TableofContents

Prologue
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Epilogue

THUNDERSTRUCK

ANMMABADBOYROMANCE

CARTERBLAKE

P R O L O G U E

hunder

SixteenYearsOld

AIR

RIPPLES

BETWEEN

Asparkofenergy.Asizzleoflight.

I promised myself years ago that no one would ever hold the power to hurt me. But

thisgirlhasthepowertodestroyme.

“It’scoldouthere.”Kennedyshiversandrubsherbarearms.

“Here.”Itugoffmyhoodie,thenhelpherintoit.

She’s tiny, barely coming up to my chin, and the sweatshirt is huge on her. I let my

handslingeralittlelongerthanIshould.

“Thanks,”shesays,lookingupatme.Thenervoustensionbetweenusispalpable.

“It’salmostmidnight.Youdon’twanttomissthefireworks.”Atleastthat’smyexcuse

for dragging her out here, away from the New Year’s Eve party her parents are hosting
inside.WhatIreallywanttodoispullherintomyarmsandcrushmylipsagainsthers.

Nothappening.

“We should be able to see them from here.” I pull away and take a sip of the beer I

stolefrommyfather’sstash.

When I offer her one, she scrunches her nose up at it, instead snuggling into the

warmth of my sweatshirt. Her eyes go wide when she notices the new ink covering my
forearms.“OhmyGod.Isthatreal?”

“Yeah.”Igrin,proudofthewebofpatternsIdesignedmyself.

“Yourdadletyou?”

“Likehecares,”Isneer,whichisn’texactlytrue.Hebeattheshitoutofmewhenhe

sawit.

“How?”Shetakesmyarminherhandsandbeginstracingthepatterns.

Almostinstantly,I’mrockhard.

“ThreehundreddollarsandafakeID.”Ishrug,likeit’snotabigdeal,likehertouch

doesn’tsendathousandboltsofelectricitypulsatingthroughmybody.

“It’s…” she bites her lip, fingers still playing across the ink, sending more sparks of

heatthrummingthroughmyveins,“beautiful.”

I lean in, mesmerized by her perfect mouth, and wanting nothing more than to taste

thoselips.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, brushing a lock of blonde hair off her cheek and tucking it

behindherear.

Sofuckingbeautiful.

That’swhatsheis.

Andsomuchmore.

Kind.

Sweet.

Pure.

AllthethingsI’mnot.

I’veknownKennedyHarpermyentirelife.She’spracticallyfamily.Sowhythehell

can’tIcontrolmythoughtsaroundher?

“Ten, nine, eight…” Inside, people start the count down to the New Year. “…seven,

six,five…”

Idrainthelastofmybeer,thenplaceitontherailing.

“…four,three,two…”

Inthedistance,thefirstflashesoflightbrightenupthenightsky.

Kennedy stands against the railing, and I move behind her. When she shivers, I go

againstallcommonsense,andpullherbacktowardsme,wrappingmyarmsaroundher
body,andleaningdownsothatmyheadrestsontopofhers.

Idipmyheadtowardshers,breathinginthescentofher;watchinghereyeslightupas

thefireworksgooff.

Sheleansbackintome,likeshewantsmytouch.

I should step away, but instead I press in closer. I’m so far out of my comfort zone

withalltheseemotionstwistinginmychest.

I’vegotalineupofgirlsthataremorethanhappytojumpintomybed.Meaningless

sex.Itshouldbeenough.Butit’snot.Notwhenthere’sKennedy.

“HappyNewYear.”Imurmurinherearandfeelasmalltremblegothroughherbody.

Sheturnsslightly,hermouthpartedasifshe’sabouttosaysomething,butbeforeshe

canutteraword,mylipsareonhers.

Justasingletouch.

Soft.

Gentle.

Butit’senoughtorockmyworld—ordestroyit.

“Liam.”Myfather’srough,slurredvoicebarksoutbehindme.

“Fuck.”IpushKennedyawayfrommealittletooroughly,andherfingersgoinstantly

tohermouth,eyeswide.

Ishouldneverhavetouchedher.

She’sofflimits.Idon’tneedhim,theassholewho’snowstaringatmewithmurderin

hisbloodshoteyes,remindingmeI’mnogoodforher.BecauseIknowit’sthetruth.

Kennedylooksupatmelikeshedoesn’tknowwhatsheshoulddo.

“Goinside.”Mytoneiscold,harsh,becauseIknowwhatthesinglekissisgoingto

costme.

She blinks, not moving, like she’s still trying to decide if she should leave me. She

knowsmyfather’stemper.Notthefullextentofit—butshe’sseenthebruises,heardhis
viciouswords.

“Liam?”shesayssoftly,concerninherhazeleyes.She’stheonlypersonwhousesmy

realnamewithoutcausingmystomachtocurdle.

Ipreferthenicknametheboysdownatthegymstartedcallingmeaftermyfirstfight

—Thunder. A single blow to the temple knocked my opponent out ten seconds into the
firstround.

Atjustsixteen,grownmentremblewhenIwalkintothering.

Yet here I am, ten consecutive wins later, and I’m still scared of the man staring

daggersatmenow.EverysecondKennedystandsthere,ashieldbetweenus,Iknowhis
angergrows.

“Go,” I growl, then lean closer so that only she can hear. “That shouldn’t have

happened.Understand?”

Asmallnodisheronlyresponse,butIcanseethetearsgatheringinhereyes.

Shit.

WhenKennedyisgone,myfatherstumblestowardsme.Hegripsmyt-shirtinhisfists

andshovesmeupagainstthesideofthehouse.“I’vetoldyoutokeepyourhandsoffher.”

I could easily dart out of his grasp; instead I stand there and accept the first shot, a

blowtomyribs.

Painsplintersthroughmychest,andIcoughoutaroughbreath.

Fuck.

He’sstillsoberenoughtomakeeachhitcount.

I’velearnedfromexperiencethatthemoreIfightback,theworsethebeating.

CouldItakehim?Yeah,Icouldkillthemotherfucker.Butthenwhat?Theassholeis

stillmyfather,andforanotherfivemonths,he’stheroofovermyhead.

“She’stoofuckinggoodforscumlikeyou.”Hisbreathreeksofbeer,andspittlehits

myfacewhenhehissesouteachword.

I don’t need him reminding me. I know he’s right. Everything I touch I destroy.

Kennedywouldbenodifferent.

“Everything okay out here?” Tom Harper, Kennedy’s dad opens the sliding glass

doors,browsdrawndown.

“Yeah, just having a little father-son talk.” Like fucking Dr. Jekyll, my father’s

expressionchanges,aneasysmilespreadingacrosshisfaceasheturnstomeethisfriend.

Tomdoesn’tsmileback.“It’sfreezingouthere.Comeinside.”

Likenothinghappened,myfatherfollowshim,leavingmealone,myribsaching.But

thepainisnothingcomparedtothehollownessinsidemychest.

Empty.

Raw.

Alone.

I breathe out heavily when they’re both gone and pull up my shirt to take in the

damage.

Theonegoodthingabouthavingadrunkforafather,ishismemoryisshit.Idoubt

he’llrememberseeingmewithmylipsplasteredagainstKennedy’s.

Idropmyshirtandwince.

Uncapping my last beer, I drown the contents. My thoughts are chaotic, and I’m not

surehowlongIstandthere,butmyfingersarepracticallynumbwhenIturntogoinside.

Insteadofgoingthroughthehouse,Itakethebackstairstogettothebasementwhere

KennedyandherfriendswerehangingoutbeforeIpulledherouthere.

Openingtheslidingdoor,IfreezewhenIseeher.Orratherthem.

Mybrotherisstretchedout,legsinfrontofhim,agiantsmirkplasteredonhisface,

because curled up next to him fast asleep is Kennedy. His arm is wrapped around her
shoulder, possessively, and the way she burrows closer to him in her sleep makes my
stomachtwist.

Ifshewasn’tpracticallyattachedtohisbody,I’dpunchthesmirkrightoffhisface.

“Gotaproblem?”Colin’seyesnarrowonme.

Yeah,ahugeone.Him.

Emotionsfromthedarkestpartofmysoulwellupinsideme.

Resentment.

Jealousy.

Hatred.

You’dthinkI’dbeusedtoitbynow.Colinswoopingin.

Thewhiteknight.

Thegoodbrother.

Thatitwouldn’tfeellikearustynailtotheheartseeinghimwithher,knowinghe’d

probablycomfortedherwhenshecameinherewithtearsinhereyes—becauseofme.

My father would have no problem with Colin touching her. Shit, he’d no doubt

encourageit.Butwithme,nothingIdowilleverbegoodenough.

Notforhim.

NotforColin.

AndespeciallynotforKennedy.

C H A P T E R 1

hunder

Present

HATE

BEING

BACK

inthecity.

Mostlybecauseeverythingremindsmeofher.Especiallythisdamncafé.

Weusedtocomehereafterschool—Kennedy,Colinandme.Itwasjustadonutshop

then.Nowit’soneofthosefancyshops,wherethecupsizesarewritteninFrenchandit
takestenminutestobrewadamncupofcoffee.

It’sonlythebeginningofNovember,andalreadytricklesoflaughterminglewiththe

fainthumofChristmascarolsbeingpumpedthroughtheshittysoundsystem,thesmellof
cinnamonandpeppermintanotherreminderofKennedy.

She loved this damn holiday. Even after her father’s death, the foreclosure on her

house, and her mother’s unsteady mental health, she still found joy in the small things,
likedecoratingaChristmastree,orbakingcookiesthatshe’dforceColinandItoeat.

“Sir?” The pink haired barista with multiple piercings and tattoos looks at me

impatiently.

“Thanks,”Imutter,takingthepapercupshehandsme.

Fiveminuteshome,andI’malreadytorturingmyselfwithmemoriesI’vespentthelast

severalmonthstryingtoforget.

Ineedtogetbacktomyapartment.Unpack.AndtrytofigureoutwhatthehellI’m

goingtodowithmylife,nowthatfightingisnolongeranoption.

Onebadkick,andmycareerisover,mykneepermanentlyfuckedup.

My manager insists that it’ll just take time to get my strength back. That if I give

myselfsometimetoheal,I’llbebackinthering.

Thethingis,I’msickandtiredoffighting.

Imeanwhat’sthefuckingpoint?I’vealreadygotmoremoneythanIknowwhattodo

with—andnoonetofuckingshareit.

“Careful,” I growl, my coffee sloshing over the side and burning my hand, when a

womancarryingtwoarmloadsofshoppingbagsbumpsintome.

“Sorry,”shesaysinasing-songvoicethatonlyannoysmemore.

TheplaceispackedwithChristmasshoppers,andIscowlatthehappyfacesthatlook

upatmewhenIpass.

“Holycrap.”Abalding,middle-agedmancornersmebeforeIcanmakeittothedoor.

“You’reThunderForrester.”

Afewheadsturnandlookinmydirection.

Shit.

“Wrongguy.”It’snotreallyalie.TheguyhethinksIam,thatThunderForresterdied

alongwithhiscareer.Itrytopushpasthim,buthesidestepsmeandplacesahandonmy
shoulder.

“Sorrytobotheryou.ButI’dlovetogetanautographformyson.He’sabigfan.”

Aquickglanceatthefreckled-facedkidstaringwide-eyedupatme,andIcave.

“Fine,”Imutter,takingthepenandpaperthekidhandsme,andscribblingmyname.

“Thanks,buddy.”Themanslapsmeontheback.“What’retheoddsmeetingboththe

Forrester brothers on the same day. “You think I could get a picture with you both? I’d
really…”

Themankeepsprattlingon,butallthenoisesofthecaféturntostaticwhenIfollow

hisgazetowardsthefarcornerbooth.

Bentoveracupofcoffee,forearmsstretchedoutonthetable,mybrotherfrownsatthe

womansittingacrossfromhim.

EventhoughIcanonlyseetheslightprofileofherface,Iknowit’sher.

Kennedy.

Yeah,whatarethefuckingodds?

Theyhaven’tseenme,andifIwassmart,I’dkeepitthatway.

But my feet feel like they’re glued to the floor, and despite the twisting sensation

insidemychest,Ican’tmove.

Themanisstillhammeringon,andIturnandgivehimascathinglookthathashim

raisinghiseyebrowsandtakingastepback.

Ofallthefuckingcoffeeshopsinthecity,ColinandKennedyhappentobeinthisone.

It’slikefatehasitinforme.Ididn’teventhinkthetwoofthemweretogetheranymore.
Atleastthat’swhatthetabloidsreported.

Twomonthsago,ColinwasphotographedmakingoutwithoneoftheNelsontwins;

AbbyorGabby,itdidn’tmatterwhichone.Themedialovedthetorridaffairbetweenthe
country’smostfamousbadboyhockeyplayerandtheBarbiedollclonedb-listactress.

I’d thought about trying to contact Kennedy when I read it, but what was the point?

She’dmadeherchoice.Timetolivewiththeconsequences.

MyfingersformintoknucklesatmysideasIwatchthem.ThetwopeoplethatIloved

most in this world. I wonder if they know what a fucking mess I’ve been since our last
encounter?

HowshreddedIwaswhenIfoundtheminthehotelroomtogether.

Iftheyevencared.

Colin passes a small brown envelope across the table. Kennedy shakes her head

vehementlyandpushesitback.

“Don’t be so stubborn.” My brother’s words, clearly laced with frustration, are loud

enoughformetohear.

With her back to me, I can’t make out what she says, but whatever it is only makes

Colinmoreirritated.

“I know what I promised, and it’s complete bullshit. This whole situation is fucked

up.”Heleansinandsayssomethingthatmakeshershakeherhead.“I’mdone.”

Shescootsoveronthebench,andColinreachesoutandgrabsherarm.“Please,Ineed

youto—”

“No.” The way his nostrils flare, the curl of his lip, I can read what he’s feeling—

disgust.“Iwon’tbepartofthis.”

Somethingprimalstirsinmychest,anddespitemybraintellingmetogetthehellout

ofthere,toletthemdealwiththeirownshit,Istarttowardsthem.

Tossingmycoffeeinthetrashcan,Ipushthroughthelineofpeoplewaitingtoorder,

then freeze when I see Kennedy more clearly. She leans over to collect her bag, then
standssoIhaveaperfectviewofherprofile.

My breath catches in my throat, because underneath the layers of clothing, the

oversizedjacket,Iwitnesstheroundingofherstomach.

Fuck.Thatone,smallsliverofhopethatshe’deverbemine…gone.Justlikethat,my

memory flashes, and I’m back, standing in the doorway of my brother’s hotel room,
watching as Kennedy comes out of the bathroom wearing only a white towel wrapped
aroundherperfectbody.

Thatwasmonthsago.

Fuck.Me.

Iblink.Once.Twice.Notable,orwillingtoaccepttherealityinfrontofme.

She’s leaving, headed through the crowd towards the door, and all I can do is stand

there and watch her walk out into the bitter cold of the city streets before disappearing
aroundthecorner.

She’spregnant.

Those two words play over and over in my head like a broken record. I know little

aboutpregnancy,butshemustbemaybesevenoreightmonthswithhowbigsheis.

My brother’s baby. That’s why she was here with him. My entire body is numb,

hummingwithemotionsIcan’tevenplace.Tothinkshe’llbeconnectedtohimlikethat,
forever,itstirsajealousyinsideofmesostrongthatmybodyshakes.

She’snotyours,Iremindmyself,knowinglogicallythatIhavenorighttofeeltheway

Ido.

Butfuckrightandwrong.Rightnow,allIwanttodoistheonethingIshouldhave

donemonthsago.Beatthelivingshitoutofmybrother.

“Liam?”Colin’svoicebreaksthroughthestaticthat’skeptmeparalyzed.

Myheadsnapstowherehe’sstanding,onlyafewfeetfrommenow.

Facepale,darkbrowsdrawndown,helooksconfused.“You’reback?”

Anger.Red-hotandblindingblistersthroughme.

“Youfuckingasshole.”Ilungeathim,myfistconnectingwithhisjawbeforehehasa

chancetobracehimself.

Builtlikeatank,mypunchdoesn’thavethesameimpactitwouldhaveonanyother

man.

Colinstumblesbackafewpaces,butremainsstanding.

Awoman’sshriek,thescreechofchairsslidingback,andchaosensuesaspeopledo

theirbesttogetoutofourway.

I’m about to take another swing when Colin comes at me, hitting me with the full

forceofhistwohundredandtwentypounds.

Myfistlandsakidneyshot,andheretaliateswithanuppercuttothejawthatleaves

meseeingstars.Igruntasmybackconnectsagainstthewall.

“Whatthehellisyourproblem?”He’sgotmepinned.

Hisfistsgripthecollarofmyshirt,andhelookslikeit’stakingallhisstrengthnotto

hitmeagain.

“She’spregnant,”Ihiss,tastingblood.

Hisgriploosensslightly,andIseeit.Theguilt.Aquicksidewaysglance,thewayhis

lipspurse.There’snodenyingit’shis.

“Iwantedtotellyou.Butsheaskedme…”Heshakeshisheadandsighs.

“To what?” I shrug him off, then push him away. “She asked you to what? Keep it

fromme?”

With a small shake of his head, he looks over his shoulder, and groans. Multiple

peoplehavetheirphonesout,recordingus.

NormallyIwouldcare.Rightnow,Idon’t.

“You’rearealjackass,youknowthat?”Ispitout.

