ONLY FOR ONE NIGHT

BELLA

"Hi, Mrs Charlotte," I said, a little louder than normal, with a smile stretched across my face.

"Hello, Bella." She smiled back at me, and her whole face softened.

I set my tray down beside Mrs Charlotte's bed in 216. As a geriatric nurse at North Manchester General, I had learned patience, and tonight I needed it. My shift was over, but she refused her medication from anyone else, so here I was.

I gave her the drugs, adjusted her drip, and checked her vitals. The moment I was done, she picked up her chatter exactly where she'd left off.

"My son came to see me last night, and I told him about the kind nurse who's been taking care of me." Her eyes twinkled. "He wants to meet you tomorrow."

"That won't be necessary, Ma," I said, almost too quickly, and softened it with a smile. "I'm only doing my job. Besides, I won't be at the hospital tomorrow."

Her smile dropped, and she gave me a look so sad I almost apologised. "Is there a problem, Bella? Or are you avoiding me now?"

"No, Ma, not at all," I said, hurrying to clear the air. "I just have an important trip to make. I'm going to Southampton to see my family."

I wasn't going to Southampton. Not this weekend, anyway. I had a date with Oliver tomorrow, and since it was Friday, I was heading to his place straight from the hospital.

Oliver Whitmore had been my boyfriend for a year. He had made it a standing rule that weekends belonged to us. We were both busy people, so we carved out time for each other, and it had worked beautifully. We had even met in this very room, 216. I had just joined the hospital as a graduate intern when Oliver was brought in after a ghastly motorcycle crash. I nursed him back to health, and shortly after he recovered, we started dating. I had even started to think about settling down with him. Or so I thought.

I had texted him earlier, but he hadn't replied.

Mrs Charlotte waved me off warmly. I stepped out of the room and went to the cloakroom, where changing out of my scrubs was always the best part of my day. I love my job, don't get me wrong, but it can be draining. My jeans hugged my waist, and my pink crop top fit perfectly. I felt human again.

"Leaving already, Bella?" Irina called from the reception desk.

"Of course," I said with a grin, and headed out to the parking lot.

The drive to Sainsbury's was short. I picked up a basket and tossed in a few things: chicken, apples, eggs, bread. Then I stopped at the aisle with my favourite chocolate bars and dropped a generous handful into the basket. My phone buzzed.

Oliver: Hey babe, I'm sorry I didn't text back earlier; I was busy. Would you come home tonight? I stepped out, just in case. See you later. Love you.

I read it at the till while I paid. Stepped out? I shrugged it off. Back at my car, I dumped the groceries on the back seat and drove straight to King Street.

The lift was still broken. It had been out of order for a whole week, and no one had bothered to fix it. I was too tired for the stairs, but I had no choice.

By the time I reached his floor, my legs were burning. I punched in the pass code, 2253, and pushed the door open.

"Oliver?" I called as I walked in.

No answer. I dropped the bags on the kitchen counter, and that was when something caught my eye. A woman's purse was lying right beside them. I picked it up. It wasn't familiar. Maybe his sister had dropped by. I put it back and walked towards his bedroom.

His door was slightly open. That was strange. Oliver always closed it.

I pushed it open and walked in on the biggest shock of my life.

BELLA

The closest thing to this pain I had ever felt was the day I lost my mother, and the day Dad married Amelia Grace Bennett. She came into our lives with a sister I never asked for, Victoria Grace Bennett. I had to learn to love them both, even though I never planned to have them in my life.

But standing in Oliver's bedroom, watching my stepsister in bed with my boyfriend, was worse than all of it. The pain was sharp and piercing. My heart was racing and pounding as if it would burst out of my chest.

"What... is this?" My voice cracked, coming out coarse, as if it belonged to someone else.

Victoria sprang up. Oliver scrambled out of the bed and rushed to where I stood. I fought the tears welling up in my eyes. I knew I would burst into tears any second, so I turned and ran back to the living room. I grabbed my bag from the couch and almost made it out of the door when Oliver shouted, "Wait!"

I didn't want to stop, but my legs betrayed me and froze right in front of the door.

When I turned around, Victoria stood behind him, wrapped in his bedsheet, with a smirk on her face. She looked like she had just won a competition I hadn't known I was part of.

"I'm sorry, Bella. Please, I can explain. It's not what you..."

