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small alcove set into the side of the building, sheltered from the wind. Cloaked in shadows with his back to the wall is a guy, a stream of smoke billowing around him.
    I narrow my eyes, watching as he straightens to his full height. He turns to face me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. He inhales on the smoke, and the end glows a bright red, illuminating his face slightly. In the low light, I see those honey gold eyes flash and then disappear as the burn dims. I can just make out the dark stubble covering his jaw, and lips that are almost too perfect to belong to a guy. He lowers the cigarette and that sexy wry smile pulls at his lips, a stream of smoke passing through them. There’s something about his quiet presence, the way I’m almost scared to be alone with him, that makes my pulse quicken and my pussy wet.
    “Rhett.” I breathe.
    “Need a light?” He asks in that deep American accent. I can hear the amusement in his voice. Probably because I’m looking at him as though I’m going to climb him like a tree.
    “Yeah.” I step forward, and the closer I get to him, the faster my pulse thrums. God-fucking-damn, the man is like a drug all of his own. I come to a stop right in front of his enormous frame. He towers over me, holding out a lighter, cupping the flame with his hand as he brings it to my face. My eyes lock with his as the flame kisses the end of the cigarette. He watches me carefully, a small smile touching his lips and sinking a dimple into an otherwise hard face.
    Okay, so I was already horny before I came out here. It’s a wonder I haven’t started dry humping him by now.
    “Thanks.” I whisper, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
    His eyes flick down my body, and the man might as well have doused me in petrol and thrown a match. I want him, and that rush, that pure animal magnetism, it’s alluring.
    He says nothing, just watches me watching him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white shirt, open at the collar. I catch a glimpse of his muscular chest, and never mind licking it, I want to wipe my fucking vagina all over him. Damn.
    He flashes me a smirk and turns away, strolling over to the railing and resting his elbows on it. I take up position next to him, quietly smoking my cigarette.
    “So, what’s your story, Duchess ?” He asks, glancing sideways at me.
    I look at him and release another small cloud of smoke. “I’m Blake McQueen. You want the story, read the papers. And what is with this Duchess thing?”
    He lets out a throaty chuckle that makes my skin prickle. His eyes meet mine, amusement twinkling in them. “Call it irony.” I decide to ignore his cryptic bullshit.
    He holds the cigarette to his mouth, pursing his lips around it, drawing my eyes to his mouth. He really is the hottest fucking guy I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve fucked the best of them.
    “You would think I’d remember fucking you.” I blurt.
     He smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re right.” His eyes flick over my body. “You would.”
     
     

 
    Her eyes narrow. “Wait, so we didn’t fuck?”
    I cock a brow. “You really can’t remember anything ?”
    She shrugs. “Don’t take it personally.”
    “Huh, well I like my women coherent and consenting.”
    She bites her bottom lip and blatantly drops her eyes to my crotch. “Pretty sure I would have consented.” She mumbles under her breath.
    I laugh. “Oh, I know.”
    Holding one finger up, she opens her bag. “I’m sorry, I think I might have a tissue somewhere in here, you know, so you can go and wipe your vagina.”
    I shake my head and laugh. Harder than I’ve laughed in a long time. “Call it an egotistical preference.”
    She drops her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her designer shoe. “Well, drunk Blake is a whore, so I’ll apologise for any leg humping or face licking that may have taken place.” She laughs. “Or indeed face sitting. That uh, that happens. Sometimes.” The thought of her