His eyes narrow on me. “You’re the one who took off. Wouldn’t answer anyone’s

calls.”

“Iwasdealingwithsomeshit.”

“Yeah.Youalwaysare,aren’tyou?”

“Whatthehellisthatsupposedtomean?”

Hestaresatmeforalongmoment,themuscleinhisjawclenching,hisnostrilsflared.

Whenhedoesn’tanswer,Iasktightly,“Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?”

Hiseyesnarrowandhischintiltsdown.“Aboutwhat?”

IhavetoclearmythroatbeforeIcansaythewords,“Thebaby.”

“WhatamIgoingtodoaboutit?”

I can tell he’s trying to keep his cool because one eye twitches like it always does

beforeheloseshisshit.

“Youplanonmarryingher?”

Helaughs,butthere’snohumorinit.Justpure,undilutedanger.“No.I’mnotgoingto

fuckingmarryher.”

“You think this is a joke? You think you can just walk away from her? From your

child?”

“That’swhatyouthinkofme?”Hesuckshisbottomlipbackoverhisteeth.“You’re

unbelievable,youknowthat?”

“Shedeservesbetterthanthis,thanyou.”

“Screwthis.I’mdone.”Heturnsandstartstoleave.

“Thatkidneedsafather,and—”

“You’reright.”Heturnsback,anddespitethethrongofpeoplewatchinghegetsinmy

faceagain.“Butitsureashellwon’tbeme.”

“Ialwaysknewyouwereacoward.”Ikeepmyvoicelow,steady,despitetheseething

angerthatrollsthroughme.Diggingmyfingerintohischest,Iegghimon,“Anogood
pieceofshitjustlikeDad.Thekid’sbetteroffwithoutyou.”

Hedoesn’tcomeatmelikeIhopehewill.Instead,hestandstherewatchingme,his

expressionunreadable.

The tension between us is practically tangible. His mouth twists, and his breathing

comesoutinsmallbursts,butIstillcan’treadwhathe’sthinking.OrmaybeIdon’twant
tobecausewhatIthinkI’dseewouldgutmeifIletit.

Screwhim.Hedoesn’tgettobehurt.Notaftereverythinghe’sdone.Everythinghe’s

takenfromme.

“Here.” Colin pulls the manila envelope from his pocket and shoves it against my

chest.“Givethistoher.Maybeshe’lltakeitfromyou.”

Fromtheheavinessofit,Iknowit’scash.

“Youthinkyoucanbuyyourwayoutofthis?”

“Yeah.” The corners of his lips twitch up, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “That’s

whatI’mdoing.Buyingmywayoutofthisfuckeduprelationship.”

It’simpossibletomissthesarcasmthatdripsfromeachword.ThehiddenmeaningI

clearlydon’tget.

“You’reanasshole,”Ispitout,onlywantingtoseehimasthevillaininallthis.

“I’myourbrother.Maybeonedayyou’llrememberthat.”

Heturnsandwalksaway.AndIlethim.Becausehemaybemybrother,buthe’salso

themanthatstoletheonlywomanI’veeverloved.

C H A P T E R 2

ennedy

SixteenYearsOld

“L

SEE

.”

“Comeon,Kennedy.”

TheForresterbrothershoveroverme,theirmatchingblueeyesfullofmischief.Their

solepurposetoobtainthesmallspiralnotebookIclutchtomychest.

“No.”Mycheeksburnwithhumiliationwithwhat’swritteninside.

“You always make us read your stories.” Liam—or Thunder as he insists on being

calledlately—sitsonthecouchbesidemeandplacesonearmaroundmyshoulder.Dark,
unrulyhairfallsoverhisforeheadinwaves,andhegivesmeoneofhisraresmiles.“Why
notthisone?”

“It’spersonal.”Myheartbeatsalittlefasteratthecontact,whichissillybecausehe’s

practicallyfamily.

Ourfathershadbeenfriendssincetheywerekids.Andtherewasn’tanythingmydad

wouldn’t do for the man and his sons, including pretty much adopting them after their
motherpassedawayeightyearsago.

LiamandColinwouldstaywithuswhentheirfatherhadtogooutoftownforwork.

Nowtheycamebywheneverhewasononeofhisbenders.

Likerightnow.

SteveForresterisadifficultmantolike.Mymominsistshewasn’talwayssosevere,

thatitwasonlyafterhiswife’sdeaththathechanged,becametheinsufferableasswho’s
constantlyyellingatThunder,pushinghimtobeasgoodasColinateverything,especially
hockey.

WhichisridiculousbecauseLiamisgood.

Reallygood.

TheproblemisColinisbetter.Atseventeen,he’salreadybeingscoutedbysomeofthe

topteams,andwillmostlikelybethefirstdraftpicknextyear.

Mostpeoplethinkthey’retwinsbecausethey’reinthesamegrade,butthere’sactually

elevenmonthsbetweenthem.

Irishtwins,mymomcallsthem.

And with Colin being born in January and Liam in December, it means they’re

constantlycompetingagainsteachother—ateverything.

Hockey.

School.

Girls.

Tocalltheirrelationshipvolatileisanunderstatement.I’venevermettwopeoplewho

buttheadsmoreoftenthantheydo.Theonlythingtheyseemtoagreeonisthatnoguyis
orwilleverbegoodenoughtodateme.

NotthatIwanttodatejustanyguy.TheoneIwanttodateissittingrightbesideme.

Theonethatiscompletelyandutterlyofflimits.

Forearmsalreadycoveredinink,musclestensingandripplingunderhistightblackt-

shirt,LiamThunderForesterdoesn’tjustlookbad.

Heisbad.

Atleastforme.

He’severythingI’mnot.

Dark.

Dangerous.

Andsodamnsexy.

He’salreadybrokenmoreheartsthanIcancount.

I sigh, still clutching the notebook to my chest. “Can we just watch a show or

something?”

“Whyallthesecrecy?”Colinmovestowardsme,andIcantellhe’snotgoingtoletup.

“Whatdoyouhaveinthere?Yourconfessionofwhoyou’recrushingon?”

Liamgruntsbesideme.

Ishakemyhead,butIknowtheheatthatcreepsupmycheeksgivesmeaway.

“Shit. I’m right.” One blond eyebrow goes up, and Colin chuckles. “It’s about me,

isn’tit?”

I feel Liam tense beside me, then he pulls away slightly, so that he’s no longer

touchingme.

“Howd’youguess?”Irollmyeyes.“Whoisn’tinlovewithyou?”

“True.”Colingivesmeadimpledgrin,theonethatallthegirlsswoonover.

Everyonebutme.

I love Colin. But not like that. He’s the closest thing to a brother I have. I know I

shouldfeelthesamewayaboutThunder—butIdon’t.

WhatIfeelforhimis…complicated.

“Leaveheralone.”Thunderstretchesback,clearlyoverteasingme,andturnsonthe

television.

Withasnort,Colinsitsontheothersideofme,sandwichingmebetweenthetwoof

them.

They’re both huge, almost an entire foot taller than me, and neither one has any

qualmsabouttakingupmorethantheirshareofthecouch.

I know every girl in school would be jealous of me right now. My best friend Kiley

letsmeknowateveryopportunityhowfreakingluckyIamtobesoclosetotheForrester
brothers.

What she and everyone else doesn’t believe is that there’s nothing but friendship

betweenus.

I’vebeenthesubjectofsomeprettyraunchyrumorsbecauseofmyrelationshipwith

them,becauseofhowmuchtimewespendtogether.

Buthell,Istillhaven’tevenkissedaguy.Notreally.NotunlessyoucountNewYear’s

Eve.

Bestnightofmylife.

Whoneededfireworkswhenthey’dshotoffinsidemelikeamillionvoltsofelectricity

sparking every nerve in my body when Thunder’s lips had brushed against mine for a
millisecond.

Itwasjustonce,andhe’dbeendrinking.Idoubtheevenremembersithappening.

Me on the other hand, I can’t forget—no matter how hard I try. And I’ve tried.

BecauseIknowthatnothingwilleverhappenbetweenus.

Ever.

Thunder hates when anyone assumes we’re more than just friends. He gave Jeremy

HudsonablackeyeandbloodyliplastyearwhenthedouchebagtoldhalftheschoolthatI
washavingsexwithbothbrothers.

JeremywasjustmadthatIkeptturninghimdown,butThundersawred,andittook

fiveguystopullhimofftheasshole.

He’salwaysbeenoverprotectivewithme,whichiswhyIknowhe’llneverseemeas

anythingmorethanafriend;orworse,alittlesister.

The three of us sit there in silence, watching the stupid football game that Thunder

turnedon.

I should be studying for mid-terms, or finishing my English assignment, but their

father’sbeenonafour-daybender,oneofhismoreviolentones,andIknowneitherone
ofthemwantstogohome.

Withaheavysigh,Isnuggleintothecouch,mynotebooknowthankfullyforgotten.

Thunder’skneetouchesmine.Barely.ButIcanfeeltheheat,thecrazyelectricitythat

pulsesbetweenus.

Ifreeze.

Butterflies.

Mybreathingspeedsupandmypalmsstarttosweat.

Getagrip,Kennedy.

Bitingmybottomlip,Ipraythathedoesn’tnoticemyreaction.ButI’mprettysurethe

temperature in the room just raised ten degrees, because the back of my neck begins to
sweat.

I wish I could go back to the way things used to be, before my body turned into an

uncontrollableinfernoofhormonesaroundhim,butthemoreItrytoignoremyfeelings,
theworsetheyget.

Luckily, he hasn’t seemed to notice. And I plan to keep it that way, which is why I

continuetoclutchthedamnnotebooktomychest.

Stupid,stupid,stupid.

“This game is boring,” Colin says, and before I know what he’s doing, the book is

snatchedfrommygrip,andhe’sjumpingfromthecouch.

“Giveitback!”Myvoicecomesoutinashriek.

Colinlaughsandstartsflippingthroughthepages.

Fearburnsapathupmythroat.InevershouldhavewrittenwhatIdid,butmyEnglish

teacheraskedustomakeadetailedlistofthepeoplethathavemadethebiggestimpacton
ourlives,andwhatmakesthemunique.

ThepeopleIchoseweremymom,dad,Colin,and…Thunder.

“What I like about Colin Forrester,” Colin reads, a cocky smile spreading across his

face.Hisgazemeetsmine,andhewinks.“Iknewitwasaboutme.”

“It’sjustanassignmentforschool.”Myskinburnssohot,Iswearit’sgoingtoblister.

“Right.”Hecontinuestosmirk,thenstartsreading.“He’skind.Funny.Alwayswilling

tohelp…”

Ijumpfromthecouchandtrytosnatchthebookback.

Colin lifts it above his head and continues to read, “Smart. Confident. A good

listener.”

“Don’tbeajerk.Giveitback.”

Thundercontinuestositonthecouch,notmoving,gazegluedtothescreen.

“Ineverknewyouthoughtsohighlyofme.”Colinwinks,teasing.

“Stopbeinganass.”Ihithischest,prayingthathedoesn’tturnthepage.

Toolate.

Hiseyesgowide.

Crap.Crap.Crap.

Iknowwhathe’sreading,andIwanttocrawlintomyself

HAT

LIKE

aboutThunderForrester:

He’smybestfriend

AndI’minlovewithhim

LAST

LINE

isscratchedout,butit’sstilllegible.

Colinlooksatme,browslifted.“Love?Really?”

“Don’t.”Iswallowhard,prayingthathewon’tsayanythingmore.

“Shesaidgiveitback.”Thunderjumpsfromthecouch,rageinhisvoice.

Foraheartbeat,thetwoofthemstandnosetonose,thetensionbetweenthemalmost

tangible.Thunder’shandsarefistedathisside,andIhavenodoubtthathe’llusethemon
Colinifhedoesn’tdowhathesays.

Itwouldn’tbethefirsttime.

Aslight,andeasygoingasColinis,Thunderisasbroodyandtemperamental.

YoualwaysknowwhereyoustandwithColin,butThunderhideshisemotionsbehind

amaskofindifference,untilhe’spushedtoofarandthenyouneverknowwhathe’sgoing
todo.Butitusuallyinvolvesfistsflying.

“Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?”Colinsmirks,edgingThunderon.

“Youwanttofindout?”

“Stop.”Igetbetweenthem,whichprobablyisn’tthesmartestmove,butIknowthey’ll

beinanall-outbrawlintensecondsifIdon’t.Withahandonbothoftheirchests,Itryto
pushthemapart,whichisreallyastupidmoveconsideringIdon’tevencomeuptotheir
shoulders.IlookupatColin,who’susuallythemorereasonableofthetwo.“Justgiveit
back.Please?”

“Fine.”Colinhandsthenotebookbacktome,buthisgazeremainsonThunderasif

expectinghimstilltostrikeout.

“Thanks,”Imumble,closingitbeforeThunderseeswhat’swrittenthere.

Ihavenoideawhatpassesbetweenthetwoofthem,butwhateveritisstirsananimal-

likegrowlinThunder’schest.

Colinjustchucklesinresponse,thenplacesaheavyarmovermyshoulder,whichonly

makesThunder’sfaceturnadarkershadeofred.

“Don’tworry.”Colinleansdown,andwhispersinmyear,“Ialreadyknew.”

Oh.Ifit’spossible,IswearIblushevenharder.

Heshakeshisheadatbothofus,thensauntersoutoftheroomleavingmealonewith

Thunder,whocontinuestoscowlafterhim.

WhenThunderturnsbacktome,there’sbluefireinhiseyes.

Helooksangry.Reallyangry.

Hisnostrilsflare,andhismouthpressesintoahardlinewhenheglancesdownatthe

notebookinmyhand.

“What?”Ichewontheinsideoflip.

“Nothing.”Hedropsbackonthecouchheavily.

WhenIsitbesidehimhedoesn’tputhisarmaroundmelikeheusuallydoes.

“Itwasonlyanassignment,”Imumble.“Itdidn’tmeananything.”

DidheseewhatIwroteabouthim?

“What do I care?” His gaze is sharp and as cutting as his words. “It’s just a stupid

crush.”

Astupidcrush.

Somethinginsidemychestshatters.AndIknowinthatmomentthatnotonlydidhe

seewhatIwroteabouthim,butthathe’sright,whatIfeelforhimisnothingmorethana
stupidcrush.Andinthatsecond,Ihatehimforit.

C H A P T E R 3

hunder

Present

TANDING

OUTSIDE

THE

RUNDOWN

APARTMENT

,Iglanceupatthethird-storywindowwith

itssunfloweryellowcurtains,andinhaleroughly.

Ishouldn’tbehere.Thisisn’tmydamnproblem.ButIcan’tstopthevoiceintheback

ofmyheaddemandingthatIgotoher.Tomakesureshe’sallright.

Ashadowdarkensthewindow,thendisappears.

Kennedy.

Mypulsebeginstorace,andIcursemyselfforit.

Shedoesn’twantyou,asshole.

Idragmyfingersthroughmyhairandexhale,thenstartupthecementstepstowards

thebuilding.

Pressingthebuzzer,Iwait,butshedoesn’tanswer.Ipressagain.Nothing.

Ipulloutmysparekey,theoneshegavemewhenIhelpedhermoveintothisdump.I

know I’ve lost my right to use it, but right now all I care about is getting the answers I
shouldhaveaskedmonthsago.

Instead, I’d left, went off the grid completely. Because seeing her with my brother,

knowingshechosehimoverme,waslikeaknifetothegut.Asoul-crunchingagonythat
wasfarworsethananyphysicalpainI’veeverbeenin.

Theelevator is outof order, soI walk the threeflights of stairs.The place smells of

mildewandrottinggarbage,andthere’sgraffitispraypaintedonthecementwalls.

Howthecityhasn’tcondemnedthisplaceisbeyondme.Butit’scheaprentandwith

theshitsalaryKennedygetsworkingattheAnimalShelter,Iknowit’sallshecanafford.

Itpissesmeoffthattheanimalsshetakescareoflivewithmoreluxurythanshedoes.

Butshe’stoodamnstubborntoaccepthelp,eventhoughI’veofferedmultipletimes.

Staringattherustedmetalnumbersonthedoor,Igrindmybackteethandgiveone

briefhardknock.

Thedooropensslowly,andIseetheshockinhergazewhenitmeetsmine.

Dark hair frames her delicate face, falling over her shoulders in waves. Everything

aboutherisperfect,almostfragileinitsbeauty.Soft,fulllips,flawlessskin,butit’sher
eyes that have always intrigued me. The lightest brown rimmed with thick dark lashes.
Thecolorofcaramel.

Thoseeyesholdmygazenow.

“Thunder?” A flash of something that looks like hope crosses her expression, then

quickly vanishes, replaced by a mask of indifference. Her shoulders straighten, and her
knuckles whiten on the door that she’s holding half-open in front of her. “What are you
doinghere?”

It’sagoodquestion.OneIhaven’tfiguredtheanswerto.

“Iwantedtomakesureyouwereokay.”

Asmallexhaledbreathleavesher.“Hetoldyou?”

No,hedidn’tfuckingtellme.Whichpissesmeoffevenmore.

“CanIcomein?”Iroughapalmovermyjaw,thenrubthebackofmyneck,praying

shedoesn’tslamthedoorinmyface.

Withasmallsigh,sheopensthedoorwider.It’sthenIseethebabybumpthat’salmost

hiddenunderherbaggy,grayt-shirt.

