Period done?
Yeah.
7 PM tonight. Come see me.
Claudia Walker stared at the cold words on her phone screen and let out a quiet, mocking laugh. She typed back a single word: Okay.
She was out riding mountain roads with a few friends from her motorcycle crew.
It was already past six. She twisted the throttle hard.
Her Harley—worth a few hundred thousand dollars—tore through the winding mountain passes until she pulled up to a villa nestled against the hills, overlooking the water.
She pulled off her helmet and gloves and walked inside.
The living room was elegant and expensive, but cold. Something about it felt sealed off, like a space that didn't welcome visitors.
The man was sprawled on the couch, smoking in silence. He'd clearly been waiting.
Through the haze of smoke, his face was all sharp angles and clean lines—handsome in a way that didn't seem quite real. Noble. Remote.
Claudia didn't bother with a warm-up. She walked toward him, stripping off her jacket as she went.
Coat off, hair loose—she transformed from a sharp-edged biker chick into something far more dangerous.
She stopped in front of him, swung one long leg over, and dropped right into his lap.
Casual as anything, she plucked the cigarette from his fingers.
Took a slow drag, exhaled a ribbon of smoke, then slipped it back between his lips.
"Should I shower first?" She draped her arms around his neck, her eyes locked on his.
"No need."
He tilted her chin up with one hand. His thumb traced her lips, slow and deliberate—then he kissed her, hard.
She matched his heat, fierce and deep.
His palms felt like they carried sparks, trailing fire across her skin...
The man's name was Dominic Quinn.
A year ago, Claudia had been surfing in the deep waters off Hawaii when a shark attacked. He saved her life.
That brush with death led to something else—a night that burned itself into memory.
After they returned to the States, they fell into the oldest arrangement in the book: contract lovers.
He gave her whatever money she wanted. She came when he called and satisfied his needs, whenever they arose.
They'd been sleeping together for a year. She knew his name, and nothing else about his real background.
Not that she cared.
All she knew was that every time they met, she got exactly what she wanted—raw, consuming pleasure.
Like tonight. They moved through each other's bodies with practiced ease, from the living room up to the master bedroom. Clothes scattered across the floor.
He was relentless, all sharp edges and hunger, holding nothing back...
Over an hour later, the storm finally passed.
Claudia lay propped against the headboard, utterly wrecked. She couldn't move if she tried.
Dominic had already showered and dressed, restored to that cold, untouchable image—the picture of a high-value man who looked like he'd never broken a sweat.
He lit a cigarette, smoke curling around him, his gaze fixed on her like he was trying to see through her.
She was already playing a game on her phone, completely checked out from what they'd just done. Something flickered in his eyes—complicated, unreadable.
This woman was shameless to her core. A player. He'd always known that.
But it still irritated him. He took a few hard drags on his cigarette, then pulled out his phone and tapped through a few screens.
A moment later, Claudia's phone buzzed with a bank notification.
She opened it. A transfer from Dominic's account. The number staring back at her had so many zeros she had to count twice.
One, followed by seven zeros. Ten million dollars.
She was about to ask if he'd accidentally added an extra digit when his voice cut through—low and detached:
"This is the last time we'll see each other. Don't contact me again."
Claudia blinked. "...Why?"
