The man stood at the edge of light and shadow, a baseball cap casting a dark veil over his face. Only his chiseled chin was visible. He was bare-chested, his toned muscles flexing beneath black casual pants. A scar slashed across his chest, adding to his raw, untamed presence.
It took Alex a moment to find his voice. "Who—who is he?"
Grace resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his theatrics. Keeping her expression neutral, she stepped toward John, positioning herself in front of him. Then, on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.
John responded instantly. His arms closed around her, strong and possessive.
Alex stood frozen. His brain stalled as he watched the woman who had never let him touch her melt into another man's embrace.
Grace's bathrobe slipped, baring the curve of her shoulder. Damp strands of hair clung to her neck. The scene was intoxicatingly ambiguous.
She had meant to give John only a quick, dismissive kiss, but he didn't let her go. His lips moved over hers with unexpected intensity. His kiss was deep, deliberate, drawing her in like a current pulling her under.
The shame of being watched made her uneasy.
Alex's voice cut through the moment, sharp with anger. "Grace! Who the hell is this guy?!"
Grace pushed John away, but he didn't let her go. He leaned down, resting his chin on her shoulder. Then, with a smirk, he bit her earlobe—slow, teasing, intentional.
His arm stayed firmly around her waist. "Baby," he murmured, voice laced with amusement. "Tell your ex-boyfriend who I am."
Alex's fists clenched. His eyes locked on Grace, desperate for an answer.
She met his gaze with a smirk. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Say it," Alex demanded through gritted teeth.
Grace tilted her head, lips curving in a slow, taunting smile. "He's my man."
Alex's face twisted with disbelief. "Grace Quinn, you're lying!"
She sighed, growing impatient. Pressing against John's chest, she let her fingers trace the curve of his Adam's apple. Then, in a lazy, mocking tone, she added, "Still here, Mr. Hoffman? Do you plan to stay and watch? Sorry, I'm not into that kind of thing."
Alex's breath hitched. His gaze flicked to John's muscular arms wrapped around her. The sight sent a fresh wave of fury through him. That should have been him.
His hands curled into fists. Fueled by anger and alcohol, he lunged—only for John to shove him back with effortless ease.
At that moment, Alex's phone rang. His fiancée's name flashed across the screen. He hesitated before picking up.
After a brief exchange, he turned back to Grace, his face dark with frustration. "I won't let you two off," he spat before storming out, slamming the door behind him.
Grace exhaled, relief washing over her.
But before she could fully relax, John's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her back against him.
His fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Miss Quinn," he said slowly. "You plan to use me and toss me aside?"
His touch burned against her skin, more a warning than an embrace.
She met his stare, refusing to be intimidated. "Thank you for tonight."
His brow lifted, unimpressed. He wanted more.
Grace let out a soft breath, her lips slightly parted. "I'll stay with you for one night. Let's call it even."
A boundary, drawn and clear.
She had left him before without a word. This was her way of repaying the debt, tying up loose ends.
Then, leaning in, she whispered against his ear, her voice low and teasing, "Next time, I'll make sure Mr. Amster has a great time."