Chapter One
ALYSSA
Rain pours hard and fast as I glance up at the dark sky from the doorway ofThe Temple, a strip club I work at. Sheets of water obscures my vision of the New York City street. Should I go inside and wait out the rain? I’m sure if I did, my manager would ask me to either work the bar or do another dance set. My ankle is throbbing after rolling it during my routine. I need to get home as soon as possible to ice it. With a ten AM audition for a musical tomorrow morning, I can’t afford to have an injury.
Hovering at the doorway, waiting for the rain to subside, a couple of men brush past me to enter the club. I don’t miss the way their gazes travel over my body. I’m wearing an oversized black t-shirt, black stockings, and biker boots. My dark brown hair is in loose waves down my back, and with my stage makeup, I can tell they think I’m a stripper from the club. Their sleezy grins tell me they’re hoping I’ll come back inside and give them a lap dance. I’m not that kind of dancer. I don’t strip,and I definitely don’t give lap dances. My sets are classy, well-choreographed dance routines. Not that there’s anything wrong with stripping. A girl needs to make money. I just prefer to make mine with my clothes on.
“Keep moving,” I tell them before they can make lewd remarks. I know the type. Men who’ve had far too many drinks and think they’re Adonis and us mortal women will fall at their feet begging for their attention. I don’t fall at no man’s feet.
Turning my attention back to the stormy sky, I sigh with indecision. Do I wait it out or go back inside? The longer I stand at the doorway, the longer I’m putting weight on my ankle. I need to be physically fit for tomorrow. The thought of another audition and another rejection sits heavily on my chest. How many more can I take?
I shake off the melancholy. I have bigger things to worry about right now, like making my way home without getting saturated. With a dubious glance at the sky, I sigh. There’s no chance I’ll get out of here dry.
Making up my mind, I toss my dance bag over my shoulder, tuck my makeup kit under my arm, and with my free hand, flick open my umbrella and step out onto the street. Within seconds, a gust of chilly wind whips the umbrella inside out. I try to shake it back into place with no luck. Water is stinging my face and plastering my t-shirt to my body.
As I fumble with the umbrella, the makeup kit drops onto the ground. With rain trickling into my eyes and wind blowing hair into my face, I can’t see, and I trip over the makeup kit. At lightning speed, the ground rushes up to my face. My arms flay about as I make one last attempt at steadying myself. It doesn’t work. All I can do is hold out my hands to save myself from face-planting the concrete.
With a thud, I hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from my lungs. In a state of shock, I push myself up and sitin a puddle. Looking at my hands, I hiss at the stinging skin ripped off my palms. The backs of my eyes prickle with tears. “Motherfucker.”
“Hey, are you okay?” a deep voice says from behind me.
My face heats with embarrassment that people around me have witnessed my fall. A man squats next to me, and I swipe at the water from my eyes. Is it rain or tears? Maybe a combination of both. I turn my face away so he doesn’t see how mortified I am.
“So much for falling at no man’s feet,” I mumble under my breath.
“What did you say?”
Crap! I didn’t mean for him to hear.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I answer his first question. Scrambling to my feet, I wince as I put weight on my injured ankle. Shit! It feels worse than before.
“Careful.” The man tentatively places a hand on my elbow, like he’s asking permission to touch me. I don’t shrug him off—now that the embarrassment is wearing off, I’m grateful for the support. “You’re hurt. Let’s get you out of the rain.”
Dropping his hand, he picks up my bag and makeup kit. The no-good umbrella is nowhere to be seen. He then guides me as I hobble to an awning over a closed tobacco store. In the dim light shining from the window, I take my first look at the good Samaritan.
My breath catches in my lungs. Dark, wet hair clings to his forehead. Damp, spikey lashes frame hazel eyes. Stubble covers a strong, square jawline. His saturated white, wet shirt clings to impressive muscles, defining his huge physique. He looks hot as hell while I must look like a drowned rat.
My rescuer is none other than Hayden Alessi. Part owner of the world’s most successful fashion house, Alessi Fashion, and my best friend Harper’s brother-in-law. I briefly met him onceat Harper and Finn’s wedding and saw him from the distance in the club over a year ago. He has a face that can’t be forgotten.
Standing so close under the small shelter, I breathe in his citrusy cologne mixed with the rain. Heat coils in my belly. I may be embarrassed and aching in certain body parts, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes. Rubbing my hand along my arm, fire shoots through my palms. I bite my lip through the pain.
“You’ve hurt your hand. Can I see?” he asks.
At my nod, he places my bag and makeup kit on the ground. He takes my hands into his large ones and leans down to get a better look. His lush hair falls forward, and if he weren’t holding my hands, I’d like to run my fingers through his dark locks.
“Does it sting?” He tilts his head back to look at me, and I get caught in his beautiful eyes. When seconds pass and I don’t respond, he frowns and scans my head. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
Snapping out of my trance, I say, “No, I didn’t hit my head. My palms only sting a little.” Not letting go of my hands, he does another scan of my head, probably looking for lumps and bruises just to be sure.
“You need to clean the grit from your palms as soon as possible, Alyssa. You don’t want this to get infected.” He lets go of my hands and I immediately miss the warmth.
“You know who I am?”
He shuffles back a step like he’s realized he’s standing too close. “We met at Finn and Harper’s wedding.”
“Yes, I remember. I’m surprised you do.” After the introduction, he took off so fast, I thought he had an emergency to get to. For the rest of the night, to my disappointment, he never came near me or looked at me again.
“How could I forget?” His voice deepens to just above a whisper, sending tingles up and down my spine. For a beat, our eyes hold. Breaking the connection, he clears his throat, looks athis feet, then up the street before looking at me again. “You were so busy running around after the bride you were hard to miss.”