Chance (The One More Night Series) Read Free

don’t.”
    “How long are you here for?”
    “Unfortunately, just for two more days.”
    I felt my heart fall.  And that’s that.   This man was charming, kind, and handsome, but if he didn’t live here, why waste my time losing myself in those eyes of his?  He not only lived somewhere else, but also was part of a gilded world to which I didn’t belong.
    “I should go,” I said.  “I still have to deliver these drinks, especially the champagne before it goes flat.  People are probably furious with me right now.”
    “Then I should let you work,” he said.  “So, we’ll talk later?”
    I furrowed my brow at him.  “Later?”
    “Yes.  Later,” he said.  “When your shift is over and you can join me for a drink.”
    “But the bar will be closed by then.”
    “I was thinking that we could have a drink in my suite.  There’s a full bar there.  And beautiful views of the city.”
    “Your suite?”
    “I keep one of the penthouse suites here.”
    “I’m afraid—”
    “There’s no reason for you to be afraid,” he said as he turned away.  “I don’t bite.  And it’s just a drink.  Just for one night.  Unless, of course, you decide that you want more.  And if you do, then we’ll also drink to that.”
     

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    For the next hour, I was a hot mess of stripped nerves and raw emotions that would have gotten the best of me if I hadn’t needed to step it up, focus on my work, and make sure that the increasingly thinning crowd got their drinks.
    Everywhere around me, I was aware of his presence, even during those moments when I couldn’t physically see him.  But I could feel him—oh man, could I feel him.  As I moved about the room, either bringing people their drinks or taking new orders for fresh cocktails, I could feel him as if he were standing right next to me.  He was waiting until the last person left the party, and at that point, he’d likely approach me to pick up where we’d left off.
    I saw him three times during the party’s final hour, once talking with a group of men and women, and twice leaning alone against one of the Grand Ballroom’s towering columns. 
    It was during those singular moments that I felt him the most because, each time, he’d been staring at me.
    He wanted me—that was clear.  At least part of him sensed that I was considering my options.  But that didn’t mean that anything was going to happen.  
    He likely sensed that, too.
    I hadn’t committed to a drink with him in his suite, or whatever else might follow.  He knew that, and so he watched me.  And while he watched me, I continued to face my own dilemma, which would have shook my mother to her religious core if she knew that it was a dilemma for me.  I could go to his suite, have a drink, and decide at that point if I wanted more.  Or I could just call it a day and go home alone, which is what I always did because, frankly, it was easier.
    Since leaving Brian a year ago, I’d repeatedly said no to the prospect of getting romantically involved with someone—let alone having sex with someone—until I was emotionally ready to take that step.  That’s just who I was.  I wasn’t about to bang a few random men in an effort to get over Brian like my girlfriends wanted me to do.  Instead, I’d chosen the more logical route—taking time to sort through my emotions and deal with the end of my relationship so I didn’t make the same mistakes twice.
    But now that those emotions had been dealt with and I was in a better space, how much longer could I hold out?  How much longer should I hold out?  I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t missed having sex with someone I loved.  But what I didn’t know anything about was having sex with a stranger—I’d always been a relationship kind of girl.  I’d never had a one-night stand.  It wasn’t that I wouldn’t consider one—it was just that I hadn’t had one yet.  If I had sex with this guy, would