The fluorescent lights of the emergency room buzzed overhead, casting everyone in a sickly pale glow. Alessia Moretti tightened the stitches on her patient’s arm, ignoring the dull ache building between her shoulder blades. Another Friday night. Another drunk. Another reason to believe that love — real love — was a stupid myth.

She tossed her gloves into the bin, scrubbing her hands like she could wash away the memories of every man who had ever lied to her.

“Code Blue at Bay 3!” someone shouted down the hall.

Alessia didn’t flinch. She wiped her hands on her scrubs and grabbed a chart, ready to move — until she saw him.

Leaning against the far wall like he owned the place, a man watched her. No, not just watched — studied. His tie was loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a smooth line of skin. His hair was tousled like he’d just run his fingers through it in frustration — or pleasure. And his eyes… God help her, those ocean eyes made her heart lurch in her chest.

Rich. Handsome. Trouble.

Exactly the kind of man she avoided.

“Need some help?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that somehow wrapped around her, hot and heavy.

She scowled. “Do I look like I need help?”

The smile that curved his lips was slow, infuriating, and dangerously charming. “No,” he said. “You look like you could use a break.”

Before she could answer, he pushed off the wall and crossed the space between them, standing just a little too close. Not touching — not yet — but his presence brushed against her skin, a heat she felt deep in her stomach.

She swallowed hard, refusing to step back.

He smelled like clean soap, expensive leather, and something darker she couldn’t name.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice sharper than she intended.

He held out a hand. “Damon Blackwood.”

She didn’t take it. “Well, Damon Blackwood, unless you’re bleeding or dying, get out of my ER.”

That should’ve sent him away. It always did.

But Damon just laughed — low and deep — like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“Maybe I’m already bleeding,” he said, leaning closer, his voice a whisper meant only for her. “You just can’t see it.”

Alessia’s pulse spiked.

She hated men like him.

Men who thought they could charm their way into your life, your bed, your heart — and leave you in pieces.

“Find someone else to fix you,” she snapped, brushing past him.

But as she stormed out into the night air, she heard footsteps behind her.

Turning around, she found him again — standing under the streetlight, holding out a coffee cup.

“You forgot this,” he said simply.

“I didn’t want it.”

“You will.”

The boldness made her falter. Damon’s eyes gleamed with something wicked — something that said he wasn’t going to walk away just because she told him to. And worse… something inside her didn’t want him to.

She snatched the coffee from his hand, ignoring the brush of his fingers against hers that sent a shiver racing down her spine.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she muttered.

He smiled. “It’s just coffee, sweetheart. For now.”

But they both knew it wouldn’t stay just coffee for long.

⸻

Alessia told herself it was over.

One arrogant, too-handsome-for-his-own-good stranger would not ruin her weekend.

Yet when she showed up for her volunteer shift at the downtown clinic the next evening, she found Damon Blackwood sitting on the cracked front steps — like he belonged there.

Jeans this time.

No suit.

No armor.

Just a white T-shirt stretched over a chest that had no business looking that good, and a lazy grin that lit his whole damn face when he saw her.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he called, lifting a paper bag. “I brought pastries. Thought you might still be mad.”

Alessia glared at him, her heart doing that stupid lurch again. “I’m not mad. I just don’t care.”

He stood, walking toward her with a slow, confident swagger that made her blood heat.

“Good,” he said easily. “Means I still have a chance.”

“You don’t,” she snapped, brushing past him. She could feel him behind her, so close, a gravitational pull she hated.

Inside the clinic, she threw on her lab coat, ignoring the way Damon leaned against the doorframe, watching her with something hot and unashamed in his gaze. It made her skin prickle. It made her wonder how his hands would feel against her body — rough or gentle? Both?

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, sharper than she meant.

“Maybe I need a check-up,” he teased.

“Maybe you need a life.”

He laughed, that low, rumbling sound that curled around her nerves and pulled tight.

“Maybe,” he said, stepping closer, voice dropping, “I just need you.”

The words hit her like a slap and a caress all at once.

Damon wasn’t playing fair.

He wasn’t even pretending anymore.

Alessia’s fingers fumbled with a file, the sharp edge biting into her thumb.

Damon noticed instantly, his face sobering. In two strides, he was there, catching her hand gently.

“Let me see,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, but her voice cracked.

He held her wrist anyway, turning her palm over like it was something precious. His thumb brushed against her skin, and the touch was so soft, so careful, she almost gasped.

Their eyes locked.

The air between them sizzled.

Alessia should’ve pulled away.

She didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Not when he was looking at her like that — like she was the only thing in the room. Like he wanted her. Not her name, not her family, not her past. Her.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said quietly.

“I’m not afraid,” she lied.

His thumb traced lazy circles on her wrist. His body was close, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off him. Her heart pounded against her ribs, wild and reckless.

“You will be,” she whispered back, voice trembling.

His mouth twitched, the smallest, sexiest smirk.

“Good. That means you’ll remember me.”

Without another word, Damon let go — the loss of his touch more painful than she expected — and sauntered out the door, leaving her standing there, breathless and furious and burning.

It was past midnight when Alessia finally locked the clinic doors.

The streets were nearly empty — a few stragglers, a cold wind howling between the buildings. She should’ve called a cab. She should’ve asked one of the nurses to wait with her.

But Alessia Moretti didn’t ask for help. Not from anyone.

She tucked her bag closer and started down the block, boots clicking against the cracked pavement. She didn’t notice the shadow trailing her — not at first.

Only when she turned the corner did she hear the footsteps.

Fast. Heavy.

Coming for her.

Alessia’s heart jumped into her throat.

She whirled around — too late.

A hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her back into the alleyway.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a second figure stepped out of the shadows — tall, broad-shouldered — and familiar.

Damon.

He slammed the attacker against the wall with a brutal efficiency that stole her breath.

“You okay?” he growled, glancing back at her, his chest heaving.

She nodded dumbly, pressing a hand to her pounding heart.

The man Damon pinned tried to squirm away, muttering something about “a message” and “her father.”

Alessia felt the blood drain from her face.

It was starting again — the threats, the warnings. No matter how far she ran, her family’s sins always caught up.

Damon twisted the guy’s arm hard enough to make him yelp, then shoved him down the alley where he stumbled and bolted into the night.

Only then did Damon turn fully to her.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, voice rough with anger.

“I can take care of myself,” she snapped, shaking off the lingering fear.

He took a step closer.

“Maybe. But you don’t have to.”

The raw, naked sincerity in his eyes made her breath catch.

They were standing too close again — a dangerous, burning closeness.

The adrenaline, the fear, the heat between them — it all tangled into something wild and reckless.

Before she could think, Damon’s hand came up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

His fingers lingered against her cheek, warm and careful.

Alessia’s body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her lips parted on instinct.

The air between them snapped tight, vibrating.

Slowly — painfully slowly — Damon dipped his head, his breath mingling with hers, giving her every chance to pull away.

He smelled like clean soap and leather and danger.

His mouth was a whisper from hers.

Her heart was hammering.

All she had to do was close the gap.

She almost did.

Almost.

At the last second, Alessia turned her face away, breaking the spell.

“No,” she whispered, voice cracking. “This can’t happen.”

Damon’s hand fell away, but he didn’t move back.

“I’m not going anywhere, Alessia,” he said, voice low and rough. “You can fight me all you want. I’ll still find you.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, he walked away — leaving her standing there, shivering, aching, and burning for something she was too scared to touch.