Igrindmybackteethtogetherasafreshwaveofred-hotjealousyrollsthroughme.

Sheshouldhavebeenmine.Thechildgrowinginsideherapartofme.

Colindoesn’tdeserveher.

The thought of him touching her, kissing her, makes my insides turn to molten lava.

I’veneverhatedmybrotherasmuchasIdonow.

AnawkwardsilencestretchesbetweenusasIfollowherintothebachelorapartment.

It’sexactlyhowIrememberit.Oneroomthatconsistsofalivingarea-slash-bedroom,

and a small kitchenette in one corner. Despite how meticulous she keeps the place, it’s
hardtoignorethecracksintheplasterandthestainsthatshecouldnevergetoutofthe
carpetnomatterhowmuchshescrubbedthem.

Thethoughtofherraisingachildheretwistsmystomach.

“Do you want something to drink?” She moves to the far side of the room, clearly

tryingtokeepasmuchphysicaldistancebetweenusaspossible.

“No. I’m good.” I sit down on the futon that’s been folded to resemble a couch. I

forgot how uncomfortable the damn thing is. It must be a nightmare to sleep on in her
condition.

Herbodylanguageisstiff,forced,andshewon’tmeetmygazewhenshesitsdownon

theonly real pieceof furniture inthe room, a brownrecliner I boughtfor her two years
ago. She’d fought me on it, until I convinced her I’d found it at one of those god-awful
yardsalesshewasalwaystryingtomakemegoto.

Awhitelie,butatleastshetookit.

Shebitesdownonherbottomlip,handsmovingprotectivelyoverherstomach.

I don’t know how far along she is, but there’s nothing to her. If anything, she looks

likeshe’slostweight.

Concernoverridesmyownunease.

“Haveyoubeeneating?”

Hergazesnapstomine,andangerflashesthere.“Isthatwhatyoucameheretoask?

ToseeifI’mcapableoftakingcareofmyself?”

“That’snotwhatIwasimplying.Ijust…”

“Justwhat?”Withsomeeffort,shestands,herbacktowardsme.Aquiverofemotion

lacesherwords,“Don’tcomehereandactlikeyoucare.Justtellmewhatyouwant,then
leave.”

ThefutoncreakswhenIstand.“Icame…to…”

“To what?” She twists around, gaze hard on mine, almost daring me to say what I

desperatelywantto.

WhenIdon’tanswerrightaway,sheshakesherhead.

The stubborn set of her jaw, the hurt and hostility emanating from her, tells me I

shouldgo,thatshedoesn’twantmehere.

IfIdidn’tknowherbetter,I’dbelievetheact.

Underneaththefaçade,Icantellsheneedsme.Evenifshedoesn’twanttoadmitit,

shewantsmehere.

Her eyes are glassy from the tears she’s trying her best to hold back, and the small

quiverofherchintellsmethatthemomentIwalkoutthatdoorshe’llfallapart.

Nothappening.

“I’mnotleaving.”Despitehersmallprotest,Iremovethedistancebetweenus.

Cuppingherjawinmyhands,sothatmythumbsbrushhercheeks,myfingerstangle

inthesilky,darkhairatthenapeofherneck.

Forcedtolookatme,shesucksinabreath,andIseeit—thespark.

Theacceptance.

It’sreal.

Alwayswas.

Ican’tbelieveherconnectionwithColinwaseverthisstrong.

OrIdon’twantto.

Itampdownthejealousythatthreatenstoboilupatthethoughtofhim.

Thisisabouther.Aboutmakingsureshe’stakencareof.

“I can’t…” Her eyes close and when they open again, I see the wall she’s built

between us. She raises her hands, and places her palms on my chest like she’s going to
pushmeaway,butinsteadtheyjustrestthere.

“I’vemissedyou.”It’sthetruth.Despiteeverything,Ican’tdenyhowmuchIcarefor

her.HowmuchIneedherinmylife.Evenifit’sjustasfriends.Iknowthatnow.

Herbodytenses,fingerscurlingintothefabricofmyshirt,andasmall,almostsilent

sobescapesherlips.Sheburiesherfaceinmychest,andIholdheruntilshefinallylets
thetearsfall,andshemeltsintomybodywiththefamiliaritythathasalwaysbeenours
alone.

C H A P T E R 4

ennedy

CAN

’

THIS

Andyetmyfingersstayclenchedinhisshirtandmybodypracticallymeltsintohis.

EmotionstwistinmychestandnomatterhowhardItrytoholdbackthetears,Ican’t

stopthemfromspillingdownmycheeks.

His scent—familiar, male and powerful—wraps around me, as comforting as the

strengthofhisbody.

Iwantnothingmorethantosubmittohim,takethecomfortheoffers.Butalmostnine

monthsofnocontact,notevenadamnemailortext,andmyemotionsarespiraling,my
defensesraised.Aftereverythingwe’vebeenthroughtogether.Yearsoffriendship.Tojust
throwitawayoveronestupidnight.It’sunforgivable.

Me.

Him.

Asparkofangerflickers.It’senoughtogivemethestrengthtopushaway.

Thunder’sarmsdroptohisside,buthisbluegazeneverleavesme.

“Howlongareyoubackfor?”Iasktightly.

He shrugs and shoves his hands in his back pockets, making his biceps tense and

bunch.“AslongasIneedtobe.”

That’snotananswer.

Asmallkickmakesmewince,andmyhandgoesautomaticallytomystomach.

“What’swrong?”Concernetcheshisface.

“Nothing.She’sjustkicking.”

“She?” Thunder’s brows bunch together, and the muscles in his jaw tighten. “You

knowit’sagirl?”

My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip and I nod. I guess Colin didn’t tell him

everything.

Thunderdragshishandsthroughhishair,gazeconcentratedonmystomachandblows

outanunevenbreath.

Silencestretchesbetweenus,untilIcan’ttakeitanylonger.

Myfingersballintofistsatmysides,andninemonthsofhurtandlonelinessrisesto

thesurface,nearlychokingme.

“Whatdoyouwant,Liam?”Iusehisgivenname,buildingthebarricadebetweenus,

becauseIknowhowmuchhehatesit.

HetakesasteptowardsmeandIhavetotiltmychintolookupathim.Ihavetolook

awayorIknowI’llbackinhisarms.

“To help.” He pulls out a brown envelope, the same one Colin tried to give me this

morning,andplacesitonthecoffeetable.

“LikeItoldColin,Idon’tneedanyhelp.”MyhandsshakewhenIpickupthedamn

envelopeandshoveitbackathim.“Fromhimorfromyou.”

Hisfingerstightenaroundthemoney,knuckleswhitening.“I’msorryhehurtyou.”

Mygazejerkstohis.

What?

“Hedidn’thurtme.”

Youhurtme.

Icanseethepatiencehe’sbeentryingtoholdontoslowlyslippingaway.Heglances

aroundtheapartmentandhisexpressionturnshard,judging.

“Don’tdothat,”Iwarn.

“What?”

“Judgeme.JustbecauseIdon’thavealotdoesn’tmeanI’mnotcapableof—”

“Would you stop being so damn stubborn.” Eyes blazing, he removes the distance

between us. “You may not want anything, but you need it.” He ignores my protest and
placesonehandonmyarm,theotherhesitantlygrazesacrossmystomach.“I’mnotgoing
toletyoudothisalone.”

Mybreathcatchesinmythroatatthecontact,atthetendernessinhistouch.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, knowing he’s right. Every night I fall

asleepwonderinghowI’mgoingtodothisonmyown.I’vethoughtaboutmovinginwith
mymom,butherplaceisalreadycrammedandshe’sstrugglingherself.

“I don’t need your help,” I mumble. This time my words come out with less

conviction.

“Iknowyou’remorethancapableofraisingakidonyourown.”Hishand,warmand

steadyrestspossessivelyonmybelly,hisothertiltsmychinsothatI’mforcedtolookat
him.“Butyoudon’thaveto.”

Hope.Itflittersacrossmyskin,makingthebutterfliesthatarealwaystooquicktotake

flightwheneverhe’saround,danceinmychest.

AsharpknockonthedoormakesmejumpandThunderscowl.

“Ms. Harper. I know you’re in there. Open up.” the muffled voice of my landlady

makesmeflinch.

Shit.Notnow.

“Who’sthat?”Thunderfrownsatthedoor.

“Ms.Harper.”Moreknocking.

Ofallthebadtiming.

Thunder’seyesarenarrowedonmenow.“Kennedy?”

Withoutanexplanation,Iturnandunlockthedoor,greetedbyared-facedwomanwith

curlerspinnedtightagainstherscalp.

“Your rent is late. Again.” The woman’s shrill voice is loud enough for Thunder to

hear,andIfeelmycheeksstarttoburninembarrassment.

“Iknow,”Isayquietly,hopingshe’lllowerhervoice.“I’msorry.Ifyoujustgiveme

untilFriday…”

“Itwasdueaweekago.”Aknobbyfingerpointsatme.“Thisisn’tacharity.”

“Idon’thaveitnow,butifyou’lljust–”

“It’llbepaidbytheendoftheday.”Thundersaysbehindme.“Alongwithawritten

terminationofherlease.”

“What?No,I—”

Thelookhegivesmestopsmyprotest.

Mylandladysnubshernoseathim.“Wehaveathree-monthpolicy.”

“I’msuretheDepartmentofHealthwouldbeinterestedinthenumeroushealthcode

violationsI’vecountedsincebeinghere.”Somehow,he’smanagedtopositionhimselfin
frontofme,andIcan’tseeMrs.Rose’sexpression,onlyhearhersputtering.

Iplacemyhandonhisarm,tryingtostophimbeforehegetsmekickedoutofhere.

“Thunder…”

Heignoresmyprotestandcontinues,“Theapartmentwillbevacatedbytheendofthe

week.I’dsuggestyoutakecareoftheblackmoldaroundthewindowsillsbeforerentingit
outagain.”

Heclosesthedoorhard,thenturnsbacktome,expressionunreadable.

Damnhim.

“Whatdidyoujustdo?”

“You’renotstayinghere.”

“And where the hell am I supposed to go? I can barely afford this place. I won’t be

ableto…”Withthecostoftheprenatalappointments,thetruthisIcan’taffordithere.But
Ican’ttellhimthat.“God.Youcanbesuchanass.”

Hegrunts.“You’regoingtostaywithme.”

I’mprettysuremymouthhangsopenasIwatchhimpulloutmyoldsuitcasefromthe

closetandthrowitonthefuton.

Whenheopensmydresser,andstartspullingoutmyclothes,Ifinallysnapoutofmy

initialshock.

“No.”Igrabtheclotheshe’stossedintothesuitcaseandmovetoputthembackinthe

dresser,buthe’salreadypulledoutanotherpile.“Damnit,Thunder.Stop.”

Hegoesstill,butthere’sastubborntilttohischinthattellsmeheisn’tgoingtolisten

towhateverIhavetosay.

“Ican’tmoveinwithyou.”

“Why?”

“Because…”Irunmyhandsovermyfaceandshakemyhead.“BecauseIcan’t.”

Hegrunts,andgrabsanotherpileofclothes.“Notgoodenough.”

Blockinghispathtothesuitcase,Istandinfrontofhim.“You’reactingridiculous.I

haven’tseenorheardfromyouinmonths,andyoucomeinhereactinglike…”

LikeIactuallymeansomethingtohim.

Itakeadeep,calmingbreath,andtrytorefocus.

“Listen. I know you think you need to do this. But you don’t. I’ll take the money if

that’llmakeyouhappy.”

Facestonecold,hisgazeboresintome.“Toolate.Theoffersvoid.”

“OhmyGod,you’reinsufferable.Youcan’tjustdemandthatImoveinwithyou.This

isexactlywhyIdidn’twantyoutoknow.”

Ibitemytongueonthewords.

His nostrils flare, and he looks away for a brief second. When he finally meets my

gazeagain,mybreathcatchesinmythroatattheemotionIseethere.

Hurt.

Anger.

Frustration.

He shakes his head mouth tightening. “You shouldn’t have kept this from me. If I’d

known…”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, sitting down on the kitchen chair. I’d tried calling him more

thanonce,buthe’dneverreturnedmycalls.Anditwasn’texactlysomethingIwantedto
sharethroughtextoremail.

Silencehangsheavybetweenus.Bothcaughtupinourownthoughts.

“Things are only going to get more expensive.” Thunder leans against the dresser,

armsfoldedacrosshischest.“What’reyougoingtodowhenyoucan’twork?”

Hiswordsonlyconfirmmyownfears.“I’llbefine.”

“I’m not just thinking about you.” He pauses, before saying, “Maybe you should do

thesame.”

“That’snotfair.”Iwanttobeangryathisharshassessment,butIknowhe’sright.I

haveanotherpersontothinkaboutnow.

“I’vegotathreethousandsquarefootapartmentthat’sbarelybeingused.Youcanstay

there,rent-free,foraslongasyouwant.Noconditions.Noexpectations.”Histhumbslink
inthepocketofhisjeans.“It’llgiveyoutimetosaveandfigureoutwhatyouwant.”

WhatIwant?

WhatIwantisstandinginfrontofme,butthat’snotanoption.

“This isn’t a good idea.” I can hear the reservation in my voice slowly slipping,

becausethere’sapartofmethatwantstobelieveitcouldwork

Imeanwhatcouldpossiblygowrong?I’veonlybeenhalfinlovewiththemansinceI

wassixteen.Whathappenswhenhebringsotherwomenhome?Orwhenherealizesthat
thisistoomuch,andneedshisspace?

He’swatchingme,hisgazedarkandintense.

“You’re sure you want this?” I ask. “It’s not going to be easy, having a newborn

around.Itmightinterferewithyour…personallife.”

“I’lladjust.”

ButwillI?

ForthechildI’mcarrying,Ihavetotry.

Standing,Igiveasmallnod.“Okay.”

“Okay?”Onebrowpullsup.

“I’llmoveinwithyou.”EvenasIsayit,IknowI’llregretit.

The look he gives me makes my knees go weak, because there’s more than just

triumphinhiseyes,there’ssomethingelse.SomethingIcan’tputmyfingeron.

Somethingdark.

Intense.

Fullofpromise.

Areminderoftheonenightweshared.

I lean in, mesmerized by the pale blue eyes that search mine, and a familiar feeling

tugsatmychest.

Ahardkicksnapsmebacktoreality,andIplacemyhandsovermybelly,forcingthat

dangerous train of thoughts aside. Thunder’s gaze follows the movement and his

expressionchangesonceagain.

HeturnsquicklybeforeIhaveachancetoreadwhatevermoodhe’sinnow.

Yeah,thisisaverybigmistake.

C H A P T E R 5

ennedy

NineMonthsEarlier…

“G

OFF

THE

COUCH

.”Iclicktheremote,turningofftheseventy-inchscreen,andglance

around the penthouse apartment that looks more like a dumping ground with its beer
bottles,pizzaboxesandemptychipbags.“We’regoingout.”

Thunderlooksupatme,blueeyesnotamused.“I’mfinewhereIam.”

“Right.”Icrossmyarmsandsigh.“SuffocatinginCheetosandself-pity.Soundsfun.”

Hegruntsandmovesslowlyoffthecouch,hisbodystillstifffromtheinjuryfromhis

last fight, when one bad kick ended up shattering his kneecap and breaking his femur
straightthroughthebone.

Threemonthsrehab,andthedoctorsarestilluncertainifhe’lleverregainfullmobility

intheleg.

Thunder stretches his arms over his head, and the hem of his black t-shirt pulls up,

exposingthebottomrowofsculpted,mouth-wateringabs.Ihatethathecaneattheway
hedoesandstilllooklikethat.OneweekonapizzaandchipdietandI’dgaintenpounds.

ButnotThunder.Aftereverything,themanisstillbuiltlikehebelongsonthecoverof

amen’shealthmagazine.Whichhehadbeen.Iblushjustthinkingaboutthosepictures.

If he hadn’t started dating the editor of the magazine soon after, I may have just

throwncautiontothewindandconfessedeverynaughtylittlethoughtI’dhadabouthim
sinceI’dhitpuberty.

Hisgazenarrowsonme,andIswearhecanreadmymind.

Friends, I remind myself. Anything more and I’m just asking for trouble. The man

isn’t built for relationships. In fact, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been in a relationship that
lastedmorethanafewmonths.

ButthenneitherhaveI.Sure,I’vehadsex.There’vebeenacoupleofguysI’vedated,

but the minute things turned serious, I ended it. Because in the back of my mind I’m

alwayscomparingthemtoThunder.

TheacheIfeelwhenI’maroundhimisalmostpainful.Mybodybegsforhistouch,

eventhoughmymindknowsitwouldonlyendbadly.

Still,itdoesn’tstopmefromfantasizingaboutwhathisbodywouldfeellikeagainst

mine. The taste of his lips, the smell of his skin, and the rush of being filled by him
completely.

Ibitedownonmylip,andmutethegroanthatvibratesinmythroat.

“What?”He’swatchingme,expressionhard.

“Nothing,”Imumble,reachingdowntopickuptheemptypizzaboxthat’sbesidethe

couch. “I just thought we could go out tonight. There’s a cute little Sushi bar that just
openedonthecornerofRichmond,wecancheckitout,thencatchamovie.”

“I’msuretheyhavedeliveryandIgeteverynewreleaserighthere.”

