Chapter 1 - Maksim #2
We break apart, heaving in ragged breaths. Her lipstick is smudged, and her hair is mussed from my fingers. She looks thoroughly kissed and absolutely perfect.
“Come with me,” I order, tugging on her elbow.
“Where?” she questions, and it comes out as an adorable squeak.
“Viktor’s office. It’s private.”
She glances around at the other patrons, who are paying us no mind, and I hold my breath waiting for her answer. If she says no, I’ll respect it, but I’ll also spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been.
“I don’t normally do this, but… Lead the way.”
I take her hand and guide her through the crowd, past the VIP section, and down a hallway marked “Staff Only.” Viktor’s office is at the end, complete with a leather sofa and a door that locks from the inside. I’ve used it before for various business meetings, but never for this.
The moment we’re inside, she shoves me against the door and kisses me again.
This time, there’s nothing gentle about it.
Her hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, grasping at my shirt, and tracing the lines of my chest, somehow all at the same time.
I respond in kind and glide my palms over her curves, memorizing the feel of her through the thin fabric of her dress.
What happens next feels inevitable. Her hands tug at my shirt while mine find the zipper of her dress. We’re both panting and moaning, careening toward something that’s been building since the moment our eyes met across the crowded club.
The last coherent thought I have is that this woman is going to ruin me for everyone else.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling my shirt back on and trying to remember how to form complete sentences. Alyssa is curled on the sofa with her hair spread across the leather, looking thoroughly satisfied and absolutely devastating.
That was…” I start as I drag a hand through my disheveled hair.
“Incredible.” She stretches against the leather, a tired smile playing at her lips. “Though you’ve left me absolutely parched.”
The way she says it—low and sultry—sends heat shooting through me all over again, and I have a feeling we aren’t quite done here.
“Stay here,” I tell her. “I’ll get us some drinks.”
She gives me a wordless nod, and I give her one last look before I head back toward the bar, eager to get back as quick as I can.
I want to take her back to my place, spend hours exploring every inch of her body over and over again, and learn everything there is to know about the mysterious Alyssa who just turned my world upside down.
Viktor spots me coming and grins. “Well?”
“Two glasses of your best champagne.”
“That good?”
“Better.”
He pours the champagne while I check myself in the mirror behind the bar. My hair is a mess, and my shirt is wrinkled, but I look like a man who just had the most incredible sex of his life. I feel like one, too.
“Here you go, Romeo.” Viktor hands me the glasses. “Try not to break anything in my office.”
I make my way back down the hallway, already anticipating the look on Alyssa’s face when I return. Maybe I’ll suggest we go back to my place. Maybe we’ll stay here all night. Maybe we’ll—
The office is empty.
I set the champagne glasses down and look around, thinking maybe she stepped into the attached bathroom.
But the door is open and the light is off.
Her dress is gone. Her shoes are gone. The only evidence that she was ever here is the lingering scent of her perfume and the imprint on the sofa cushions.
She’s vanished.
“Alyssa?” I call out.
I check the hallway, the bathroom, and even the supply closet. Nothing. She’s disappeared like smoke, leaving me standing alone in Viktor’s office with two glasses of champagne.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts.
I know people in every corner of this city—private investigators, information brokers, hackers who can track down anyone from a single photograph, which I can get from Viktor’s security cameras.
By tomorrow morning, I’ll have her full name, address, social security number, and favorite coffee order.
But as the days pass, every lead turns into a dead end. Alyssa becomes a ghost, someone who existed for one perfect night and then dissolved into the ether. My investigators find nothing, and nobody we found to question who was in the club that night knows her.
It’s like she never existed at all.
I spend countless hours replaying our conversation, looking for clues I might have missed.
She said she wasn’t from around here, but that could mean anything.
She was evasive about her job, her background, everything that might help me track her down.
Either she’s naturally private, or she deliberately obscured her trail.
The rational part of my brain knows I should move on. One-night stands are supposed to be exactly that—one night. But every other woman pales in comparison to the memory of strawberry blonde hair and emerald eyes and the way she felt in my arms.
None of them is her.
Someone, somewhere, knows who she is. Someone saw her leave that night. Someone has answers.
I just have to find them.
Because giving up isn’t an option. Not when it comes to her.
Not when it comes to the best night of my life.