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~CHAPTER ONE: HANNAH~
I glance toward the elevators but pause when I see the hotel bar. Rows of wine bottles gleam under the warm lights, and the cozy atmosphere beckons.
All I really want to do right now is snuggle up in my hotel bed and binge-watch a reality TV series. After spending the entire day in downtown Dallas hunting for new inventory for Hannah Banana’s, my boutique back home, I should be exhausted. And I am. My feet ache from walking showroom after showroom, my head spinning from comparing styles, colors, and price points before placing orders to be shipped. But my mind is still wired from the excitement of finding the perfect pieces.
I could just head upstairs, order room service, and call it a night. But what harm could one drink do?
Sliding onto a barstool, I offer the bartender a tired smile.
“What can I get you?” He asks. I admire his mustache and how it curves around the edges. He clearly has spent a lot of time on it.
“A glass of cabernet please.” He nods, lifts a crystal glass from above and pops open a fresh bottle. I watch as the red liquid fills the clear glass and I lick my lips, eager to taste it.
“Enjoy,” he sets the glass down and I lift it immediately taking a sip and relishing in the warmth it instantly provides me.
After a minute, and a few more sips of wine, I pull my phone out of my purse. Absentmindedly, I open the dating app I downloaded last week, scrolling through with no real intent, until a notification pops up.
You have a new match!
I gasp when I see the photo and name. My ex, Ethan.
“Everything okay?” the bartender asks, pausing as he wipes down the counter.
I force a small smile. “Yeah, just… surprised.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. Of course he’s on here. The same man who sat across from me at a restaurant three months ago and told me I was too much to handle. That after almost an entire year together, he just didn’t see forever with me.
It had gutted me.
But now, staring at his smug smile on my screen I can't help but wonder, should I swipe left and reject the match? Or swipe right to accept? My mind races with what-ifs, doubts, and lingering memories I have no interest in revisiting.
No. I refuse to entertain this. He made his choice, and it wasn’t me.
I take another sip of wine and decide not to swipe left or right. Instead, I delete the app entirely.
I’m so tired of forcing love.
I’ve done all the dating apps, speed dating, blind dates, I’ve put myself out there in more ways than I probably should. Only for each time to be slammed in my face.
It’s time I let fate happen. Let love come to me.
Deleting the app feels like the right choice, but it also leaves me feeling strangely untethered. Am I giving up on love, or finally letting go of what’s not meant for me?
I shove my phone in my purse and finish off my glass of wine.
As soon as I set the glass down I feel a pull to my right. When I turn my head in that direction I see the most handsome man I’ve ever laid my eyes on. He’s sitting alone and when he smiles, it sends an unexpected jolt through me.
I quickly look away, my heart racing. What the heck was that? How can one look make me feel this way.
I finally muster up the courage to look back at him again, except he isn’t sitting at the end of the bar. He is sitting down next to me.
“Hi,” he says, his voice smooth and warm.
My heart skips a beat. I manage a small smile, though my mind is already spinning.
“I’m Ben.” His lips curve into a devious grin and all I can think is oh no. I’m a goner.
Every inch of this man radiates confidence. He looks like he’s spent his entire life walking into rooms and owning them, yet there’s something disarming in the way his messy hair resists being tamed.
He is wearing black pants that fit him just right. A crisp black blazer with a white shirt underneath that is unbuttoned just enough to give me a peek at his chest hair. And freaking glasses.
Dark, thick frames that take him to a whole other level.
His voice snaps me back to the present, low and warm like the first sip of coffee on a slow morning. “And your name is?”
“Hannah,” I say, the single syllable rushing out like I’ve been holding my breath since he sat down.
The bartender appears, and we both nod for another round. I’m already regretting it. The wine is loosening my tongue, and I have a terrible feeling I might say something I’ll regret, or worse, do something I’ll regret.
“So, Hannah,” he says, tilting his glass toward me in a silent toast, “what brings you to this hotel bar tonight?”
I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. His gaze holds mine, steady and amused, and I feel a warmth creep up my neck. “Business,” I finally say, lifting my glass and taking a sip to hide my nerves.
There, not a lie but not giving away too many details.
“Same,” he replies, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he takes a slow sip of his drink. His throat moves, and I can’t stop myself from watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs.
I don’t ask him what type of business he is involved in not only because I don’t want to give away too many details about myself, but also, I don’t want to talk about work. I just want to talk, in general, about anything else after having spent two full days doing nothing but focusing on my work.
The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s… loaded. I glance at his drink. “Whiskey?”
“Old Fashioned,” he says, holding it up like it’s a badge of honor. “Classic. Reliable. The kind of drink that never lets you down.”
