the bar.

Not even tipsy, she’d said yes when he’d asked her if she’d like to come back to his room. They’d barely made inside. He’d pressed her up against the door and her clothes had practically fallen off.

Portia released her death grip on the sheet and let it fall to the ground. Staring at the mirror, she studied the marks that passion had left on her skin.

Whisker burns freckled the slopes of her breasts. The faintest impression of fingers lingered on her hips.

Embarrassed, unable to process her conflicting emotions, she dropped her gaze to the haphazard pile of clothes. Dressing provided the distraction she needed from the stranger in the mirror. The one with the tangled well-fucked hair and the love bite just below her jaw.

The one with aches in her inner thigh muscles and more intimate places.

Trying to embody a calm she didn’t feel, Portia pulled on her underwear and pants.

She could do this. She could make it out of the bathroom, then out of the hotel.

Her hands fumbled with her bra. Heat flooded her body again. Less embarrassment and more memory of the way Aleks had removed it with firm kisses and impatient hands.

“Fuck!”

She finally gave up, stuffing her bra into her pocket. Next, she pulled on her sweatshirt, fluffing the collar to hide her hickey. Her sensitive nipples brushed the soft, worn fabric. She shivered, the sensation as titillating as it was unwelcome.

Portia Tremaine didn’t go braless. She didn’t accompany strangers back to their hotel rooms, either. Who was this stranger in her body?

Wetting her hands in the sink, she finger-combed her hair until she could weave it into two loose braids. She grabbed the tiny bottle of mouthwash from the counter and took a big swig. After swishing and spitting—to rid herself of morning breath or Aleks’s taste, she wasn’t quite sure—she gripped the edge of the sink and leaned toward the mirror.

Her reflection startled her a second time. It was the braids. They made her look younger. Made her look a lot more like Dizzie—her newfound and unwanted sister.

Breaking eye contact with this unrecognizable, unwelcome version of herself, Portia took a deep breath and stepped back. She’d stalled as much as she could. Hiding in the bathroom all day wasn’t an option. She wanted—needed—to be at home.

It was just as well that she didn’t look like herself. She needed to make a low-profile exit; no one needed to catch the head of the Tremaine Corporation in a walk of shame.

Portia pulled out her phone and used the biometric scanners to unlock it. She called up her contacts list... and stared at it.

She didn’t know who to call.

Her driver would be available. Quiet and kind, he’d been with her for years and wouldn’t comment about picking her up at the hotel, but he’d know it was not the place he’d left her.

She shouldn’t care what he thought, but she did.

Scrolling through the woefully short list of people she considered friends, she paused at a familiar name and number. Killian.

They’d been best friends for years. Her, Killian, and Tommy. Except she didn’t know where they stood now.

A spurt of anger welled up, answering that question. Nope. Not back to being best friends yet. She still had a lot of anger against him that she needed to work out because of his relationship with Dizzie.

There was Ash. She and the talented hacker had been on the way to becoming friends, maybe, until he’d confessed his role in the events leading up to Tommy’s death.

No. That didn’t feel right, either.

She scrolled down again and stared at the entry for the Jack. Taryn, known to most as the mysterious Jack, wasn’t a friend, but Portia admired the other woman’s business savvy and discretion. Taryn would arrange a ride for her. For a fee.

Portia laughed. The Jack would do practically anything for a fee. That could work.

She nibbled on her thumbnail, studying all the angles.

Last night when she’d slipped out of the bar with Aleks, Taryn had checked to make sure she was okay to go. Before she could second-guess her decision, Portia messaged Taryn.

The response was nearly immediate, simply asking for her address. She sent her location, grateful for Taryn’s lack of questions. Ten minutes was the last response.

With a sigh of relief, Portia shoved her phone back into her pocket. She didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom, but the sooner she faced Aleks, the sooner she could go home and forget this happened.

The bedroom was empty when she opened the door. A small rush of emotion speared through her. Relief, not disappointment. She was glad he wasn’t waiting for her in the bedroom. Right?

Although she didn’t see Aleks, she sensed his presence. He’d thoughtfully placed the rest of her belongings on a chair right outside the bathroom door. Portia slipped on her shoes and threaded her purse over her arm. She took a deep breath, summoning her Ice Queen armor, then left the bedroom.

He’d opened the curtains and hazy morning light filtered into the small sitting room through the privacy shade. It was a nice space, what you’d expect from a high-end hotel, but her gaze was drawn to the man in the middle of it all. Aleks sat on the small couch, an open laptop on the coffee table in front of him, and a cup of coffee cradled in one hand.

He’d taken advantage of her time in the bathroom to dress as well. The casual jeans and button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up fit him perfectly. While it was a damn shame to cover his amazing body, she’d be a lot more uncomfortable if he were still in his robe, so close to naked.

In her don’t-notice-me clothes from the night before, Portia felt dowdy in comparison. She shoved that thought away. Ten minutes. That was all she had to get through. Less, probably.

“Good morning, Mr., um, Aleks.” It was impossible—and embarrassing—to greet someone formally when you didn’t know their last name.

He looked up from his computer and smiled at her. “Good morning, Portia.”

His attempt to match her gravity eased her discomfort.

“My ride will be here shortly.” In the meantime, she had no idea what to do. Did she sit? Stand? Flee for the lobby?

That last thought settled it. She was a Tremaine. She would not run.

He closed his computer and stood. “Would you like me to wait with you?”

“No. Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed. This whole morning-after thing was awkward as hell. How did people do this?

She didn’t know what else to say, so she smiled, then moved toward the door.

He followed her and while his presence could have been creepy or intimidating, it felt almost comforting. What the hell did that mean?

Turning when she reached the door, they were face to face again. She shivered at the echo of last night’s passion.

“Thank you.” The words slipped out. Surprising, because she had no idea what she was thanking him for. For a satisfying sexual encounter? For being so easygoing? For being a safe place for her to regain her life and her sex drive?

“You’re welcome,” he said with a smile that lit up his eyes and warmed her blood. “Can I see you again?”

Pulse suddenly loud in her ears, her body urged her to say yes. But logic—and a sudden rush of guilt for enjoying herself, for thinking of doing anything other than cleaning up her father’s messes and identifying any other secrets behind Tommy’s death—stopped her.

She shook her head. The swish of her braids across her neck was disconcerting. “I don’t think so.”

He nodded. A part of her wished he would try to change her mind, while a part of her was glad he didn’t. She didn’t know which part she wanted to win.

“Be well.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. Just a whisper of pressure against her skin, then he stood in front of her again like it had never happened.

“You too,” she said. She turned around and fumbled with the doorknob. Pull it together, Portia! Portia Tremaine did not get discombobulated. She always had a plan. Always knew what her next step was going to be.

Until her whole world had fallen part.

Aleks didn’t try to help and eventually she got the door open. She didn’t turn around, too embarrassed by her struggle—internal and external—to face him again. He held the door open for her, his hand braced against the metal several inches above her head.

Portia slipped through the opening and strode down the hall, listening for the sound of the door closing. It didn’t happen immediately and she was incredibly conscious of him watching her until the elevator opened.

She didn’t allow herself to turn around. This was how it had to be. No regrets.