I slapped him hard before the words could finish leaving his mouth.

"It's not what I think? Then what is it, Oliver? That I just walked in on you having sex with my stepsister?" I shook my head. "Miss me with that bullshit explanation. I don't need it. And don't you ever appear in front of me again."

With that, I stormed out of his apartment.

The stairs were a blur. I pressed the ignition button and drove out of King Street with my tyres screeching. I wanted to be anywhere but there.

In no time, I was parked at the foot of the Beetham Tower on Deansgate. Cloud 23 had amazing cocktails, and I could use a little alcohol to knock myself out tonight. I had been through too much drama and heartbreak in one evening. I went up and walked into the bar still in my jeans and crop top. It wasn't exactly an outfit for a girl sitting alone in a bar on a Friday night, but who cared? I had a lot to worry about, and my outfit wasn't on the list.

I sat at the bar and waved at the mixologist.

"Good evening. Two shots of tequila, please."

I needed something strong to swallow what I had just seen, and tequila seemed like the right choice. I downed both shots in one go, then ordered two more. I lost count after that. By the time I started to feel drowsy, I had taken almost ten.

Bella, I told myself firmly, you're driving, and no one is taking you home. That's enough.

I pulled my card out of my bag and handed it to the mixologist. He swiped it and handed it back.

"Thank you," I said, and stood up to leave.

That was when I bumped into him.

It was like walking into a wall. I raised my head and found a tall man standing right in front of me.

"Watch where you're going, miss." His voice was a low baritone that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I just stood there, staring at him like a lovestruck puppy. His hair was slightly curled near his forehead. His eyes could have belonged to a Greek god. His biceps strained against a sky-blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up and two buttons undone at the collar to reveal a broad chest. He was drop-dead handsome. And his voice had done something to me, somewhere between my legs. Was it him, or was it the tequila making a fool of me?

"You're standing in my way," he said, when I still hadn't moved.

"You should apologize for bumping into me," I blurted out, without thinking.

He smirked. His eyes travelled from my head to my toes and back up again, and he shook his head.

"You're drunk, and I don't have time for this."

Then he turned to one of the men standing behind him. "Nathaniel, please escort the lady to her car and make sure she gets home safely."

He moved me aside with his hand as if I were a chair in his way and walked off, with another man following closely behind him. I watched him go, and Nathaniel took my arm to steady me and led me out of the bar.

"You must be Nathaniel," I said with a sheepish smile, staggering like a loose bolt on a wheel.

"Where are you parked, miss?" His voice was cold and icy. I pointed at my car. My red baby, always waiting for mummy. She was the most reliable friend I had had in the last nine months. At least she always waited for me.

Nathaniel walked me to the car, opened the door, and carefully put me in.

"Can you drive?"

I nodded like a lizard congratulating itself for climbing a wall.

He should have known better than to trust a drunk woman, especially one his boss had handed over to him. I watched him walk back towards the bar, and that was the last thing I remembered.

I woke up on a king-size bed in a penthouse overlooking Spinningfields. My head was pounding. Why do people even drink alcohol if it has the same wicked effect every time? I thought, looking around.

The lights were warm, and a wall of glass showed the whole city glittering below. I checked under the duvet. I was wearing an oversized shirt. My panties were still on, but my jeans and crop top were nowhere in sight. It was still the middle of the night. My bag was on the vanity beside the bed, and I pulled out my phone. The battery was dead.

I was still debating whether to open the door when it opened by itself.

There he was. The man from the bar.

He had on a tank top and joggers. And I was wearing his shirt, the sky-blue one from earlier, with his scent all over it.

"You passed out and threw up all over your clothes," he said, before I could ask. "My housekeeper put them in the washing machine. She'll dry them too."

I knew he was trying to put me at ease. It worked, a little.

"How did I get here?" I finally managed.

"Shortly after Nathaniel took you to your car, security ran to tell him you'd fallen out of it. You were too drunk to drive, or even to say your address properly, so I brought you here. Don't worry, your car is in my lot. Nathaniel drove it behind me." He said it all calmly, like he did this every day.

"I'm sorry for putting you through all of that," I said. "And thank you for bringing me here."

It was all I could say. I was too embarrassed to say more. I really was having the worst night of my life.

"Come downstairs with me," he said. "You must be lightheaded."

I followed him down. This wasn't a house. It was a palace. The walls, the frames, the art, the lighting, everything screamed luxury. The kitchen was marble from end to end.

