Flash Marriage To The Mysterious Doctor

Friday night, the bass at Neon, a speakeasy-style bar in the East Village, hit Alexa like a physical blow the moment she pushed through the unmarked door. The air was hot, sticky, and smelled of sweat, spilled beer, and expensive perfume.

She shouldered her way through the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor, ignoring the drunken bumps and shoves. Her best friend, Chloe, was waiting in a corner booth, a triumphant grin on her face and two shot glasses of tequila already lined up on the table.

"There you are!" Chloe yelled over the deafening music. "I was about to send a search party!"

Alexa slid into the booth and grabbed one of the glasses. "Don't," she said, and threw the shot back in one gulp. The tequila burned a fiery path down her throat, making her eyes water. It was exactly what she needed.

"Whoa, okay," Chloe said, her eyebrows shooting up. "Bad day? Bad week? Let me guess. That asshole Mark?"

"Worse," Alexa shouted, leaning across the table. "He told me to bury evidence of fraud. For a client who's one of the CEO's golf buddies. I went over his head to compliance. I think I'm about to be fired." She left out the part about the insane marriage proposal. That was too crazy to even say out loud.

Chloe winced in sympathy. "Oh, honey. That's rough." She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, I have some news that will either make you feel better or a whole lot worse. Guess who's back in New York?"

Alexa didn't have to guess. She knew from Chloe's tone. "Don't."

"Flint Rhodes," Chloe said, drawing out the name. "Saw him at the new Cipriani downtown. He looks even better than he did in college, if that's possible."

The name hit Alexa like a bucket of ice water. Flint. The man who had meticulously and systematically broken her heart, choosing his family's legacy over her. The air in her lungs seemed to evaporate. Her hand, which was reaching for the second shot, started to shake.

She clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. "Flint Rhodes is dead to me," she said, her voice hard and brittle. "And you know what? He did me a favor. He taught me a valuable lesson."

She picked up the second shot glass, her hand now steady. The tequila was warm, the burn familiar. The whole day came crashing back — Mark ordering her to falsify a report, the suffocating weight of her father's debts she'd been dodging calls about, the grinding fear of being fired without a single safety net underneath her. All of it. The injustice and the exhaustion curdled in her stomach.

"Never, ever marry for love," she said, her voice flat and cold. "It's a scam. A lie we tell ourselves. And look where it got me. Flint chose his family's legacy, and now I'm on the verge of losing my career because some rich client wants to use me as a scapegoat. I'm done being the one who gets screwed over." She downed the second shot, the burn a welcome distraction. "From now on, the only proposal I'm accepting is a business transaction."

Downstairs, the two shots had hit Alexa hard and fast. The booth felt claustrophobic. "I need to dance," she announced, standing up on slightly unsteady legs.

She plunged into the center of the dance floor, letting the pulsing rhythm take over. She moved with a wild, desperate energy, trying to sweat out the memories, the anger, the suffocating weight of her life. The flashing strobes fractured the world into a million pieces.

A man, reeking of cheap cologne, slid up behind her, his hands reaching for her waist. "Hey, beautiful. You're all alone?"

Alexa twisted away instantly, her body recoiling. "Get lost," she snapped, her eyes flashing with disgust.

She was turning, her heel catching on the sticky floor, and her body tilted backward in a slow-motion fall.

She braced for the impact, for the hard, unforgiving floor.

It never came.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back from the edge. She was flush against a hard, unyielding chest. A clean, sharp scent of cedar and something uniquely masculine filled her senses. It was familiar. Terrifyingly familiar.

She looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Through the strobing, chaotic lights, she saw his face. Donovan Beasley. His expression was dark, intense, his eyes burning into hers.

The entire world seemed to fall away. The music, the crowd, the noise-it all faded into a dull roar. There was only the heat of his hand on the small of her back, the solid wall of his chest against hers, and his suffocating presence.

She tried to pull away, but his arm tightened, holding her in place. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

"Your defenses," he murmured, his voice a low, rough vibration that shot straight through her, "are dangerously weak when you're drinking."

His warm breath on her skin was like an electric shock. A shiver traced its way down her spine. With a surge of adrenaline, she shoved him hard, stumbling back a few steps.

He didn't try to follow. He just stood there, a dark, immovable object in the middle of the swirling crowd. He held her gaze for one long, searing moment-a look so possessive it felt like a brand-and then he turned and melted back into the shadows.

Alexa stood frozen, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her skin tingled where he had touched her. The spot on her ear where his lips had brushed against her felt like it was on fire.

Chloe appeared at her side, grabbing her arm. "Oh my god, who was that? He was gorgeous! Do you know him?"

Alexa couldn't speak. She shook her head, a jerky, unconvincing motion. "No. He... he must have mistaken me for someone else."

It was a pathetic lie, and she knew it. She couldn't stay here. Not for another second. She grabbed her purse from the booth and practically ran for the exit, pushing past people without apology.

She burst out onto the street, the cold night air a shock against her flushed cheeks. She leaned against the brick wall of the building, gulping in air, her heart still beating a frantic, terrified rhythm.

She was losing control. And Donovan Beasley was the one making her spin.

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