Page 21 of The Plus One Contract

This Sienna is just as beautiful—those captivating blue eyes, full lips, and golden skin—but she's visibly thrown.

I lean back, resting my elbow against the bar. “I'll have what you're having.”

Her cheeks instantly flush, eyes widening as realization dawns.

Whiskey.

She clears her throat, gripping her glass tighter, a tiny tell giving her away. She’s remembering last night.

Yeah, so am I.

The bartender slides a glass my way, and Sienna quickly fills the silence. “About last night…” she starts, laughing nervously. “I don't usually—”

I cock a brow, cutting her off gently. “That makes two of us.”

She scoffs. “Oh, please.” She downs another sip, placing her glass on the bar with a little more force than necessary. “You seemed very well-practiced in the art of taking a woman home.”

I lean in just enough, lowering my voice. “Knowing how to fuck a woman properly doesn't mean I bring a different one home every night.”

Her mouth parts. I watch, fascinated, as her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. It takes every ounce of self-control not to let my mind wander back to how good she tasted.

Fuck.

I shift, straightening up and taking a drink of whiskey.

She glances nervously around, as if worried that someone is watching us. They're not, but I get it. Nights like ours don't fade quietly. Especially not when you run into the same person less than twelve hours later.

“So,” she whispers, eyes narrowing with curiosity, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“I assume it’s the same reason you’re here. To catch a flight.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Business,” I reply.

Her brows knit as she tries to piece together the details she never learned about me last night. Before she can question further, my attention lands on the cardstock resting on the bar in front of her. The wedding invitation she'd dropped.

I pick it up, slowly turning it in my fingers, and suddenly, it clicks. “If last night was your final night of freedom, you might want to rethink marrying him.”

She jerks back, her expression shifting from startled to one of outright horror. She snatches the invitation from my grasp so quickly I almost laugh.

“Oh my God. It's not my wedding!”

“No?”

She grunts, burying her face briefly in her hands before glancing up with a grimace. “My brother's getting married. I'm just going home for it.”

I nod, understanding sinking in. That explains the sudden shift.

Not a bride-to-be.

Just an incredibly awkward coincidence.

She releases another exasperated breath, and I feel an unfamiliar tug of amusement. In some way, this seemingly impossible scenario has made her even more intriguing.

I sip my drink, watching quietly as she regains control of her emotions. Eventually, she glances my way again.

“Do you regularly run into one-night stands at airports?”

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