Chapter 3
Serena
I just had dinner with the Devil.
Julien was that Devil. The kind of devil who could make a woman toss all her good sense straight out the nearest window. Dark skin and chiseled perfection, rocking that low-cut Caesar fade with waves so smooth you could practically drown if you stared too long.
Mm-hmm. That kind of trouble.
The kind that slipped past your defenses with nothing but a tailored suit, a voice smooth as aged whiskey, and eyes that felt like silk dragging slow and easy against bare skin. The kind who had me forgetting my year-long celibacy faster than I could remember my middle name.
Forget your damn name fine.
Forget every promise I’d made to myself about staying disciplined, focused, and far, far away from beautiful men who wore danger like their favorite cologne.
But no.
Self-control yanked me back at the last second, gripping me by the collar like a best friend who knew better. A firm reminder that men like Julien? They were a luxury, not a necessity.
So, I walked away.
Okay, maybe I ran.
And now, here I was, standing in the hotel lobby, arms crossed, staring out at what could only be described as Mother Nature’s personal vendetta against me.
The snow is thick, heavy, and inconvenient. Atlanta wasn’t built for snow like this. The last time this happened, people were stranded on the highway for hours. I, on the other hand, had been nice and cozy, watching it all unfold on the news from the comfort of my couch, hands wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa, silently thanking God I wasn’t one of them.
Tonight, I wasn’t so lucky. Instead of being curled up under a blanket. I was refreshing my Uber app over and over, hoping the alert message of no driver in the area would change. Now I’m stranded.
“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.
The energy in the lobby mirrored my own—tense, frustrated, and laced with the kind of quiet panic that only bad weather and bad timing could create. People paced with phones pressed to their ears, conversations clipped and urgent.
Across the room, a mother sat on a couch, her youngest curled up in her lap while an older child leaned against her side, wide-eyed and restless. When I caught their gaze, I gave a small wave. The mother managed a tired smile. At least if I ended up stranded on the lobby couch, I wouldn’t be alone. That was the best-case scenario. Worst case? I’d be up all night, too paranoid to close my eyes, convinced someone would swipe my purse the second I let my guard down.
Panic stirred in my chest, but I pushed it down. No big deal. I needed to create alternatives for a ride.
The sharp click of my heels against the marble floor echoed through the lobby like a countdown to my patience running out. The valet desk ahead felt like my last shot at salvaging this night. Behind it was a young man, maybe mid-twenties, cool as a cucumber, completely unbothered by the mess outside.
The sheer nerve of his composure irritated me.
I inhaled, gathering up whatever grace I had left, and gave him the kind of smile I’ve spent the last decade perfecting, the one that always got me my way.
“Hey,” I started, with a smooth, controlled, and breathless tone that would have a man ready to give me his kidney. “Could you call me a cab?”
The wince he gave me? Not a good sign.
“Uh… sorry, ma’am.” He dragged a hand over his closely cropped hair, his face cringing like he was bracing for impact. “The roads are icing over fast. Most drivers canceled or booked rooms for the night. No one’s running right now.”
I blinked.
Once. Twice.
Letting his words sink in, waiting for them to rearrange themselves into something more acceptable. They didn’t.
“So you’re telling me I can’t get a ride?” My voice officially entered my boss lady voice, hoped that would at least light a fire under his seat, even if just a little.
His Adam’s apple bobbed like the words were stuck on the way out. “No, ma’am. But we could have something set up for you in the morning.”
Morning.
The word rattled around in my head like a bad joke.
So, what was the plan now? Stretch out on one of these overpriced lobby couches, clutching my Louis Vuitton like a lifeline, praying I didn’t wake up to find someone had swiped my purse while I slept? Absolutely not.
I exhaled sharply, turning on my heel, already onto Plan B.
A room. That’s all I needed. A safe place to sleep, a minibar, and maybe a bed full of pillows deep enough to drown the fact that I was stuck in this hotel with a man I’d spent the last hour trying to run from.
The woman at the front desk was already typing before I even reached her. She clearly saw this look of desperation, the I’ m-about-to-lose-it panic creeping into my expression.
“Please tell me you have something available,” I sighed, my hands pressed against the counter, begged the marble to magically provide me a room.
She exhaled, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard before she glanced up at me.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice laced with the kind of gentle regret that made it clear she’d been delivering bad news all night. “We’re fully booked.”
I blinked. “Like… fully booked? As in, not a single empty room in this entire hotel?”
She winced. “Not one.”
I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples. This could not be my life right now. “Okay, so what about a meeting room?” I tried, pushing past the rising panic in my chest. “Stick a rollaway bed in there, call it an exclusive VIP snowstorm experience, and I promise I’ll act grateful.”
Her brows shot up like I’d suggested she let me crash in the kitchen with the catering staff. “Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”
I glanced around at the elegant but very occupied hotel lobby, where stranded guests were already camped out in armchairs like they’d accepted their fate. Was I about to be one of them? Would I have to curl up on one of these velvet sofas with my Louis Vuitton pressed to my chest like a safety deposit box and hope I didn’t wake up to find my wallet missing?