I laugh softly. “Is that what you look for in a drink?”
“Not just a drink.” He leans in slightly, and the movement pulls my attention back to the subtle peek of chest hair visible through the undone buttons of his shirt. His voice lowers just a fraction. “Classic. Reliable. A little unexpected. Sounds like a good match to me.”
I swallow hard and glance away, trying to ignore the way my pulse is racing. When I look back, his eyes are on me, studying me like he’s trying to read my thoughts.
“I couldn’t help but notice,” he says after a moment, “you seemed a little… frustrated earlier. Staring at your phone like you wanted to throw it.”
Heat floods my face. “You were watching me?”
“Hard not to.” His smile is slow, teasing. “You were the most interesting thing in the room.”
My stomach does a ridiculous little flip. Interesting? I was sulking into my wine and doom-scrolling like a woman on the verge of a breakdown. If that’s his definition of interesting, I don’t even want to know what he finds boring.
But the way he’s looking at me, like he’s in no rush to be anywhere else, makes my skin heat in a way that has nothing to do with the wine.
I should look away. Say something witty. Laugh it off.
Instead, I pick up my glass, more for something to do with my hands than anything else.
Keep it together, Hannah.
Ben watches me, his gaze dipping briefly to my lips before flicking back up, and suddenly, swallowing feels impossible.
“Dallas is a beautiful city. I’ve never been here before. Have you?”
“A few times,” I say, which is technically not a lie.
His gaze flickers over me, assessing. “Where are you from?”
My stomach tightens. “Far from here,” I deflect, lifting my wineglass to my lips, hoping he’ll let it drop.
“Ah,” he murmurs, watching me closely. “So what had you so upset earlier?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I was hoping he would forget about that.
“Yeah, um...” I let out a breath, deciding against a lie. “I got matched with my ex on a dating app. Then promptly deleted said app.”
Ben hums, tilting his head. “Sounds like the right response. Do you have much luck meeting people the old-fashioned way? You know, without an algorithm deciding for you?”
I roll my eyes, but his teasing grin is contagious. “Not really. The dating pool back home is slim pickings. I think it’s time I stop trying so hard.”
His fingers drum against the bar. “Don’t be discouraged,” he says, eyes darkening. “All it takes is just one night to change everything.”
A shiver rolls through me at the way his voice dips, low and smooth. The air shifts, charged. I swallow the rest of my wine, suddenly feeling the heat of the alcohol, or maybe just him.
The bartender returns, wordlessly setting down another round. Ben lifts his glass. “To meeting people the old fashioned way and good company.”
I can feel the wine as if it’s taken over all the blood in my veins.
I clink my glass against his, laughing. “Cheers to that.”
After a sip, I sigh. “No offense, because you are like a man and all, but I don’t even know what to say to guys anymore. Every time I’ve been on a date in the past year it’s like it’s left up to me to carry on the conversation and I run out of things to say.” I realize I am word vomiting here, but it’s not like I’m ever gonna see this guy again. Besides he seems older and maybe he is a little wiser too.
He lifts a brow. “You could always tell a joke.”
“A joke?”
“Yeah, lighting the mood, ease the tension.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you feel like there’s tension here?”
Ben leans in slightly, his smirk slow and knowing. “I think the tension between us is a little different than the kind you’re talking about.”
My mouth drops open and I have to force myself to shut it, so I don’t look like a women who doesn’t know what she’s doing. Even though I have no idea how to flirt like this. I can’t believe he just said that. Referring to the sexual tension that is out the roof between us.
Heat flares in my chest, crawling up my neck. My mind scrambles for something, anything, to distract from the electricity crackling between us.
“What did one watermelon say to the other?”
His lips twitch. “What?”
“You’re one in a mel-e-on.”
“Hannah thats not funny.” He says even though he is laughing.
“But you’re laughing,” I point out, grinning.
Ben shakes his head. “Alright, my turn. “If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”
I burst out laughing, the tension momentarily breaking. “Ben, that is even worse!” I gasp, placing a hand on his as I catch my breath.
The moment my fingers brush his skin, his hand covers mine, his thumb stroking over my knuckles.
Just like that, I stop laughing.
“You sure thought it was funny,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, more intimate.
I swallow hard, my pulse skittering. He doesn’t let go immediately, and neither do I.
Then, just as slowly as he touched me, he releases my hand and leans back.
“So,” he says, his tone shifting. “This ex, the one who had you deleting apps and drowning your sorrows in wine, what happened?”
The warmth in my veins morphs into something sharper. The wine loosens my tongue, and before I can stop myself, I’m spilling the story.