Thishasbeenoursameargumenteverydayforthelastcoupleofweeks.Mecoming

over after work. Him scowling at my suggestion that he needs to find something more
productivetodothanwatchNetflixallday.Andfinally,megivingin,andspendingthe
nextfourhoursbinge-watchingthelatestrealityTVshow,andeatingwaytoomuchjunk
food.

Maybe I should just go. We’ve been spending so much time together lately that I’m

startingtoconfusethisthingbetweenusassomethingmorethanwhatitis.

“You’reupset,”hesays,watchingme.

Ishakemyheadandplacethepizzaboxonthecoffeetable.

Hemovescloser,hisgazetrainedonmine.Ihatewhenhedoesthat.Itmakesmylegs

feellikerubber,andmyhandsstarttosweat.

SometimesIthinkheknowswhathedoestome,thathe’sjusttoyingwithme,waiting

formetofinallygiveintothetemptation.

Onekiss.

Onenight.

Woulditreallychangethingsthatmuch?

“Your head’s spinning again.” He takes my chin between his thumb and finger and

forcesmetolookupathim.

Theheatofhistouchexplodesthroughmyentirebody,makingmythighsclench;my

pussytightenswithneed.

Damnhim.

“Whatareyouworriedabout?”

“You.”Itakeasmallstepback,needingthespacetorecoupmythoughts.

Alwaysyou.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” His hand drops to his side, and his expression

hardens.Hemovesaroundthecouch,andheadstothekitchen.“Infact,you’llbehappyto
knowthatItookyouradviceandIgotajob.”

“Ajob?”Ifrownathisback,whenhereachesintothefridgeandpullsouttwobeers,

uncappingoneandhandingittome.“Doingwhat?”

“WritingforSportsWeekly.”

“Oh.”Itakeadeepchugofmybeer.Thesamedamnmagazinethathisexruns.

JenniferFlynn.

Thewomanisafakeasthesiliconboobsshe’salwaysflaunting.Idon’tknowmuch

abouttheirrelationship,onlythatwhatthetabloidsreported.

I’vetriedmybestnottotorturemyselfwithhislonglistofrevolvingwomen.

Thundertiltshisheadandleansagainstthefridge.“Ithoughtyou’dbehappy.”

“Iam,”Ilie,finishingtherestofthebottle,andplacingitonthecounter.“Whendo

youstart?”

“Monday.”

Mymouthdropsopen.“Inthreedays?”

“Yeah.”Hepullsanotherbeerfromthefridgeandhandsittome.

“Wereyougoingtotalktomeaboutit?”IhatethatIsoundlikeajealousgirlfriend.

Hedoesn’tanswer,justkeepsstaringatmelikeI’msomesortofpuzzlehecan’tfigure

out.

“What?”Isnap.

Withslow,deliberatemovements,heplaceshisbottleonthecounterbesideme,and

movescloser.SoclosethatIhavetostrainmynecktolookupathim.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” He places his hands on either side of me,

grippingtheedgeofthecounterI’mleaningagainst,andleansdownsothatwe’renoseto
nose.

Iswallowhard.

Kissme.Please.

He keeps staring at me with those smoldering blue eyes of his that make my entire

bodytremblewithneed.

Doeshefeelit?DoesheknowhowmuchIwanthim?

Mycellletsoutatrillseriesofnotes,makingmejumpandbreakingthemoment.

Thunder exhales harshly and pushes away, then grabs his beer and chugs the

remainingcontents.

Handsshaking,Ipullmyphonefrommybackpocket.

“It’sColin.”Iclutchthestillringingphone,notknowingifIshouldansweritinfront

ofhim.

Thunder grunts, and his nostrils flare, the way they always do when I mention his

brother’sname.

“Youbetteransweritthen.”HislipspullupinascowlandIfrown.

“I’llcallhimbacklater.”

Another deep grunt, and he turns his back on me, pulling a second beer from the

fridge.

Hismoodhasdoneacompleteone-eighty.

“You should call him.” I wrap my arms around my chest, suddenly feeling a chill

through my whole body. Maybe it’s the way Thunder’s looking at me now, or because
eventhoughhe’sgonefromhottocold,Istillcravehistouch.“He’sworriedaboutyou.”

Adarkchuckle.“Isthatwhyhe’scallingyou?Tocheckuponme?”

“No.HeaskedmetomeethiminL.A.iftheymakeittotheplayoffs.I’veneverbeen

and—”

“Areyougoing?”There’saharshnesstohistonehedoesn’tusuallyusewithme.

Ishrug,knowingIprobablywon’tusetheplanetickethesentme.Ihateflying,and

Colin will be busy with his game, and then the team stuff afterwards. Still, I’ve always
wanted to see the West Coast. Maybe try surfing. Or just walk down Hollywood
Boulevard.

“Idon’tknow.Itmightbefun.”

“Right.”Thunderdragshisfingersthroughhishair,andletsoutaheavybreath.

“Anyways,you’llbeworkingbythen.”Itrytohidethetensioninmyvoice,butI’m

pretty sure I fail miserably. “I’m going to need to find something other than babysitting
youtooccupymytime.”

Thatgetsareaction.

Thesoundthatvibratesfromhischestsoundsmorelikeawildanimalthanhuman.“Is

thatwhatyou’vebeendoing?Babysittingme?”

“Itwasjustajoke.”Whichobviouslywasn’tfunny.

“Trust me, sweetheart. I don’t need you hanging around here for my sake. I’m

perfectlycapableoflivingmylifewithoutyouhoveringovermetwenty-four-seven.”

Hiswordshitmelikeapunchtothegut.Ibitetheinsideofmycheekhard,totryto

keep my emotions from turning me into a babbling mess, which right now I’m on the
brinkof.

“I’m going to go.” I brush past him, wanting desperately for him to stop me, and

hatingmyselfforit.

Hecursesunderhisbreath,buthedoesn’tfolloworcallafterme.

Justletsmewalkaway.

NoonehaseverbeenabletohurtmelikeThunder.Oneharshword,andit’slikeI’m

sixteenagain,rejectedbytheonlyboyI’veeverreallycaredabout.

Thisistheproblemwithconfusingourrelationshipasanythingmorethanfriendship.

Hehasthepowertocrushmyheartwithoutevenknowingit.

C H A P T E R 6

ennedy

Present

HUNDER

PLACES

my suitcase on the bed in the guestroom, then takes a step back and

dragshisfingersthroughhishair.

“Doyouneedanything?”

Space.

Time.

Him.

Ishakemyhead.

“I’llhavetherestofyourstuffpickeduplaterthisweek.Justletmeknowwhatyou

wantbroughthereandwhatyouwantputinstorage.”

“Okay.”There’sanawkwardnessbetweenusthat’sneverbeentherebefore.“Ishould

unpack.”

Hegivesasmallnod,butdoesn’tmove.Justcontinuestolookalldark,brooding,and

incrediblysexy.

Ihavenoideawhathe’sthinking.Maybehe’shavingsecondthoughtsaboutbringing

mehere.

“Thunder?”Myvoiceholdsanedgeoffrustration.

“Yeah?”Hisgazejerkstomine,browsdrawndown,nostrilsflared.

“You’restillhere.”

“Sorry.I’llgo.Letyougetsettled.”Withsomehesitation,hestartstowardsthedoor,

rubbingthebackofhisneck.Atthelastsecond,heturns,andpiercesmewithaThunder-
look.Theonethatlookslikehe’scarryingtheweightoftheworldonhisshoulders.“You
sureyou’reallright?”

“I’mfine.”It’snotexactlythetruth,butit’sallIcanofferrightnow.

Ican’tcryanymoretoday,andifIstarttoopenup,evenalittlebit,IknowIwon’tbe

abletocontroltheemotionsthatsizzleandfizzinsideofme.

Withaheavysigh,heturnsandleaves.

Isitdownontheedgeofthebedandlookaround.

EverythingisexactlyhowitwasthelasttimeIwashere,andyetnothingisthesame.

Onestupidmistakeandmywholeworldisflippedonitsaxis,spinningoutofcontrol

towardsanunknownend.

Thiswillwork.ItmaynotbethewayI’dhopedorplanned,buthavingThunderinmy

lifeagain—it’ssomething.

Ipulloutmylaptopandplugitin,thenpullupthefirstdraftofthemanuscriptI’ve

beenworkingon.

Twohundredandsixty-fivepagesdone.Theonlythingit’smissingisanending,orat

leastonethatwon’tmakethereaderwanttotossthebookacrosstheroomwhenthey’re
done.

ButnomatterhowhardItry,Ican’tseemtowritethehappilyeverafterthateveryone

wants.

Becauserealityis,mostpeopledon’tgetthefairytaleendings.

Lifesuckssometimes.

“What’sthat?”Thunderisstandinginthedoorwaywatchingme.

“JustsomethingI’vebeenworkingon.”

“You’restillwriting?”

“WhenIcan.”Ishrug,shuttingmylaptop.“It’snotverygood.”

“Idoubtthat.What’sitabout?”

Me.You.

“I’mnotsureyet.”Whenheraisesaneyebrow,Icontinue,“It’saboutfriendship.Loss.

Misunderstanding.Youknow,thewhole‘girllovesaboy,theboydoesn’tloveherback‘”

Ibitemybottomlip,feelingmyfacewarm.

“Howdoesitend?”Hemovescloser.

“Idon’tknow.Peopleexpectthewholehappilyeverafterinromancebooks,but…”

“Butwhat?”

Ishrug.“Sometimesthingsarejusttoocomplicatedtofix.”

“It’syourstory.Youcancreatewhateverendingyouwant.”

“Yeah.”Idon’ttellhimit’snotthateasy.ThatIcan’twritesomethingIdon’tbelieve

in.

Noteveryonegetsthefairytaleending,oryougettheHansChristianAndersonending

ratherthantheDisneyone.

Hekeepswatchingme,andIshiftnervouslyunderhisgaze.

“IorderedChinese.Itshouldbeheresoon.”

Asifoncue,mystomachgrowlsloudenoughforhimtohear.

Hefrowns.“You’retooskinny.”

My mouth drops open at his blunt appraisal, but Thunder’s never been one to

sugarcoatthetruth.

Iknowhe’sright,butitdoesn’tstopmydefensesfrombuildingup.Iwassosickthe

first couple of months that I ended up losing almost fifteen pounds. I’ve only recently
gainedthatweightback—barely.

Still,thewayhe’slookingatmenow,itfeelslikeacriticism.

“Don’tdothat.”

“What?Worryaboutyou?”

Actlikeyoucare.Iknowthethoughtisn’tfair.Thundercaresaboutmetheonlyway

he knows how. Maybe the only way he can. Is it really his fault that I put unrealistic
expectationsonhim?

“I’mfine.”Emotionstirsinmychest,andIhavetofightbackthetearsthatthreatento

fall.“The…babyisfine.”

Buteverythingisnotfine.AndIhavenoideahowiteverwillbeagain.

Iswipeatthetearthatescapes.

Stupidhormones.

Thunderletsoutalong,audiblebreath.“Haveyouseenadoctor?”

Iturnonhimthen.“OfcourseIhave.”

“Ididn’tmean—”

“I’mtakingmyprenatalvitamins.I’mnoteatingfishorsoftcheeses,andIhaven’thad

asipofalcoholsinceIfoundout.Anythingelseyouwanttoknow?”

“Youcan’teatfish?”Asmallsmiletugsathislips.“WelltheregoesthesushinightI

wasplanning.”

Ihatehowhecandothat.Changethemoodsoquickly.Iwanttobemadathim.OrI

need to be. Letting my guard down will only cause problems. I can’t take the chance of
lettingmyheartgetinvolvedagain.

Thingsarecomplicatedenough.

“I appreciate you letting me stay here, but you can’t tell me that this isn’t weird for

youtoo.”

“It’snotanidealsituation.Butwe’llmakeitwork.”

“Andus?”

“Whataboutus?”Hiseyesnarrowonme,searchingmine.

“We’re…fine?”

Hetakesastepcloser,makingmyheartstarttorace.

“Therearesomethingsweshouldprobablytalkabout.”

Yeah,likewhyI’veneverbeenenoughforyou.Whyyouwon’ttakethechanceonthis

thingbetweenus.Thethoughtspopsintomyheadlikeaknifeslicingopenanoldwound.
Butit’stoolatenow.

Westandtherewatchingeachother,myownwoundedexpressionmirroredinhisown.

“Itriedtotellyou,”Iblurtout,hatingthewayhe’slookingatmelikeI’mthebadguy.

“Wedon’tneedtodothisnow.”

“Yeah. We do.” I wince, when a sharp pain slices across my belly, buckling me

forward.

HishandsareonmebeforeIcancatchmybreath.

“Sitdown.”Onehandisonmylowerback;hisothertakesmine,guidingmetowards

thebed.

“I’mfine.”

Concernisetchedinthelinesofhisforehead,andIcantellhe’snotconvinced.

Atthemoment,neitheramI.I’vehadpainsbefore,butnothinglikethis.Sweatbeads

onmyupperlipandforeheadandeventhoughIdon’twanttoshowweaknessaroundhim,
Isit.

Hecrouchesinfrontofme,handsonmythighs.Helookslikehe’stryinghardnotto

goallalphamaleonme.

“I’mfine,”Irepeat,givinghimahalf-smilethatfeelsmoreforcedthanintended.“It’s

justBraxtonHicks.”

Hefrowns.“Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans.”

“ButI’msureyou’regoingtoGoogleit,”Isaylightly,whichgetsasmallreaction,a

slighttwitchofhislips.

Nowthatthepainhassubsided,Ican’thelpbutfeelthewarmthofhistouchspreading

throughmyentirebody.

Hisexpressionisstillserious,andIcanalmostseethequestionshe’sholdingback.

There’ssomuchbetweenus.

Somanythingsunsaid.

Emotionstwistandpulse,makingeverythingseemchaotic.

He’srighthere.Touchingme.AndyetIfeellikethere’sthishugevoidseparatingus.

Likewe’llneverbeabletogetbacktothepeoplewewerebefore.

“I’mtired.”It’snotalie.I’veneverfeltmoreexhausted.Physically.Mentally.“Ithink

I’mgoingtoturnin.”

“Youhaven’teatendinner.”

“It’sbeenalongday,andIhavetoworktomorrow—”

“No.” He stands, muscles tightening, and I can see him getting ready for another

argument.

“No?”

“Youdon’tneedtowork.I’lltakecareofeverything.”

“Ionlyhaveacoupleweeksleftanyways,andtheyneedme.”

“I’msuretheycanfindsomeonetoreplaceyourshifts.”Hedragshisfingersoverhis

face.“Isn’ttheresomethingaboutnotworkingwithanimalswhenyou’repregnant?”

“It’sthecatlitter.AndI’mcareful.”Isigh.“I’malwayscareful.”

Hisgazedropstomystomach,andhebitesout,“Right.”

The comment is like a smack to the face, because I see the resentment in his

expression.AndIknowwhathe’sthinking.ThatIsomehowplannedthis.Thatitwasmy
owncarelessnessthatcausedit.

Maybeitwas.ButIstillputout,“Ittakestwopeopletomakea—”

“Idon’tneedareminder.”Angerrollsoffhiminwaves,andIrealizewhythere’sso

muchanimositybetweenus.

Heblamesmeforwhathappened.

Likethispregnancyisallmyfault.

“WouldyouratherIgotridofit?”Myhandsgoprotectivelyaroundmystomach.

“Ofcoursenot.”Hisnostrilsflare.

“Thenwhat?Whatareyousoangryabout?”

“Doyoureallyhavetoaskthat?”

“ApparentlyIdo.”

“Jesus,Kennedy.Alltheseyears…”Fingersonhistemples,hepincheshiseyesshut.

Whenheopensthemagain,hisexpressionisblank,likehe’stakenallofhisemotionsand
stuffedtheminthedeepestpartofhimself.“Itdoesn’tmatter.What’sdoneisdone.AmI
happyaboutit?No.Butthatdoesn’tmeanwecan’tstillbe…friends?”

ThedreadedF-word.

“Right.Friends,”Inod,eventhoughmyentirebodyfeelsnumb,likeonceagainhe’s

rejectingme.“It’sgoodtoknowwe’rebothonthesamepage.”

Hegivesasmallnodandturnstoleave,buthesitatesatthedoor.

Withhisbacktome,hesays,“I’mgoingtotakecareofyou.Nomatterwhat.”

Iopenmymouthtoargue,buthe’sgonebeforeIcanthinkoftherightwordstosayin

reply.

TherewasatimewhenIwouldhavebelievedhim.Trustedhimcompletely.

ButthatwasbeforeCalifornia.

BeforeJenniferFlynn.

C H A P T E R 7

hunder

GIVE

herspaceforthenextcoupleofdays.Well,asmuchspaceasmyNeanderthalbrain

willallow.

She’sdrivingmenutswithhowlittleshe’seating.

ButdespiteallthelittlethingsIcan’tstopworryingabout,it’sgoodtohaveherhere.

Betterthangood.

Having her around is like a drug. I know it’ll eventually destroy me, but the more I

have,themoreIneed.

IwasbullshittingmyselfthinkingIwouldbecontentjustbeingfriends.ButIwasn’t

lyingwhenIsaidI’dtakecareofher.Nothingwillchangethat.

ButI’mdonesittingbackandwaitingforhertofinallychooseme.

I’mreadytofight.Becausethelastninemonthshavebeenhell,andI’mnotwillingto

loseheragain.