I glanced back at the front desk, and that’s when I saw it. Her fingers moved over the keyboard, not searching, not scrolling. Just… typing. A little too fast and way too dramatic.
She wasn’t checking anything. She was faking it.
I narrowed my eyes. “You know, if you’re gonna pretend to look busy, you should at least type slower,” I said, arms folding tight.
Her fingers froze for half a second before she quickly resumed her fake-ass typing.
I exhaled slowly, the sigh released when the universe proved it had no mercy. My head tilted back, my silk press laying perfectly around my shoulders. At least I didn’t have to worry about sweating it out, at least that had gone right.
But here I was. Out of options. Out of luck. Officially homeless in designer heels, stranded in a hotel lobby.
I tightened my grip on my purse, less an accessory and more a security blanket, and took a calming breath, trying to push down the frustration bubbling up inside me. But because the universe had jokes tonight, that was precisely when I heard his voice, smooth and entirely too pleased with itself, cutting right through my crisis.
“Looks like you’re stuck.”
Deep and smooth, his voice carried just enough warmth to ease my annoyance and just enough cockiness to set it ablaze all over again. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, attempting to summon the patience required to deal with him. But I had to face him; nowhere to run from him now.
So, I turned.
And there he was, looking like the walking embodiment of temptation after midnight. Dark eyes locked on mine, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth like he’d already seen the end of tonight’s episode. He stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, exuding a quiet confidence that felt effortless and infuriatingly attractive. His presence filled the air between us, taking up more space than seemed fair or even remotely necessary.
The worst part? He knew it.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked, crossing my arms and forcing myself to look unaffected, even though my heart skipped a few beats like a scratched record.
Julien closed the gap between us, close enough that his scent wrapped around me. A warm, subtle blend of cedarwood with a whisper of lavender reminded me exactly how much trouble I was in. “Maybe a little,” he admitted softly, his gaze sliding lazily over me, lingering in ways that made my skin feel electric. “But I’d enjoy it even more if you let me help you.”
My brow arched higher. “Help?”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Trust me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate pitch. “It’ll be the best bad decision you’ve ever made.”
And damn me if I wasn’t halfway there.
“I don’t need help.” I blurted out, knowing good and well how ridiculous I sounded.
His lips twitched like he was biting back a laugh. “No?”
“No,” I said firmly, pursing my lips and rolling my neck to seal the dramatics.
I hesitated, and in that brief pause, my silence gave me away. Julien’s mouth curved into that slow, easy smile that had my pulse acting reckless all night. Heat rose swiftly to my cheeks, betraying me.
“I’ll figure it out,” I said firmly, lifting my chin, holding on tight to what little dignity I had left. No way I was letting him see me flustered.
“I have no doubt.” His voice softened, slipping lower, warm as whiskey and smooth as butter. He stepped closer, his scent enveloping me—woodsy, masculine, with that faint hint of lavender that wasn’t too overpowering but impossible to ignore. “But you don’t have to.”
His words settled somewhere deep, unraveling something tightly knotted within me. They were subtle and unexpected, reminding me how good it could feel to let someone else take the weight, even if only for a moment. My breath stalled, caught between the gentle sincerity in his eyes and the instinctive need to guard myself.
He didn’t push. He just stood there, steady, his presence solid enough to lean into if I dared. And for a moment, just a fleeting heartbeat, I considered it. Considered letting down the walls, stepping into that quiet space he’d left open just for me.
“Serena.”
My name slid from his lips, smooth as butter, like he’d been waiting all night to said it just like that. It sent a shiver through me, a slow, traitorous warmth unraveling beneath my skin. My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag, my escape plan dissolving under the weight of his voice.
I should have walked away. Should have made a sharper exit, left no room for negotiations. But then I looked up—and damn him—his gaze caught mine, steady, unreadable, something dark and slow burning behind it. I was rooted. Stuck in place like I hadn’t spent the last ten minutes trying to get the hell out of here.
“Stay with me tonight,” he said, his voice so low I swear it hummed in the deepest parts of me. My breath hitched.
I bit my lip, thinking that would help ground myself, to force my mind back into logic and reason. But my mind? That bitch had checked out.
I was only seconds away from caving in.
I liked the way his voice dipped when he said my name. I liked how his presence felt solid, steady, like he was offering something I hadn’t realized I needed. Maybe I just wanted to know what it would feel like to stop overthinking for once in my life.
“What would a night with you look like?”
The words left my lips before I could stop them, softer than I intended, almost like I was asking myself just as much as I was asking him.
Julien’s gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable, but I saw it—the way his jaw ticked, the way his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to touch me.
He didn’t hesitate.
“It’d look like you finally striking the match you’ve been playing with all night.”
The words landed between us, thick and sure, curling around my spine like smoke. He wasn’t offering sweet nothings or empty promises: just truth and this moment.
I swallowed, trying to ignore the slow burn his words left behind.
“One night?” I tested, my voice was softer than I meant it to be.
Julien’s gaze darkened, something slow and consuming flickering behind his eyes.