“He broke up with me on our anniversary. At the end of the date, like he’d planned it the whole time and just let me sit through dinner, completely unaware.” I scoff, shaking my head. “And the only reason he gave me? That I was ‘too much.’” I throw up air quotes, bitterness lacing my voice.
Ben is quiet for a beat. Then he leans in, his eyes locked onto mine, his voice steady. “I think you’re just enough.” Which makes me melt even further into my chair.
A slow warmth spreads through me, deeper than wine, deeper than anything I’ve felt in a long time.
“I, um...” I shoot to my feet, flustered beyond repair. “I need to go.” I need to get away from this man before I do something stupid. As much as I don’t want this night to end, this easy and instant connection is scaring me.
Ben doesn’t argue. He just tosses some cash onto the bar and follows me out, his presence a dark, steady force at my side.
We walk in silence to the elevator, and I silently beg for other people to be inside when the doors slide open. A small rush of relief fills me when an older couple and a businessman are already inside. Safety in numbers.
“What floor?” The woman by the buttons asks.
“Ten, please,” Ben and I say at the same time.
I glance up at him, suspicious. “Are you following me?”
He chuckles, a slow, knowing sound. “I could ask you the same thing.”
How on earth am I going to be able to sleep tonight knowing he is sleeping so close to me.
The elevator begins its smooth ascent, the only noise the soft hum of machinery. But when the doors slide open on the third floor, the businessman and the couple step out, leaving just me and Ben.
Alone.
The air changes instantly. The tiny space seems to shrink, pressing us closer together. I shift slightly, but as I do, my hand brushes his. A whisper of contact, skin against skin, but it’s enough to send a sharp jolt straight through me.
I hold my breath, willing myself not to react.
But he does.
Ben doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in, his presence heating the space between us. My pulse pounds in my throat. My body is fully aware of him, of how close we are, of the way his fingers twitch like he wants to close that distance completely.
I stare at the numbers as they tick higher. Focus.
I know, if I look up, if I meet that gaze, something will happen.
I desperately want to turn to him and let him kiss me up against this wall in the elevator.
But he is only in town for business. I am looking for a long term relationship, someone I can spend the rest of my life with, not a one night stand. I bite my lip and focus on the numbers as they tick higher and higher.
I can hear my heartbeat. I can feel his eyes burning into me. But if I look, what will happen?
The ding of the elevator makes me jump. The doors slide open to the tenth floor, and I force myself to step forward, even though every cell in my body screams at me to turn around.
“Ladies first,” Ben murmurs, motioning for me to exit. His voice is smoother now, more controlled. But when I step out, I feel him fall in step beside me, his presence a smoldering heat at my side.
We walk down the hall together, the space between us buzzing with something unspoken.
And all I can think about is how thin these hotel walls are, and how close his room is to mine.
Ben stops in front of his door, and for the first time since we stepped off the elevator, I let myself really look at him.
The offer is there in his eyes. The unspoken question hanging thick between us.
It would be so easy.
But easy has never been my style.
“It was good to meet you, Ben.” My voice is softer than I intend, but I force myself to step back, away from the what-ifs, away from the temptation crackling between us like a live wire.
I walk toward my room, my pulse pounding in my ears. Every step feels wrong, like I’m walking away from something I’ll never get back.
I can’t help myself, I glance over my shoulder.
He’s still standing there.
Hasn’t opened his door. Hasn’t moved. Just watching me with something unreadable in his expression, something dark and wanting and waiting.
And suddenly, I stop thinking.
My heart takes over, and before I can talk myself out of it, I turn on my heel and close the space between us.
Ben barely has time to react before I press him against the door and kiss him.
His lips are even softer than I imagined, but the way he responds, God, the way he responds. His hands are on me instantly, gripping my waist, pulling me in like he’s been waiting for this moment all night. He spins us effortlessly, my back hitting the door, his body pressing flush against mine, heat against heat.
The kiss turns frantic, messy, like we’re trying to make up for lost time, time we never even had. His hands slide up my sides, his fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp.
“Get a room!” Someone calls as they pass by.
Ben ignores them. I do not.
“You get a room!” I snap, whipping my head around, but before I can deliver a proper glare, Ben laughs, deep and rich and filled with something dangerous.
The sound shoots straight through me, and before I know it, he grips my waist and lifts me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“Ben!” I squeal, half-laughing, half-horrified, as he strides into his hotel room like a man on a mission.
The door slams behind us, sealing us in, shutting out the rest of the world.
Ben sets me down, but I barely have time to find my footing before he pushes me back against the door, caging me in with his body.
“I really like this fiery mouth of yours,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my lips.
Then he kisses me again.
And this time, he doesn’t stop.
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