He set a cup of black tea in front of me as if he had prepared it in advance, waiting for me to wake up.

"It'll help with the hangover."

"Thank you." I gulped down the warm drink. It was slightly bitter, but sweet too. Trusting a total stranger was risky, and I knew it, but something about this man made me feel at peace. And something else in me wanted him, so badly that I had been aching for the past twenty minutes. I didn't want to make the first move. I sincerely hoped he would.

I set the cup on the counter.

"Mm." He took the cup and placed it in the sink. "Are you sober now?" he asked sharply.

"I am," I said, without thinking.

"You told me quite a few interesting things on the way here, and I can't seem to forget them." A cold smile touched his lips.

I froze. Did I say something terrible? Did I insult this man?

"You said I'm the most handsome man you've ever met," he said, cutting into my thoughts, "and that you'd love to be in my bed."

"I said that?" I blurted. "I didn't mean it. I was drunk. I probably said lots of nonsense."

"If you didn't mean it, why are your nipples poking through my shirt?" He tilted his head. "Why have you been staring at me like you want to tear me apart? Are you like this with every man you meet on the first night?"

I bit my lower lip hard. Busted. I was supposed to be offended, but I found it attractive. He noticed the tiny details. He was paying attention. I couldn't defend myself, and I couldn't say a word. As I kept biting my lip, he walked over and stood right in front of me.

"Biting your lip turns me on," he whispered, leaning in.

"Then don't fight it," I said softly, looking straight into his eyes.

My stomach fluttered when our eyes met. This man was doing so much to my body without even touching it, and he had been doing it all night. Then he covered my mouth with a kiss.

I knew I was in for a long ride. I threw my arms around his neck and dug my fingers into his hair as we kissed. He lifted me onto the kitchen counter and stood between my legs.

"Do you want this?" he asked, pulling away from the kiss.

"Yes," I said, biting my lower lip again. "I want this."

It was almost a signal to do with me whatever he wished, and he did. He kissed me again, and his hands found their way beneath the shirt I wore. I gasped against his mouth. His lips travelled down my neck and lower, and I buried my hands in his hair, losing myself completely. His touch was slow and sure, like a man who knew exactly what he was doing and was in no hurry to finish. My soft moans filled the quiet kitchen, and every time I thought I couldn't feel any more, he proved me wrong.

I don't know where the condom came from. He must have had it in his pocket all along. It seemed he wanted this just as much as I did. He took his time, and then he didn't. I felt something break loose inside me, and I let go completely.

"Let it all out," he whispered. "Good girl. You're doing amazing."

It felt like I was exploding, and I loved every second of it. I hadn't felt like this in a long time. Oliver was good, and our compatibility had been great, but this was far more intense. When it was over, we were both out of breath, and his forehead rested against mine. It was explosive. It was magical.

He lifted me again and carried me back up the stairs to the room I had woken in. He showered after me, and then it happened again, this time slowly, in the big bed beside the glass wall of the city. Twice in one night was far too much for a stranger I had just met, but I didn't care. My body didn't care. It wanted him. I had been an emotional wreck earlier, and I decided the sex was the best thing that had happened to me all night.

It was. Or so I thought.

I woke to pale light creeping through the glass. The city below had turned silver, and the bed beside me was empty. For a moment I lay still, holding my breath and listening, waiting to feel regret. It didn't come. What I felt was something quieter and far more dangerous.

He was standing by the window, fully dressed in a crisp white shirt, his back to me and a phone in his hand. Everything about him had changed overnight. The man who had whispered in my ear was gone. This one looked like someone who owned the city and had somewhere to be.

"Your clothes are on the chair," he said, without turning around. "They're clean and dry. Nathaniel will see you out."

"Good morning to you too," I said, pulling the duvet up to my chest. "Is this where I'm supposed to thank you for the hospitality, or have you already filled in the form?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, but only for a second. He finally turned to look at me.

"Last night was one night, Bella. Don't go looking for me."

My heart skipped. "I never told you my name."

"You did. Several times." He slid the phone into his pocket and walked to the door. "Between the tequila and the confessions."

He left before I could say another word. I sat there in his bed with my hair a mess, wearing his shirt, staring at the closed door. And it hit me, slowly and painfully, that I had spent the whole night with this man and never once asked him his name.