“We can if—”
“No.” I cut him off, shaking my head, needing the boundary more than I needed my next breath. “I don’t do one-night stands.”
His lips curled at the edges, something between amusement and knowing.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
I exhaled sharply, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.
“Like hearing the word no?” I shot back, even as my pulse betrayed me, thudding against my ribs in something dangerously close to anticipation.
He didn’t blink, didn’t back off. If anything, he stepped in, his presence wrapping around me, heavy and warm.
“That smart mouth,” he murmured, voice low enough to sink into my skin. “You know what it does to me?”
My stomach clenched.
I knew.
I could see it in how his jaw flexed and his fingers twitched like he was barely keeping himself from reaching for me. His eyes stayed locked onto mine. A challenge. A promise. The silence between us stretched, thick and weighted, pressing against my skin like a touch I wasn’t sure I’d reject.
I should’ve turned away. Should’ve left him standing there with that smirk, that confidence, that infuriating Patience.
But I didn’t.
Because somewhere between his voice, his body heat, and how he saw me, the cracks in my restraint had already begun to splinter.
His hand brushed against mine, just barely. But it was enough. Enough to send a slow, curling heat through me. Enough to steal my breath. Enough to make me forget every reason I had for resisting.
I didn’t move.
Neither did he.
His fingers flexed.
My lips parted.
I don’t know if he kissed me. Or if I kissed him. All I knew was that when his mouth met mine, it wasn’t a decision. It was a loss of control. A free fall. A slow burn that had been waiting to catch fire. And I was already burning.
This wasn’t like the first time. This wasn’t stolen or impulsive. This was slow, sensual, a kiss that demanded to be felt. His hands found my waist, strong and sure, pulling me just enough so that I felt the solid heat of him against me. My fingers slid up the back of his neck, and the deep, quiet groan that rumbled through his chest sent fire licking down my spine.
I was in trouble.
Julien kissed me like he already knew how this night would end. Like he’d seen the whole thing play out before I even realized I was on the board. Like he’d been waiting for me to surrender.
And maybe I already had.
When he pulled back, his lips skimmed the shell of my ear, his breath slow, dragging more shivers down my spine.
“I want you, Serena.”
It was barely more than a whisper, but it branded me anyway—a slow-burning confession settling deep into places I’d long since sworn off-limits.
My pulse thundered in my ears, caught somewhere between the impulse to run and the reckless desire to stay. My heartbeat felt like it was trying to rewrite my entire list of rules about men like him.
I didn’t say a word. Couldn’t.
But I didn’t need to.
Something cool and firm slipped into my palm, a keycard, heavy with intention. My gaze flicked down, landing on the bold black numbers inked onto the paper sleeve, and heat pooled low in my stomach. A quiet dare. A silent challenge.
I should’ve refused.
Should’ve dropped it back into his outstretched hand, turned around, and chosen the cold, stiff couch in the hotel lobby over the tempting warmth of Julien Brooks.
But my fingers curled around that card, gripping it like it held the last of my good sense.
When I finally lifted my eyes again, Julien was already walking away. Unhurried. Completely confident. Like he knew he didn’t need to look back to see if I was coming.
Because he knew I would.
And damn him for that confidence, for the arrogance in the sway of his shoulders as he walked away, for the silent promise he left hanging in the air between us, daring me to follow.
Because even as I stood there, heart hammering and pulse racing, I knew I was about to do exactly what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.
I was going to follow.
Because the only thing more terrifying than the thought of breaking my own rules was the nagging question whispering in the back of my mind:
What if?
???
I could lie to myself and say the only reason I’m standing on the presidential floor, staring at Julien’s door like it’s the gateway to some forbidden paradise, is because I refuse to spend the night playing security guard over my Louis Vuitton in a lobby full of strangers. But let’s be honest, who in their right mind would pass up the chance to stay in the presidential suite of a luxury hotel? Especially when the man behind the door looks and kisses like that.
Julien clearly did well for himself, but this? This was next-level. The man didn’t just love luxury; he lived it, breathed it, wore it like a second skin. And if I’m being honest, that’s one thing we had in common. Luxury wasn’t just a preference for me, it was a language. And tonight, Julien was speaking it fluently.
It was like tasting something decadent for the first time, a single drop of honey that left me craving the whole jar. It was reckless and electric, the kind of kiss that didn’t just linger on your lips but seeped into your bones, rewriting your priorities. And now, standing here, I couldn’t stop wondering where that kiss might lead if I let it.
One night. That’s all I wanted. One night to let go of the overthinking, the responsibilities, and the endless mental checklist that kept me tethered to reality. One night to be reckless, to give in to desire without apology.
But as I stood there, my hand hovering over the door, a wave of guilt and nervousness washed over me. What was I doing? Sleeping with a man I barely knew, no, scratch that, a man who was practically a stranger, wasn’t exactly in my playbook. I stepped back, my Louboutins clicking softly against the marble floor as if my body was trying to override my recklessness.
But the thing about me: I don’t backtrack. Once I make a decision, I own it. And walking up to this floor? That was a decision.
Now I just had to knock.