She’s standing at the counter staring blankly into a half empty glass of orange juice

whenIcomeintothekitchen.

Dressedinawhitesundressandbluejeanjacketthathideshersmallbabybump,her

hairhangsindarkwavesdownherback.

Gorgeous.

There’salittlecolorinhercheekstoday,andshedoesn’tlookasexhaustedasshedid

thefirstdayIbroughtherhere.

“Areyougoingout?”Iask,pouringacupofcoffeeshemusthavebrewedearlier.

“I was thinking of going to the—” Her eyes widen when she sees me, gaze trailing

down my bare chest. Red infuses her face, and she quickly looks away. “You’re not
wearingashirt.”

Ichuckle,reachingpasthertoputthecoffeepotback,myarmbrushingagainsthers.

“It’sneverbotheredyoubefore.”

“Ijustthink…”ShetrembleswhenItuckastrandofhairbehindherear.

“Youthinkwhat?”

“Thatweshouldhaveafewrules.”

“Shirtrules?”Igrinandleanagainstthecounter.

“Andpants.”Shelooksanywherebutatme.

“Idon’tusuallywalkaroundwithnopantson.”

“Right.”Sheglancesdownandhertonguedartsacrossherbottomlip.IswearIcan

seethedirtythoughtsthatgothroughhermind.

Ichuckle.“AlthoughIcanchangethatifyouwant.”

Hergazejerkstomine.“Youshouldkeepyourpantson.”

Fornow.Buttrustmesweetheart,bythetimeI’mdonewithyou,you’llbebeggingme

totakethemoff.

“I’veclearedmyscheduleforthenextweek,andIthoughtwecouldgoshopping.”I

takeasipofmycoffee.

“Shopping?”Shefrowns.

“Forbabythings.Idon’tknowwhatexactlyyouneed,butI’msurethere’salot.”

“Youwanttogobabyshoppingwithme?”She’sstillfrowning,givingmealookthat

saysshethinksI’muptosomething.

“I know you still have time before you’ll need things.” I lean against the counter,

watchingasshetriesunsuccessfullynottolethergazefalltomychest.“Unlessyouwant
towait?”

“No.Thatwouldbenice.”Herlipstwistupinasmallsmile.

“Good.” I finish my coffee and place the cup in the sink, then turn back to her, and

grin.“IguessI’llgoputashirtonnow.”

IhearhersmallquiveringbreathwhenIwalkaway.

Maybethingsaren’tashopelessastheyseem.OrmaybeI’mjustmoreofanidiotthan

I thought. Either way, having her here in my apartment, I’ve come to one conclusion.
Kennedywillbemine.Shejustdoesn’tknowityet.

C H A P T E R 8

ennedy

HUNDER

ISN

’

MAKING

it easy not to confuse this thing between us. And at times I

wonderifheisn’tdoingitonpurpose.

Iwatchasheinspectsastrollerthatthesaleswomanisshowinghim.

Alreadyhe’spurchasedacrib,andallthebeddingtogowithit,alongwithamatching

changetable,abasinet,andabunchofotherthingsIdidn’tevenknowIneeded.IfIdon’t
gethimoutofheresoon,I’mprettysurehe’llbuytheentirestore.

Idon’tknowwhyitbothersme,thathewantstohelp,butitdoes.NotbecauseIdon’t

want him. There’s nothing in this world I want more. But my chest squeezes harder,
tighter,everymomentIspendwithhim.

He’slookingatmenow,likehe’sexpectingananswer.“Whatdoyouthink?”

“About?”

“Thestroller.”

“It’sfine.Butit’stooexpensive.”

The sales lady frowns at me and purses her lips, then looks back at Thunder with a

flirtysmile,batteringherlong,fakeeyelashesupathim.“Itistenpercentoffthisweek.”

“See.”Thundergrins.“It’sasteal.”

Ishakemyhead,butIcan’thelpbutchuckle.“Okay.Getthestroller.”

Hisgrinwidenslikeakidinacandystorewhowasjusttoldhecouldhavewhatever

hewanted.

All of a sudden, a wave of dizziness makes the room spin, and I’m reaching out for

something,anything,tosteadymyself.

Thunderisbesideme,handsgrippingmyelbows.“What’swrong?”

“Nothing.I’mjustalittledizzy.”

“Let’sgetyouhome.”

“I’mokay.Really.”I’mfinenow.Justalittlenauseous.“Ijustneedtositdownfora

second.”

He’sstillfrowningwhenhehelpsmetooneofthefloormodelrockingchairs.“You’re

sure?”

Inod.

“Okay,thenI’lljustgopay,thenwe’llgohome.”

Iforceasmileandwatchhimwalktothesalesdesk.

“Your husband seems very attentive.” A younger woman who had been helping us

earlier,beforetheflirtatiousblondesteppedin,handsmeaglassbottleofjuice.Sherubs
her own extended belly. “You’re lucky. A lot of fathers would rather be anywhere but
here.”

Istarttocorrecther,thenstopmyself,thankingherinsteadforthedrink.Iuncapthe

juiceandtakeasmallsip,glancingoveratThunderwho’swatchingmefromthecheckout
counter.

“Howfaralongareyou?”sheasks.

“Thirty-eightweeks.”Irubmyhandovermystomach.Sayingitaloud,knowinghow

littletimeIhaveleft,makesitseemsomuchmorereal.

“Oh,wow.You’resotiny.”

Itrynottogetoffended.IgetitalotwhenItellpeoplemyduedate,butaccordingto

mydoctor,everythingisfine,andthebabyisgrowingperfectly.

IgiveThunderagratefulsmilewhenheapproaches.

“Ready?”

Inodandlethimguidemeoutofthestore.

He’s quiet on the drive home. Pensive. Broody. Typical Thunder. But I feel like

somethinghaschangedbetweenus.Ijustdon’tknowwhatitis.

“Doyouwanttowatchamovie?”Iaskwhenwe’rebackinhisapartment,sittingon

hislargeL-shapedcouch,groaningtheminuteI’moffmyfeet.

“Sure.”Hesitsdownontheothersideofme,liftingmylegsandplacingmyfeetinhis

lap.

There’smorethanenoughroomforhimtositwithouttouchingme,butI’mgrateful

forthecontact,especiallywhenhestartsrubbingmyfeet.

Ican’thelpthesmallmoanthatescapesmylips.

“Feelsgood?”

Asmallnodismyonlyresponse,becausehimtouchingme,evenjustafootrub,has

mywholebodyhummingwithneed.

Divertingmyattention,Igrabtheremote,turnonthetelevision,andflipthroughthe

channels.

“Shit,”Imutter,whenastabofpainsqueezesmybelly.

“What?”

Ibreathethroughit.“She’skickingagain.”

“Isitsupposedtohurtthatmuch?”Helooksworried.

“Ihaveatinyhumanrollingaroundinsideofme,it’snotexactlycomfortable.”

Hislipsthin,andIcantellhewantstoaskmesomething.

“What?”

“CanI…”Herubsthebackofhisneck.“CanIfeel?”

Oh.

Isuckinashakybreathandnod.

Slowly,hestands,thenshiftsbehindme,sothatonelegisononesideofmeandmy

backisagainsthischest.

Thisisn’twhatIexpected,butIdon’tstophim.

Can’t.

Notwhenhisarmscircleme,andhispalmsrestonmybelly.

I’mstiff.Waiting.Notsurewhattodo.

“Relax,”hewhispersinmyear.

Notpossible.Notwithhimtouchingme.ButIleanbackfurther,meltingagainsthis

chest,andclosemyeyes.

Histouch.Thewarmthofhisbreathonmycheek.Itmakesmybodyhumwithneed.

God,Ilovethisman.

Andthis…it’storture.

Even though I know I shouldn’t, that I’m only asking for trouble, I snuggle back

against him, sucking in a small breath when I feel his hard erection pressed against my
backside.

Hewantsme?

OrmaybeI’mimaginingit.

ButIknowthere’snomistakingthelong,thicklengththat’spressedagainstme,orthe

wayhisownbreathhitcheswhenIsnugglebackfurther.

Focusonthemovie,Kennedy.

He’smakingitnearlyimpossible.

Asharpkickrightwhereoneofhishandsis,makeshimlaugh.“Didyoufeelthat?”

Ichuckle.“Yes.”

“Amazing.”There’saweinhisvoice.

Hischeekisagainstmine,hishandsstillplacedprotectivelyovermystomach,anda

senseofrightnessfillsme.Butit’squicklyreplacedbyfear.

Isitup,thenstandabruptly.

“What’swrong?”

“Ican’t…”Tearsprickatmyeyes,andpanicsqueezesmychest.“Ican’tdothis.”

Notagain.

C H A P T E R 9

hunder

NineMonthsEarlier…

HAVEN

’

HEARD

from Kennedy since she stormed out of my apartment a couple nights

ago.

It’sthelongestwe’vebeenapartsincemyaccident,andIfuckinghateit.

I know I was a complete ass the other night, but I couldn’t help myself. When she

mentionedColinandgoingtofuckingLosAngeleswithhim,Iwentallcaveman,readyto
poundmychestandclaimherasmine.

ButIcan’t.

She’snotmine.Doesn’twantme.Andevenifshedid,I’mnofuckinggoodforher.

Justawashedupex-MMAfighterwithnothingtoofferbutabadtemperandalifetime

ofrehab.

Still,thethoughtofherwithColinmakesmybloodboil.

Callher,asshole,myheadscreams.

Ileavetomorrowmorning,andI’llbeontheroadforatleastamonth.Notsurewhen

I’llbeback,andthelastthingIwantistoleavethingsthewaytheyare.Imaybeaselfish
prick,butIstillcareabouther.MorethanIfuckingshould.AndifallIcaneverhavewith
herisfriendship,thenI’lltakeit.BecausealifewithoutKennedyinit,isnofuckinglifeat
all.

There’saknockonmydoor,andafloodofadrenalineracesthroughmyveins,praying

tohellthatit’sher.Butusuallyshewouldjustuseherkeytocomein.

Iopenthedoor.

Kennedy.

HappinessquicklyturnstoconcernwhenIseeher.

Hereyesareswollenandredfromcrying,andmyheartslamsintomychest,thinking

theworst.

“What’swrong?”Ipushthedoorwider,andpullherintotheapartment,shuttingthe

doorbehindher.

“Lu-Lucy.”Thenamecatchesonasob.

WhothehellisLucy?

Thesecondmyarmswraparoundher,shestartsshaking,andmoretearsstreamdown

hercheeks.

“Ican’t…Ican’t…”Herwordsaremuffledasshecriesintomychest.“Can’tbelieve

someonewouldbethatcruel.”

“Who?”Itakeherfaceinmyhands,palmsrestingonhercheeks,andforcehertolook

atme.She’sscaringtheshitoutofme.“Takeadeepbreathandtellmewhathappened.
Who’sLucy?”

“The…yellowlabthat…cameintothecenter…afewdaysago.”Shehiccupsthrough

herwords.

I let out a small breath. This is about one of her rescue animals. She’s so freaking

sensitiveaboutthem.

“Tellmewhathappened.”

She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand and takes a steadying breath. “We

knewshe’dgivenbirthrecently,butthepersonwhobroughtherindidn’tknowwherethe
pupswere.”Ashudderripsthroughherandshepincheshereyesshut.“Buttoday–”

So damn sensitive. It’s one of the things I love about her. But I hate seeing her like

this.Herheartexposed.Broken.

“Today?”Iask.

“They found them. Someone had left them in a crate by the side of the road. There

wereeightofthem…”Shelooksupatme,eyesglazed,andshakesherhead,moretears
slidingdownhercheeks.“Theywereouttheretoolong.”

“I’msorry.”Ipressmyforeheadagainsthers,notlettinggo.

“One of the pups survived, but the vet doesn’t know if he’ll make it through the

night.”

Icantellbytheslightslurinherwordsthatshe’sbeendrinking,whichisn’tlikeher.

Somethingelseisgoingon.Thisisn’tjustaboutthedogs.

“GositdownandI’llgetyouaglassofwater.”

Sheshakesherhead,andwhenshestartstoturn,Iseeherwobble.Damn.Shemust

havehadmoretodrinkthanIthought.Igrabher,pullinghertowardsme.

“You’vebeendrinking.”

“So.”

“Didyoudrivehere?”

“No. Of course not. I’m not an idiot.” She juts her chin up at me. “I shouldn’t have

come.Iknowyoutoldmenottobugyouanymore.Ijustneeded…Ineeded…”Herbody
swaysandmoretearsstreamdownhercheeks.“Idon’tfeelwell.”

Shit.

“Comeon.”Ipickherupeasily,andsheletsoutasmallgushofair.

“Whatareyoudoing?”

“Takingyoutobed.”

“Oh.”

Ilookdownather,carameleyesblinkingupatmeinsurprise,andmaybesomething

more.

Lust.

Desire.

Need.

OrmaybeI’mjustseeingwhatIwanttosee.

“Theguestbed,”Isayquickly.“Youcansleeptheretonight.”

Iswearherlipsturndowninalittlepout,butshedoesn’targuewithme,notuntilI

placeheronthebed,takeoffhershoes,thenpullthecomforteroverhershoulders.

“Don’tgo,”shesays,catchingmyarm.Bigeyesblinkingupatmeinthedimlight.

Mychestconstricts.

Whatissheasking?

“Kennedy…”

“Idon’twanttobealonetonight.Please.”

How the hell am I supposed to say no to that? It’s not like it will be the first time

we’vesleptsidebyside.Shit,she’ssleptheremorethanshe’sbeenatherownapartment
inthelastfewmonths,andmostnightswefallasleeponthecouchtogether.

Butthisfeelsdifferent.Herplea.Thewayshe’slookingatme.Itfeelslikesomething

more.

Icrawlinbesideherandlayonmyback.Instantly,she’ssnuggledupagainstmyside.

Warmfingersfindthehemofmyshirtandflitterunderneath,restingonmyabs.

I’dhavetobeafuckingsainttoresisther.AndI’mfarfromit.

Shesnugglesagainstme,andIlosemymind.

This.

Her.

It’severything.

Andwhensheliftshermouthtomine,IknowI’mdone.

Soft.

Gentle.

Timefreezes.

Therestoftheworldfallsawayandthere’sjustus.

No bullshit stopping me from taking the only woman I’ve ever loved. No alcoholic

father,noassholebrother.Justherandme.

I pull her tighter, my erection pressing hard against the rough fabric of my jeans.

Strainingwithneed.

Myheartprotests.

Ican’tdothis.

Shouldn’tdothis.

Can’tacheforthingsIknowIcanneverhave.

It’llbreakme.

Fuck,I’malreadybroken.

Shewillshatterme.

Herfingersmoveundermyshirt,acrossmychestandasoftmoanleavesherlips.

“Liam,”shesaysmyname,myrealname,anditundoesme.She’stheonlyfucking

person in this world that is allowed to use it. On her lips, it sounds right, good. Not the
pieceofshitIknowthatnamereallybelongsto.

“Please?”shesays,thewordvibratingagainstmymouthasshecontinuestokissme

softly.

HowthehellI’vemanagednottoripeveryshredofclothingoffherisbeyondme.But

when,if,Itakeher,Iwantittoberight.Tobeperfect.

Butrightnow,there’sonlythetasteofher,andittearsawayatthelastamountofself-

restraintI’mholdingonto.

Everytouchandkisspulseswithintenseheat,makingmeburnformore.

“Kennedy,”Isay,hernameasawarning.Ifwestartthis,there’snoturningback.

Itwillchangeeverything.

Sheclingstome.“Please.”

“Iwantustobetogether.Tobe…”

Tobewhat?

DoIevenknow?

Maybenot.IjustknowIneedher.

Herfingersareinmyhair,pullingmymouthtohers,deepeningthekiss.

AndIknowshewantsmetoo.

Atleastinthismoment.

“Sayit,”Igrowlagainstherlips.“Sayyouwantthis.Thatyouwantme.”

Shepullsbackslightly,hergazeholdingmine,somuchfuckingemotionisflittering

acrosstheamberdepths.“Iwantyou.”

That’sallIneed.

Allreservationsaregone.

Ikissherhard,demanding,withallthepossessivenessI’vefeltforherovertheyears

andneverbeenabletoexpress.

Mine.

Mylipsliftfromhersonlylongenoughtopullmyshirtovermyhead,todothesame

tohers,shreddingeverypieceoffabricthat’sbetweenus.

She whimpers when I trail a line of kisses down her neck, across her collarbone,

teasinghernipplesbrieflybeforegoinglower.

“Beautiful,” I murmur against her skin, as I look up, catching her gaze, that never

leavesmine.

Her hands tighten in my hair and I move between her thighs, swirling my tongue

acrossherclit,beforedelvingdeeper,tastingher,sucking,licking,revelinginherragged
groansandthesofthissofpleasureonherlips.

Whenherbodyspasmsinpleasure,hermusclestighteningasherorgasmtakesover,I

rise above her, pushing her thighs wider with my own, so that my heavy shaft presses
againstherpussy.

Hereyesaredarkwithdesire,watchingmebeneathheavylids.

Shebucksherhipstowardsmycock,fingersdiggingintomyflesh,demandingly.

“Liam.”Hervoiceisastrangledcry.

I can’t wait any longer. Consumed by need, I thrust inside of her, and she lets out a

smallcryofpleasureasherbodystretchestotakeeveryinchofme.

Irestmyforeheadagainsthers,holdinghergazeasIslowlyslideinsideofher.

“You’resofuckingperfect,”Igroan,restinginsideherforamoment,soIdon’tspill

myselfinonethrust.Butwithherit’sdifficult.

It’sbeentoolong.

Wanting.

Needing.

Craving.

Ipulloutslightly,justtothetip,mygazeneverleavingherasIthrustinsideheronce

again,thistimegoingevendeeper.

Holyhell.

Shegripsmyshouldersforsupport,herhipsmovinginharmonywithmyownaswe

starttomovetogether.

The connection between us is almost tangible. I know that after tonight, I’ll never

survivewithouther.

This.Her.Shewillbemybreakingpoint.

Irunahanddownherthigh,bringingituparoundmywaist,andthrustdeeper.

Her fingers curl in the sheets, bracing herself as I slam into her harder, making her

moansintensifywitheachthrust.

Pleasure shoots through me, sizzling along every nerve. Every motion brings me

closer.Whenshecriesoutwithpleasure,hermusclespulsingaroundmycock,Ifallover
theedge,spillingmyselfsodeepinsideherthatI’mnotsureI’lleverrecover.

“Holy hell,” I growl, collapsing on top of her; my breath heavy, skin slickened with

sweat.

When I roll over, taking her with me and wrapping my arms around her, I have this

naggingfeelingatthebackofmyskullthatsomethingiswrong.Butit’sdrownedoutby
euphoria and a few moments later, with Kennedy wrapped in my arms I let myself drift
off.

I’lldealwithanyrepercussionstomorrow.

Asmiletugsatmylipsassleepconsumesme.Becauseforthefirsttime,inaslongas

Icanremember,I’mhappy.

ButlikeeveryounceofhappinessI’veeverfelt,Ihavenodoubtthiswon’tlast.

Itneverdoes.

C H A P T E R 1 0

ennedy

Present

I’

MANAGED

to avoid Thunder for the past few days, but I can always feel him, even

whenheisn’there.Likenow.He’sgoneout,andI’mleftpacingthefloorofhisoversized
apartment.

WhatamIgoingtodo?

Icareabouthim.

Hell,ifI’mhonestwithmyself,I’minlovewithhim.Havebeenforaverylongtime.

Buthe’sstill…Thunder.

He’snotboyfriendmaterial,letalonedadmaterial.Andfromthewayhe’sbeenacting

sinceImovedinhere,that’sexactlywhathewants.

Tobepartofthisbaby’slife.

Butthenwhat?

Igivehimthreemonthsbeforehiseyesstarttowander,andhetakesoffagain.

No.Ican’tdothis.Won’tletmyheartgettrampledonagain.

Onenight.

That’sallitwas.

Oneamazing,perfect,soul-consumingnight.

Irubmystomachandwincebecauseforeveritwillbesomuchmorethanthat.

Theapartmentdoorslamsshut,andIstartleatthesound.

God,I’vebeensodamnjumpylately,feelinglikeeverythingisabouttocomecrashing

downonme.

“OhmyGod,whathappened?”IflinchwhenIseetheblackeyehe’ssportingandthe

crackedlipthatbreaksopenandleaksfreshbloodwhenhefrowns.

“I’mfine,”Hesays,limpingslightlyashewalksintothekitchenandgrabsanicepack

fromthefreezer,placingitoverhiseye.

“You’refightingagain?”Itrytokeepthefearoutofmyvoice,butit’sthere.

“Justafewpracticematches,”hemumbles,notlookingatme.“Needsomethingtoget

mymindoff…”

Silencestretchesbetweenus.Painfulandlong.

“Letmelookatit,”Isay,movingcloser.

Hewatchesmewarily.

I know I hurt his feelings the other night when I pulled away from him. He’s been

evenmoodierthanhenormallyissincethen.

Taking the icepack, I touch the green and yellow patterns around his orbital bone.

“Lookslikeitwasmorethanapractice.”

Heshrugs,butdoesn’tgivemeanymoredetails.

“How’syourleg?Lookslikeyouwerelimping.”

“I’mfine,”hegrowlsout,steppingawayfrommeandgoingbacktothefridge,pulling

out a beer and uncapping it before taking a deep swallow. “I don’t need you worrying
aboutme.”

“Ialwaysworry.”

“Youshouldn’t,”hebitesout.

Iholdhisangrygaze.

“No.IguessIshouldn’t.”

Istarttoleave,andIhearhimmutteracurse,thenslamthebottleonthecounter.

“Ididn’tmeanthat.”Hegrabsmyarm,turningme.

Butthere’sstillsomuchirritationinhisexpressionit’slikeaslaptotheface.

“Idon’tunderstandyou,”myvoiceshakeswithemotion,andIhatethathedoesthisto

me. “One second I think you… care about me, and the next I’m pretty sure I’m the last
personyouwanttobearound.”

“Idocareaboutyou,”hegritsout.“Toodamnmuch.Butthis…it’shard.Harderthan

Ithought.”

Isuckinatremblingbreath.“Doyouwantmetoleave?”

“No.” The word is more of a command, and there’s a flash of fear that blazes in his

eyes.

Silence.

He’sstilltouchingme.Hishandonmyforearm.It’stheonlythingIcanfeel.Thatand

theintensitythatsparksbetweenus,readytoexplode,orconsume,orboth.

“Then…”Ilickmylips.“Whatdoyouwant?”

“Whatdoyouwant,Kennedy?That’sthequestionIneedanswered.BecauseI’dmove

thefuckingmoontogiveyouit.Youhavetoknowthat.”

Ido.

AndIdon’t.

Ourrelationshipissodamnconfusing.

AndI’mnotsureifwhatIwantisevenonhisradar.

Him.Us.Afamily.

“I…”Fearsqueezesmythroatclosed.“Icareaboutyou.”

“Care?”Hislipstighten,nostrilsflare.

Maybethat’snotwhathewantedtohear.Butit’sthetruth.Atleasthalfofit.

“Yeah, I care.” I lift my chin and straighten my back. “Sorry if that makes you

uncomfortable. But you’re my best friend. And even if nothing else, I can’t…” Stupid
tearsburnmyeyes.“Idon’twanttodothiswithoutyou.”

His arms are around me. “I already told you, I won’t let you. I’m here for you. No

matterwhat.”

God,Ifeelsotiredrightnow.Emotionallyandphysically,liketheweightoftheworld

ispressingdownonme.Likemydamnlifeisoneofthosemassivethousand-piecejigsaw
puzzles,andI’mmissingthemostessentialpieces.

His palm rests on my cheek. Soft. Gentle. Like I’m the most precious thing in the

world. And yet at the same time his expression is hard, edged with an underlying anger
thatIdon’tunderstand.

“I’mexhausted.”Iplacemyhandsonhischest,andpushaway,buthedoesn’tletme.

“Youstilldidn’ttellmewhatyouwant,”hisvoiceisgentlernow,almostbeggingme

forananswer.

“Areyoureallythatblind?”Iblink,andatearfallsacrossmycheek.

“Tellme,Kennedy.Anythingyouwant.It’syours.”

My breath hitches, and before I can stop myself I say the words I know I’ll regret.

“You,Liam.Iwantyou.”

C H A P T E R 1 1

hunder

HEART

POUNDS

in my chest, wild, crazy, and something primal inside me, comes

undone.Butthenthere’smydamnhead,remindingme,warningmethatshe’ssaidthose
wordsbefore.Andlookhowthatturnedout,withherrunningstraightintomybrother’s
arms.Herpregnantwithhischild.

Butshe’sback.

She’shere.

AndwhereKennedyisconcernedI’vealwaysbeenasuckerforpunishment.

I’vespentthelastmonthstryingtogetoverher.Toridmyselfoftheconstantachein

mychest.Butshewasalwaysthere.

Always.

Because you can’t live without your heart, and that’s what the woman was. An

essentialpartofmybeing.

Myfingerscupthebackofherhead,tanglinginthedarkwaves.

“Youhaveme.Everymessedup,shreddedpartofmysoulisyours.”

Herlipstremble,quiveringwiththedeepbreathshetakesin,andIseethedoubtinher

eyes.

“Thunder…”

Fuck. I prefer my real name on her lips. It almost feels like she’s put a barricade

aroundherselfbyusingthatdamnnickname.

Ilowermymouthtohers.

Soft.

Slow.

Taking my time, until I feel some of her reservation leave her, until her body molds

into mine, and she returns the kiss with all the pent-up emotion that’s been building
betweenusforGodknowshowlong.

Mine.

That’s what she is. What every cell in my body cries out as her palms skate up my

chest,aroundmyneck,pullingmecloser.

Whenwekiss,Ifeelit.Theconnection.Herwillingness.Herheart.Itbeatsforme,not

myfuckingbrother.

Ipushthedamnthoughtaway.Colindoesn’tbelonghere.Thismomentismine.And

soisthegirl.Iplaceonehandonherstomach.Bothofthem.I’llmakedamnsureofit.

Bendingdown,Ipickherup,andsheletsoutasmallcry.“Whatareyoudoing?”

“Takingyoutobed.”

“Putmedown,you’regoingtobreakyourback.”

Isnort,becauseitisn’tuntilshe’sinmyarmsthatIrealizehowlightsheactuallyis.

Toolight.I’mgoingtohavetochangethat.

“Didyoueattoday?”

“Yes.”

Iraiseaneyebrowather.

“Idid.Ipromise.”

Ikissherforeheadandgentlyplaceheronmybed.

Thisiswhereshebelongs.Notinthatdamnguestroom.

She’swatchingmethroughhoodedeyes,andIseethemixofdesireandreservation

there.

MaybeI’mgoingtooquickly,butIneedtomakehermine.Makeherrealizewhoshe

belongsto.

Ipullmyshirtovermyheadanddiscarditonthefloor.Shekeepswatchingme.When

Imovetowardsher,crawlingacrossthebed,Ican’tignorethefearIseeinhereyes.

“What’swrong?”

“Nothing…”

“Youdon’twantthis?”

“I do… I just.” She glances down and bites her bottom lip. “Look at me. You can’t

want…”

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You’re gorgeous, Kennedy. But if

you’reworriedaboutthebaby…”

“No.Ireadthatit’s…”Colorcreepsuphernecktohercheeks.“It’sfine.Iwantthis.I

wantyou.”

“You’resure?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”Igrindownather,andslowlystarttoundressher,murmuring,“Letmesee

you.”

Whenwe’rebothnaked,sheclingstome,andthelookinhereyesstirsmorethanjust

passion,itstirsthatprimalplaceinmysoulthatwants—noneeds—toprotecther.

“You’resafe,”Imurmuragainstherlips,positioningmyselfontopofher,carefulnot

toputtoomuchweightonherstomach.

We start slow, but the days, the months apart, have felt like torture, and my own

desperateneedbeginstoescalate,returnedbyherowndemandingrhythm.

“Mine,”Igrowlagainstherneck.“You’remine,Kennedy.Sayit.”

“I’myours,”shewhimpers,backarched,eyesclosed,asherbodyridesthefirstwave

ofpleasure.

Whenmyself-controlfinallyoverridesmyneedtoholdontoeveryperfectmoment,I

allow the waves of pleasure to rip through me, spilling myself deep inside her, and I
realizeinthatmomentthatIforgettouseacondom.

Notthatitmakesanydifference.She’salreadypregnant,andI’mclean.Butstill,it’s

notlikemetobesocareless.Butwithher,myheadisn’tscrewedonstraight.Neverhas
beenwithher.

Icupherpreciousfaceinmyhandsandholdhergaze,mycockstillburiedinsideof

her,andIwhisperthewordsI’dbeentooafraidtosayuntilnow,“Iloveyou,too.”

C H A P T E R 1 2

ennedy

ORNING

SUN

BREAKS

through the blinds, and I stir in Thunder’s bed, feeling…

incredible.It’sbeenalongtimesinceIwokeupwithouttheheavinessthat’sbeenpressing
downonmychestsinceIfoundoutIwaspregnant.There’sasmallflickerofhopeinside
methatfeelslikeeverythingjustmightbeallright.

Thefeelingonlylastsasplitsecond.

A woman’s voice carries down the hall. Shrill and familiar. My heart stops and the

hairsonthebackofmyneckstandonend.

Irollover,findingThundergone.

He loves you, my heart reminds me. He told me. But still, the knot of jealousy that

formsinmythroathasmequicklyputtingonmydiscardedclothes,andstartingtowards
thevoices.

“What are you doing here?” Thunder is standing with his back to me, shirtless, the

musclesinhisbackbunchingwithtension.

OnemorestepandIseewhy.Allmyfearsconfirmed.

Jennifer Flynn is standing in the doorway, practically shoving her silicone breasts in

hisface.Herhandisonhisarm,manicuredfingerstrailingacrosstheinkseductively.

“Imissedyou,”shepurrs.“Andyouhaven’treturnedmycalls.”

Myheartsinksinmystomach.It’slikeCaliforniaalloveragain.

I’d used the plane ticket Colin had given me. He was playing in Los Angeles, and I

knew Thunder was covering the game. There hadn’t been much communication after he
lefttostarthisnewjob.ButIhadn’tthoughtmuchaboutit.Hewasbusy.SowasI.But
whenthenotone,buttenpregnancytestsshowedpositive,IknewIhadtotalktohim,in
person.

Myfirstmistakewasthinkinghe’dbehappytoseeme.

Mysecond,wasthinkinghe’dbealone.

BecausewhenIarrivedatthehotelandwenttohisroom,I’dfoundherinit.

“S

ORRY

.Ithoughtthiswassomeoneelse’sroom.”Mystomachdoesalittleflip,praying

thatthemanatthefrontdeskmadeamistake.

“Ifyou’relookingforThunder,he’sgoingtobeabitbusytonight.”Thewomangave

measalaciousgrin.

Irecognizedher.

“You’re his boss, right?” And his ex, at least that’s what the tabloids said. Thunder

neverconfirmedit,butbythewayshewasdrapedalloverhiminsomeofthephotosI’d
seen,Ineverdoubtedit.

“I’malittlebitmorethanthat.”Shesmiledanddrummedhernailsonthedoor.“But

thenhe’sahardonetopindownforlongerthananight.Igettheimpressionyoualready
knowthat.”

Tearsburnedmyeyes,blurringmyvision.

Thisisn’thappening.Itcan’tbe.Thunderwouldn’tdothis.Nottome.

Buttheevidencewasstandingrightinfrontofme.

UST

NOW

Jennifer’seyeswidenwhensheseesmenow,thennarrowwhenhergazelowerstomy

stomach.“Ididn’trealizeyouhadcompany,”shesaysthroughgrittedteeth,asnarlcurling
herlips.

Istandtherefrozen,mybreathcomingoutinsmallpants.

Thenhereyeswiden,andIknowsherecognizesme.

“You’rethegirlfromthehotel,right?”Shechucklesdarkly,movingaroundThunder

andstartingtowardsme.“WellIcanseenowwhyyouweresoeagertotalkwithhim.”

Thunderlooksatme,browsdrawndown.Andit’sclearthatshenevergavehimthe

messagethatI’dcomebyhisroom.

Mystomachtightens,andIcanfeelthetearsbuildingbehindmyeyes.“I’mgoingto

go–”

“Don’tmove.”Thunderpointsatme,thenturnsbacktoher.“Youneedtoleave.”

“Always so serious.” She bats her fake eyelashes up at him. “I was in town and

thoughtI’dcomeoverandgothroughthedetailsofyournewcontract.Ifyouhaven’thad
dinner,wecan—”

Thunder grumbles something I can’t hear, but Jennifer obviously does, because her

collagenfilledlipsturndowninapout.

“The offer won’t last forever. And neither will the contract.” She rakes her fingers

downhisarmandhecapturesherwristinhishand.

“Thingshavechanged.”

“I can see that.” She glances at me, disdain etched on her expression, then back at

Thunder.“Callmewhenyougetboredwithplayinghouse.Becausemenlikeyoualways
getbored.”

Heslamsthedoorandstandsthereforaminutewithhishandrestedonit,hisbackto

me.

“Ican’tdothis,”Isay,tearsbuilding,emotionstranglingme.“Notagain.Goafterher

ifyouwant.BecauseIcan’t…”

Istarttomove,needingtobeanywherebuthere,butthemomentIdo,heturnsand

pinsmewithalookthatstopsmeinmytracks.

“Don’teventhinkaboutwalkingawayuntilyoutellmewhatthehellshewastalking

about.”

“What does it matter?” I can barely say the words because my emotions clog my

throat.“Youmadeyourchoice.”

“Whatchoice?”Hemovesquickly,grippingmyshoulderswhenIstarttowalkaway.

“Kennedy.Whatchoice?”

“Her.Youchoseher.”

“Ihavenofuckingideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”

“You’regoingtostandthereandlietome?Aftereverything?Shewasinyourroom,

half-naked.Isawher.Talkedtoher.Shetoldmethatyouwereacouple.”

Theexasperatedlookonhisfaceonlymakesmeangrier.

“I saw you… after we… after we were together… you were already screwing her.”

Everywordistorture.

Hisfacedarkens,eyessparkingwithfury.“You’rekiddingme,right?”

“Isawher.”

“I don’t know what the hell you think you saw, but I didn’t touch her. Jesus Christ,

Kennedy.You’retheonlywomanI’vehadinmybedinoverayear.”

Ishakemyheadnotwillingtobelieveit.

“Isawher,”Irepeat,thistimemyvoicedoesn’tholdthesameconviction.“Shewasin

yourroom.”

Hiseyespinchclosed,andherubshistemples;whenheopensthemagain,henarrows

hisgazeonme.

“Whenwasthis?”

“IusedtheticketColingavemetogoseeyou.Duringthestartoftheplayoffs.You

werethere,coveringthegame.Iwanted…Ithought…”

Hislipstighten,andheshakeshishead.“Fuck.”

“So,youremember?”

“Yeah.Irememberfindingherthere.Uninvited.AndalmostlosingmyjobbecauseI

wouldn’tscrewmyboss.”

“Youdidn’tsleepwithher?”Hopeflashes.

“No.”There’svenomintheword.“Ofcourse,Ididn’tfuckher.Youreallythinkthat

littleofme?Weweretogether.AtleastIbelievedwewere.”

Thenwhyhadhespentthepastmonthsavoidingme?Ifeelsick.

“Ithought—”

“ThatIrantothefirstpairoftitsthemomentmybedgotcold?”Hechucklesdarkly

andhisnostrilsflare.“Isthatwhatyouneededtobelieveinordertobewithhim?Tomake
younotfeelsoguiltyabouttossingonebrotherawayfortheother?”

Acoldchilltricklesdownmyspine.

“You think…” I shake my head, unable to even comprehend what he’s saying. “You

thinkIwaswithColin?”

“It’salittledifficulttohidetheevidence,darling.”Heglancesdownatmystomach.

Goose bumps prickle my skin as the pieces of our fucked-up relationship start to

slowlycometogetherinmymind.

Asharppainslicesthroughmystomach,butI’mtoonumbtoevenreact.Istandthere,

staringathim,hopingthatthisisallahugejoke.

C H A P T E R 1 3

hunder

HIT

Yeah,I’mafuckingasshole.TheminuteIsaythewordsIwanttopullthemback.

“Ishouldn’thavesaidthat,”Isayquickly,butalreadythedamageisdone.

Buthell,maybeit’sbettertogetallthecardsoutonthetable.Becausethere’sapartof

methatcouldforgiveherforrunningoffwithhim,nowthatIknowshethoughtI’dbeen
withsomeoneelse.

“Iunderstandwhyyoudiditnow.”

“Why I did it,” she spits out. Her eyes pierce me with a glare. “You really believe I

sleptwithColin?He’s…likeabrothertome.I’dnever…”

The way she says it makes me second guess myself. But I saw her in his room.

Wearingonlyadamntowel.

Andthenthere’dbeenthetextfromColin,braggingthatshewaswithhim.

Atleastthat’sthewayI’dreaditatthetime.

ItwasthesameweekendshewouldhavethoughtshesawmewithJennifer.Idragmy

fingersthroughmyhairandexhaleheavily,tryingtorememberallthedetails.

POUNDED

on the hotel door, ready to put my fist through Colin’s face the moment he

answered.

There’d been anger that matched my own in his eyes when he’d met me at the door.

“You’rearealfuckup,youknowthat?”

Iglanceddownathisbarechest,thetowelwrappedaroundhiswaist,andIsawred.

“Where is she?” I pushed past him and froze when I saw her coming out of the

bathroom.

Wearingnothingbutatowel,hairatousledmess,lipsredandswollen,eyesbloodshot

likeshe’dbeenupallnight.

Withhim.

Myheartstopped.

There’snodenyingwhathappenedbetweenthem.

Andinthatmoment,IknewI’dlosther.

Ormaybeshewasneverminetohave.

ULLSHIT

Sheismine.

OratleastI’mgoingtomakesuresheknowsitnow.

“Idon’tblameyou.”

“Blameme?”

“Iknowhowyoufeelabouthim.Howyou’vealwaysfeltabouthim.”

Shelaughsbutthere’snohumorinit.“HowIfeelabouthim?”

“Justtellmenow.Areyoustillinlovewithhim?”

Sheshakesherhead,butherwordscomeoutharshandclipped.“No,Thunder.I’mnot

inlovewithColinandneverhavebeen.”

Iblowoutaheavybreath,thentakeasteptowardsher.Butshemovesawayquickly

andputsherhanduptostopme.

“Doyouknowwhatourproblemis?”shesays,softly.Toosoft.Anditmakesthehairs

onthebackofmyneckrise.“Wedon’treallyknoweachother.Notreally.”

“Ofcoursewedo.”Isteptowardsher,butshekeepsmovingaway.

“No.” She shakes her head, and this time there aren’t any tears. Just cold, hard

acceptance. “We talk. But we don’t communicate. Everything that’s important we keep
fromeachother.”

“That’snottrue.Nooneknowsmelikeyoudo.”

“Maybe.Butthat’snotsayingmuch,isit?Doyoueverletanyonein?”

“Iletyouin.”

“Enough that you’re willing to help raise your brother’s bastard.” She spits out the

word.

Thewayshesaysthelastwordmakesmewince.

“Why?”Hervoiceisraisednow,faceadarkshadeofred.“Whywouldyoudothat?

Forhim?Forme?Helpmeunderstandwhatyou’rethinking.BecauseforthelifeofmeI
havenofuckingclue.”

“Don’tdothat.”

“What?Behonest?”

“Pushmeaway.I’mtryinghere.AmIfuckinghappyyou’rehavingmybrother’skid?

No.ButI’mdealingwithit.Ithinkthat’sworthsomething.It’smorethanColiniswilling
todo.”

“God.You’resoblind.”She’sstartingtogethysterical,andwhenItrytoputmyhands

on her, she pushes me away. “I thought this was about us. But this whole time it’s been
aboutColin.Aboutyoubestinghim.Yourstupidjealousy.”

“Ithasnothingtodowithhim.”

“Everythingyoudoisabouthim.”

Iknowthere’ssometruthtoherwords,butit’snotthewholetruth.

“Maybe you’re right. I go insane when I think about him touching you, kissing you.

WhenIthinkaboutyouwantinghiminsteadofme.You’retheonlygoddamnthinginthis
worldI’veeverwantedtobeminealone.Soyeah,itmakesmefuckingcrazythinkinghe
hadyou.”

We stand there in silence, gazes locked, a myriad of emotions flickering across her

beautifulface.

Finally,sheopenshermouth,andwhenshespeaks,herwordsarebarelyaudible,“He

neverhadme.”

“What?”Somethinghardslamsintomychest—hopemixedwithdread,knowingwhat

herwordsmean.Andwhatafuck-upI’vebeen.

“Kennedy?”

Shelooksupatme,onlyregretinhereyes.“It’salwaysbeenyou.”

Iopenmymouth,readytoargue,whenIseethecolordrainfromherface.

“Thunder?” There’s fear in her eyes, and she grasps her stomach with one hand, the

otherreachingoutfranticallytofindsomethingtoholdonto.“Something’s…wrong.”

Ibarelyhavetimetocatchherwhenhereyesrollbackandherbodycrumplestothe

floor.

Blood.

It’stheonlythingIsee.

Dark. Red. It runs down her legs, and when I pull her into my arms, I can feel the

warmstickinesscoatingmyhands,mychest.

“Kennedy,lookatme,”Iyell,holdinghertightagainstmychest.

Hereyesflutteropen,butshedoesn’trespond.

Fear, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, strangles me. And for a split second I stand

thereparalyzed,notknowingwhattodo.

Callafuckingambulance,mybrainscreams.

Withherinmyarms,Imanagetofindmyphoneandmakethecall.

Ithoughtlosinghertomybrotherwasbad,butthis,feelingherlifeslipawayinmy

arms,istheworstfuckingthingI’veeverfelt,andIknowifshedoesn’tsurvive,neither
willI.

C H A P T E R 1 4

ennedy

OLD

That’swhatIfeel.

Cold,icyfingersthatsnakethroughmyveins,freezingmefromtheinsideout.

“Kennedy,lookatme.”Thunder’svoicereachesthroughthedarkness,butashardasI

try,Ican’t.

Thereareothervoices.

Sirens.

Brightlights.

It’slikeaterribledreamIcan’twakeupfrom.

“Mybaby.”Myvoiceisafaintwhisper.Ipleaformychild’slife.

“It’sokay.You’regoingtobeallright.”

ButIknowinmyheartIwon’tbe.

“Promiseme,”Iwhisperagainsthischest.

“Promiseyouwhat,sweetheart?”heasks,thedistressinhisvoiceconfirminghowbad

thisis.

“Takecareofourbaby.”

“No.Don’tdothat.You’regoingtobefine.Andwe’regoingtobeafamily.Youand

me,andourdaughter.That’swhatIpromiseyou.”

I want to believe him, but the cold is gone, replaced by nothing, and the last thing I

hearasIletthedarknesstakeme,isThunderscreamingmyname.

C H A P T E R 1 5

hunder

HANDS

ARE

SHAKING

,myclothesstillcoveredinblood,Kennedy’sblood,asIpullout

mycellandmakethecallI’vebeendreading.

“What?”Colin’svoiceishardontheotherendwhenhepicksup.

“Don’thangup,”Isayquickly.

“GivemeareasonwhyIshouldn’t,asshole.”

“Kennedy,”Isay,myvoicecatchingonhername.

Silence.

“Whereareyou?”

“Thehospital.She’s…fuck,therewassomuchblood,andshe…”

There’saharshintakeofbreathontheotherend.“Issheallright?”

“I…”Idragmyfingersthroughmyhairandclosemyeyes,theimageofherpaleface

flashinginmymind.“Idon’tknow.Noone’stoldmeanything.”

“I’llberightthere.”

I hang up, and sit down in one of the hard chairs and place my face in my palms,

praying to whatever god will hear me that she’ll be all right. But how the hell can one
personlosethatmuchbloodandsurvive?

Shehemorrhaged.That’sallI’vebeentold.Atearinherplacenta,orsomething.They

rushed her into surgery the moment we arrived by ambulance, and I haven’t seen her or
anyonewhocangivemeanyrealfuckinginformationsince.

“Mr. Forrester,” A male nurse about my age stands in front of me, holding a pair of

hospital pants and a shirt. “I thought you might like to change before you met your
daughter.”

Ipracticallyjumpfrommyseat.“Mydau-daughter…”Istutter.“She’sallright?”

“Sheis.”

“AndKennedy?”

Idon’tmisstheman’sfrown.“She’sstillinsurgery.ButI’llletyouknowwhenshe’s

out.GogetcleanedupandI’lltakeyoutothenursery.”

“Right.”Itaketheclothesfromhimandgotooneoftherestroomstochange.

Myeyesarebloodshot,myfacepale,asIwashthebloodfrommyhands,thensplash

coldwateronmycheeks.Strength.Ineeditnow.

Ihaveadaughter.

Alittlegirl.

Mylittlegirl.

Iknowthatnow.

Thefuckingpiecesofthepuzzlethathadbeenmissingallthesemonths,finallyfitting

intoplace.

Kennedy was right. I was blind. And stupid. But I won’t make that same mistake

again.Won’tleteitherofthemdown,everagain.

The male nurse leads me through the halls, past rooms with cooing mothers and

screamingnewborns.Whenheleadsmeintoalargeroomwithadozenemptycribs,and
pointsattheonewhereasmall,pinkbundleissleeping,I’mflayed.Myhearttornopen.A
rushofloveIneverthoughtpossiblefloodsfromeverycellinmybody.

“CanIholdher?”Iask.

Thenursesmilesandnods,pickingthesmallbundleupandplacingherinmyarms.

She’sperfect.Andso,fuckingtiny.

“Haveyoudecidedonaname?”

I swallow hard. Because it isn’t something we talked about. Hell, I only knew

Kennedywasexpectingalittlemorethanaweekago,andupuntiltoday,I’dthoughtthe
babywasColin’s.Ihadn’tthoughtofnames.Hadn’tthoughtitwasmyright.

Butthisbaby.Thislittlegirl.She’smine.Justlikehermother.Andtogetherwewould

nameher.ButevenasIthinkit,onenamepopsintomymind.Hope.Becausethat’swhat
sheis.Hopeofafuture.Ofafamily.

C H A P T E R 1 6

ennedy

HEAD

FEELS

likeanelephantissittingonit,andwhenItrytoopenmyeyes,theystay

shut.

Imoan,panickingwhenItrytomoveandfeelthetubesyankatmyarmandaround

mynose.

“Careful,” Thunder’s voice is around me, his hands large and warm on my face.

“You’reokay.Everything’sallright.”

Iblink,slowlyopeningmyeyes.“Thebaby…”

“She’shealthy.Andbeautiful.”Hekissesmyforehead,andforthefirsttimeinmylife

IswearIseeashimmeroftearsinhiseyes.

“Then…what’swrong?”

“Ithought…God,Kennedy.IthoughtIlostyou.”Hekissesmeagain.Mynose.My

cheeks.Mylips.“Ican’tloseyou,sweetheart.Ever.”

Myheartskips;thosebutterfliesthatonlydanceforhim,flutteraroundinmystomach.

Butevenmorepressingistheneedtoseemybaby.

“CanIseeher?”

“Of course.” He straightens and moves around the room, crouching to pick up a

swaddledbundlefromthecradle.

Whenheleansover,shiftingherinhisarmssoIcanseeher,I’mstruckbyhowperfect

she is. But a shadow falls over my joy as I remember the fight we’d been in before
everythingwentblack.

“Liam.”Iusehisrealname,needinghimtoknowthetruth.Toreallyhearme.

“Yeah?”

“She’s…she’syours.Inever…”

Hegivesahalfsmile,butthere’sasadnessinhiseyes.“Iknow.Ishouldhavealways

known.Iwastooblindedbyjealousytoseethetruth.ButIpromiseyouitwon’thappen

again.Justgivemeachance.”

I nod, feeling the weight lift. “We were both fools. I should have trusted you too.

Shouldhavetoldyou.”

“It’s the past.” He glances down at our daughter. “This is the future. And I think it

looksverygood.”

I’msoexhausted,butItrytokeepmyeyesopen.“Wehavetogiveheraname?Iwas

thinkingEvaformygrandmother,butshedoesn’tlooklikeanEva.”

Thundersmiles,thensays,“IlikethenameHope.”

“Hope,”Iwhisper,arightnesssettlinginmyheart.“HopeEvaForrester.It’sperfect.”

This time there’s no hiding the tears that fill Thunder’s eyes. He leans closer and

whispers,“Itisperfect.Justonethingismissing.”

“What?”

“Hermomshouldsharehername.”

MymouthopensbecauseI’mnotsureIunderstandwhathe’smeaning.“Thunder?”

“IlikewhenyoucallmeLiam.ButyouknowwhatI’dlikeevenmore?Foryoutocall

meyourhusband.Willyoumarryme,Kennedy?”

“Yes!God,ofcourse,yes.”

“It’saboutfuckingtime,”Colinsaysfromthedoor,holdingalargebouquetoflilies

andanoversizedteddybear.

I chuckle then glance back at Thunder to gage his reaction. He just smiles at his

brother,andIseesomethingpassbetweenthem—forgiveness.

“Idon’twanttointerrupt,”Colinsays,placingtheflowersandbearonthewindowsill,

then moving towards his brother, and placing a hand gently on Hope’s head. “But I did
wanttomeetmyniece.”

“Hope,”Isay,smiling.“Hername’sHope.”

Colin grins, “Sounds about right.” He pats Thunder on the shoulder and whispers

something in his ear that has him grinning, then leans down to kiss my forehead. “You
know the two of you nearly gave me a coronary this past year, but I’m glad you finally
figuredyourshitout.”

Thunderisquietforamomentafterhisbrotherhasleft.

“Whatdidhesaytoyou?”Iask,whenheputsHopebackinhercradle.

Thundershrugs,butgivesmeasheepishgrin.“Toldmehe’sgladIfinallygotmyhead

out of my ass. And…” He rubs the back of his neck, wincing slightly when he admits,
“Thathelovesme.”

“Hedoes,”Isay.“Webothdo.”

“I know that now.” He crouches beside me and takes my hand. “And I love you, so

much.”

A smile tugs at my lips, but weariness overwhelms me, and as hard as I try to stay

awakeIcan’t.

“Thunder…”

“It’sokay,sweetheart.Sleep.I’llbeherewhenyouwakeup.”

Iclosemyeyesknowinghewillbe.Trustingthatfinally,everythingwillbeallright.

That despite all our bumpy roads, and miscommunications, we’ll finally get our happy
everafter,anditallstartswithHope.

E P I L O G U E

hunder

HUNDER

Thunder.

Voicesboomaroundme.Cheering.Sometaunting.Afewbooing.ButIdon’tcare.I

lovebeinginthering.Lovetheadrenalinerush.Butevenbetteristheknowledgethatmy
wifeanddaughterarewaitingformebackinthehotelroom.

It’sbeenayearsincemylittlegirlwasborn,andsevenmonthssinceKennedyfinally

saidIdo,makingmethehappiestfuckerintheworld.

Icouldn’tbehappier.

ButwhenIgotthecallaskingmeforatitlefight,IknewIhadtodoit.Winorlose,I

neverturndownafight.

I beat one fist over my heart, where Kennedy and Hope’s names are tattooed across

mychest,thenshovemymouthpieceinmymouth,andgrinatmyopponent,wholooks
utterlyterrifiedtobestandinginthesameringasme.

Thebellringsandthefightstarts,withthekidswingingwildly.Ilethimlandafew

blows.Idon’twanttoembarrassthelittleprick.Buthehasnothingonme.

Oneuppercut.

Ashottotheribs.

Andaswiftkidneyshothavetheguystumblingbackintothecage.

Gab.

Kick.

Thekid’seyesrollback,andthenextthingIknowtherefisholdingmyhandabove

myheadannouncingmeaswinnerbyTKO.

Morecheers.

Thecameraisinmyface,announceraskingmequestions.

“What changed, Thunder? You retired. What made you decide to come back to the

cage?”

“Tokicksomeass,”Isay,grinning,playingthegame.ButthenIlookintothecamera,

knowingtheonlypersonwhomatterswillbewatchingme,andsay,“Ilostthebelt.Didn’t
thinkI’dfightagainbecauseofmyleg.ButIdon’tlikelosing.Don’tlikegivingup.Didit
onceandwon’tmakethesamemistakeagain.”

“So,doesthatmeanyou’recomingoutofretirementformorethanthisonefight?”

Ishrug.“Idon’tmakepromisesIcan’tkeep.Butrightnow,Iplanonspendingtime

withmytwoloves…mywifeandmydaughter.Theycomefirst.Always.”

Theannouncerkeepsaskingmequestions,butImanagetomaneuvermywaythrough

thecrowd.DoingwhatlittleIhavetoinordertogetoutofthere,andbacktomygirls.

By the time I open the door to the suite, it’s late, and I have no doubt Kennedy is

asleep.I’msodamnproudofher.Notonlydidshefinishthebookshe’dbeenworkingon,
but she found a publisher and it comes out next month. We’re both kicking more ass
together,thanweeverdidapart.

Itrytobequiet,butalightflicksonwhenIshutthedoor.

“Sorry,didIwakeyou?”Iask,pullingherintomyarmswhensheapproaches,herhair

atousledmess,likeI’djustwokenherup.

“I wanted to wait up.” She touches my lip with her fingertips. There’s a small cut

above it, but that’s the only blood the guy drew. Still, I see the concern in her eyes. “I
wantedtomakesureyouwereallright.”

“Youwereworriedaboutme?”Igrindownather.

Herarmswraparoundmyneck.“Ialwaysworry.”

“AndIalwayswin.”Ipressmylipsagainsthers.

Soft.

Warm.

Perfect.

“Youdefinitelywonme.”Shechucklesagainstmylips.

“Best prize ever.” I kiss her harder, hands travelling down her body, pulling at her

shirt,needingher.

Theneednevergoesaway.Hasn’tdimmed.Ifanything,it’sonlyintensifiednowthatI

knowshe’smine.

Always.

Forever.

ApromiseI’llneverbreak.

E X C E R P T : T H E N A N N Y A N D T H E B E A S T

CHAPTER1

Lucas

“WhothehellisEliana?”IshoutintotheintercomtomysecretarywhenIscanmyday’s
agenda. I just have a note in my diary: Meeting with Eliana, 10 a.m., with a goddamn
smileyfacenexttoit.

IfIcouldgethelp—anyhelp—inthisoffice,Iwouldbeafuckingtrillionaire,rather

thanabillionaire.

“Iam,”afemininevoicesays,makingmelookup.

Shit.

Atfirstglance,thewomanlookslikeatypicalall-Americancollegestudent,dressedin

a baggy Notre Dame sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans. Nothing special, until my gaze
landsonherface.

She’sgorgeous.Notthetypicalrunway-model,I-only-eat-salad-with-no-dressinglook

likemyex-wife,butthestrikingbeautyofawomanconfidentinherself,andhercurves.
Lush,bee-stunglipsthatpracticallybegtobewrappedaroundmycock.Large,doe-like
eyesthatcouldhaveanymanmeltinginapoolofromanticmushwithasinglelook.

ThankGod,I’mnotany man. I’m Lucas fucking Philip. Cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch

whoseemotionsarelockedbehindasteelcage.

Thewomanfidgetsasshemovesacrossthelargeroomtowardsme.

Mycocksays,HelloEliana.

Butmymouthsays,“Whatdoyouwant?”

She doesn’t flinch like most people would. Instead, she says calmly, “Your assistant

saidyou’refreetotalk.”

IhavetostopmyselffromrollingmyeyesbecauseIdon’thavethetimeorpatience

forwhatevermysecretarysaid.I’vefiredthewomanthreetimes,butHRkeepsinsisting

thatit’sunlawfuldismissal.

Bullshit.

She’suseless.Howisthatunlawful?

I’mprettysuremyfatherputsomethinginhercontractthatmakesitimpossibletoget

ridofher–he’stheonewhohiredher.Forwhatreason,Ihavenoidea.Sometimes,Iget
paranoidandthinkthatshe’ssomekindofspyforhim.Eventhoughhe’ssemi-retired,the
manisconstantlyinmybusiness,neverfullytrustingme,despitethebillionsI’vemade
thiscompany.

Butit’sneverenough.

Notforhim.Andnotforme.

ThisiswhereIthrive.Work.Makingmoney.

BusinessiswhatIknow.AndI’mfuckinggoodatit.Betterthangood.I’mthebestat

whatIdo.

It’s people that I have a problem with. Either they’re spineless cowards with no

independent thoughts of their own, or they’re backstabbing cheaters who are willing to
throwawaysixyearsofmarriageandtheloveofafive-year-oldgirl,allforameaningless
flingwiththepoolboy.

MystomachtwistswhenIthinkaboutmyex-wife.It’sbeenoverayearsincesheleft,

but it’s still a fresh wound to my ego. Just now, instead of pain, all I feel is anger and
bitterness.

And that’s what I project when I growl out, “Don’t just stand there. Tell me what

you’reherefor,soIcangetbacktowork.”

Dark eyes narrow on me and her lips purse slightly before she says, “I came to talk

aboutLily.”

Shit.Shemustbethenewhelp.Thewomanmymomhiredonmybehalfwhenthelast

nanny walked out. My cock hardens almost painfully when I think about the beauty
standinginfrontofmesleepingundermyroofforthepastthreeweeks.

HowthehellhadInotseenherbeforenow?Guiltcreepsintomychest.Iknowhow.

BecauseIworktoodamnmuch.

HasitreallybeenthatlongsinceI’dseenmydaughter?

Fuck.I’mnotgettinganyfatheroftheyearawards,that’scertain.

“And?”Iask,draggingmyfingersthroughmyhairandbreathingoutadeepsigh.

“Well,I’vebeenworkingwithherforalmostamonth,andyouandIhavenevermet.”

Iraiseaneyebrowinexpectationforsomebetterexcuseforherinterruptingmyday.

“And?”Irepeat.

Forthefirsttimesincesheenteredmyoffice,Iseeatraceofhesitation.Sheshiftsher

weightfromonefoottotheotherandsays,“Ithoughtitwouldbegoodforustomeet.”

I’m not sure why she thinks it’s so important. I have no doubt she’ll be gone by the

endofthemonth––orsooner.Onemonthseemstobethebreakingpointoftheprevious
nanniesI’vebroughtintotakecareofLily.

My daughter didn’t just inherit my good looks, she also got my cunning ability to

manipulateandcontrol.She’sdriventheprevioushiresawaythroughbrilliantlittletactics
thatwouldweardowneventhemostpatientofsaints.AsmuchasIhatetoadmitit,Ihave
toadmirethekid’sgusto.And,inallhonesty,it’smyopinionthatifyoucan’toutwitasix-
year-old,thenyoushouldprobablyfindanewlineofwork.

Eliana is watching me expectantly. Her tongue darts out across her lower lip, and I

havetosuppressthedirtythoughtsthatpopintomyheadwhenIthinkaboutwhatIwant
thatmouthdoingtomerightnow.

She’smydaughter’snanny.Completelyoff-limits.

“We’vemet,”Isaystoically,hardeningmygazeandmythoughts.“Anythingelse?”

“IwantedtotalkaboutLily.I’venoticedthatshe’sbeen…struggling,andIthought–”

“Iappreciateyourconcern.Now,ifyoudon’tmind,Ihaveworktodo.”Thelastthing

I need is some stranger to come in here, telling me what she thinks is wrong with my
daughter. I know exactly what’s wrong. Her mother left her, and her father is a selfish
bastardwhohasnoideahowtoraiseasix-year-oldgirlonhisown.

Unfazedbymydismissal,Elianacontinues.“I’mtakingLilytothezootomorrow.”

“Fine,” I mumble, keeping my gaze down and shuffling through the files in front of

me.

“Ithoughtyoucouldcomewithus.”

Igruntandlookupather.“Why?”

“It would be good for Lily. It’s a school trip. There was an option for the parents to

go.”Shelicksherlips,andadds,“AndIputyournamedown.”

My gaze jerks to hers. “You shouldn’t have done that. I have work to do. Important

work–”

“Moreimportantthanspendingtimewithyourdaughter?”

Whothehelldoesthiswomanthinksheis?

IfIsayno,I’manassholefornotgoing,andifIsayyes,I’mjustanasshole.

Imayhavemetmydaughter’smatchformanipulativebehavior.

“Sinceyouasked,yes,Ihaveameetingwiththemayorinthemorningandmultiple

meetingsintheafternoon.”

And,asifrightoncue,theuselesssecretarythatI’vebeentryingtogetridofwalksin

andblurtsout,“Actually,themayorcancelledthatmeeting,andIbookedyououtforthe
restofday,soyoucango.”Sheplacesacoffeeonmydesk,thenturnstoleave,justasfast
asshewalkedin,saying,“Youcoulddowithabreak.Weallcould.”

“Sara, get back here,” I holler. But, as usual, the woman ignores me and disappears

downthehall.

Fuckinghell.

ShebookedmeoutsoIwouldn’tcometotheoffice.Andshecallsherselfasecretary?

Right.AnotherthingtogotoHRabout.

Eliana is smiling at me, and there’s triumph glistening in her dark eyes. “Looks like

you’refree.”

“Lookslikeit,”Igrumble.

“Great.Lilyisgoingtobeecstatic.Wecantakethecar,orwecangoontheschool

buswiththerestoftheclass.”

“Hellno.”

Shelaughs,alight,playfulsoundthathasmyballstightening.“Ididn’tthinkso.Lily

saidtherewasnowayyouwouldcomeatall,letaloneridethebus.AtleastIcanprove
herwrongononeofthem.”

“Isthereanythingelse,Miss…”

“Sanders,”sheoffers.“ButyoucancallmeElly.”

Igrunt.“MissSanderswilldofine.”

Shegivesasmallnod,thenherexpressionturnsserious.“She’sagoodkid.Yourmom

said she has some behavioral issues, but honestly, I just think she needs more positive
attention.”

“Areyouapsychologist,MissSanders?”

Hercheeksturnashadeofred.“No.”

“ThenI’dappreciateyoukeepingyouropinionstoyourself.”

Her nostrils flare slightly, and she opens her mouth before clamping it shut on

whateversnippylittlecommentpoppedintoherhead,thengivesacurtnod.“Thankyou
foryourtime,Mr.Philip.I’llseeyouathome.”

Athome.

Asmallgroanbubblesupinmychest.

Sheturnstoleave,andIcan’thelpbutwatchherfirm,perfectlyshapedassasitleaves

myoffice.AndI’malmosttemptedtofollowher–home.

Ishoveahandthroughmyhairandcursethedirtythoughtsthatpopintomymind.It’s

beentoogoddamnlongsinceI’vebeenwithawoman.Atsomepoint,I’mgoingtoneed
tomovepastthepainofbetrayalthatmyexhasleftmewith.

Butnotnow.Notyet.Andespeciallynotwiththenanny.

CHAPTER2

Eliana

“Wedidit,”IsaytoSara,Lucas’secretary,whenIwalkoutofhisoffice,stilltryingto
shakeofftheboltsofelectricitythatracethroughmybody.

I’dseenpicturesoftheman,buttheyhadn’tpreparedmefortheeffectofbeinginhis

actual presence. Lucas Philip is power. It rolls off him in waves. It’s not just his size,
whichisimpressive.Sixfeetofpuremuscle.Orhischiseledjaw,therough,almostprimal
features,orthescorchingblueeyesthatsearmewithanintensitythatmakesmewantto
dropmypantiesandfuckhimrightthereinhisoffice.It’ssomethingmore.Aconfidence
thatscreams,Icanmakeallyourmostwickedfantasiescometrue.

He’syourboss,Iremindmyself.Nottomentionthathe’satleasttenyearsolderthan

me,abillionaire,andwayoutofmyleague.

“Ican’tbelieveit,”Sarasays,comingaroundherdeskandpeeringovermyshoulder

asifexpectingthemantocometearingdownthehallatanytime.

NotthatIblameher.Themanismorethanintimidating.He’sscaryashell.ButIgrew

upwithtwoolderbrothers,andIknowhowtodealwithmenlikehim.Holdyourground,
andnever,ever,showfear.

“I thought he’d come up with some other excuse.” Sara smiles and shakes her head.

“Themanissostubborn.”

“Justlikehisdaughter.”Ichuckle,thinkingabouthowsimilartheyactuallyare.Right

downtothesandyblondhairandblueeyes.

“I’ve never met her, but from how quickly she’s gone through nannies, I can only

imagine.Youmusthavethepatienceofasainttostillbeworkingwithher.”

“It’sbeen…interesting.”Ilaugh,thinkingaboutthepranksthekidhaspulled.Thefirst

nightIwasthere,allofmyshoesdisappeared.Thegroundskeeperfoundtheminthepool
thefollowingmorning.IknewthenIwasgoingtohavemyhandsfull.

It’sbeenaroughfewweeks.ButLily’sbehaviorhasbeenbetter,andIfeellikeI’ve

actuallystartedtoconnectwithher.

“Shereallyisagreatkid.She’sjuststarvedforaffection.Itcan’tbeeasynottohave

eitherparentaround.Ifeelsorryforher.”IglanceovermyshouldertowardsLucas’office.
“Andforhim.”

The man is snarly, arrogant, and obviously angry at the world. But behind the cool

mask he wears, there’s pain and rejection. It’s the same thing I see in Lily’s eyes. The
samethingthatstirssomethinginmychestandmakesmewanttohelpthemboth.

CHAPTER3

Lucas

LilyisasleepwhenIgethomefromwork.Itriedtogethomeearlier,butIgotstuckina
conferencecallwithaclientinTokyo.

GuiltspiralsinmychestwhenIopenthedoortoherbedroomandglanceinather.

Onetinyfistclutchesthepink,stuffedbunnyIboughtforherlastbirthday.Ireachout

andstrokemyknucklesacrosshercheekandsigh.

I’ve been a shitty father this past year. I know it. Hell, everyone knows it. But I

honestlyhavenoideawhatI’mdoing.Atleastatwork,Icancontrolthings.WithLily,I
feellikeeverythingIsayanddoiswrong.

“Daddy?”Herlashesflutteropen.

“Hey,Princess.”Icrouchdownbesideher.

“Areyoureallygoingtothezoowithus?”

“Iam.”

Herfacelightsup.

More fucking guilt punches through me. I lean over and kiss her forehead, brushing

hercurlsawayfromherface.

“Gobacktosleep.”Istandandturntoleave.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”Idragmyfingersthroughmyhairandglancebackather.

“IlikeElly.”

Ittakesmeasecondtorealizeshe’stalkingaboutthenanny.

“Canwekeepher?”

I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. It’s the first time she’s shown any real

connectionwithsomeonesinceStaceyleft.

“I’llseewhatIcando.”

Shegivesasmallnod,thencurlsbackunderthecovers.

“Goodnight,sweetheart.”IcloseherdoorwhenI’mbackinthehall,thenstarttowards

myroom,stoppingwhenIhearthesoftbeatofmusiccomingfromtheotherendofthe
corridor.

Theguestroomdoorisslightlyopen,lightspillingoutintothehallway,andashadow

darkensitspathforabriefmoment.

Eliana.

Itugatmytie,looseningit,andwillmyselftowalkintheoppositedirection.

Don’teventhinkaboutit,asshole.ButIamthinkingaboutit–thinkingabouther.And

myfeetignoremybrain’swarning.

Ineedtoaskherabouttomorrow’sagenda.Atleast,that’swhatItellmyselfasIstalk

downthehalltowardsherroom.

Raisingmyhand,I’mabouttoknock,whenIcatchaglimpseofthewomanthrough

thecrackinthedoor.

Fuck.

Wearing only a tight t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination, and a pair of lacey,

pinkpanties,Elianadancesaroundtheroom,herdarkhaircascadingoverhershoulders,
andacrossherbreasts.

MyballstightenandI’mimmediatelyrockhard.

Walkaway.

Thewomanisyoung.Ididsomeresearchonheraftersheleftthismorning.She’sa

student, just finishing up her last year in Epidemiology through online courses. Smart. I
likethat.Butshe’sonlytwenty-two.Almosttenfuckingyearsyoungerthanme.

Andshe’sLily’snanny.

As tempting as that sweet, curvaceous ass is, I need her taking care of my daughter

morethanIneedhertakingcareofmyachingcock.

If she saw me creeping around her bedroom, I’d probably end up with a sexual

harassmentsuitonme.

Butthen,she’stheonewholeftherdooropenwhileshe’sbouncingaroundhalfnaked.

Asifsensingmypresence,Elianastopsdancingandlooksoverinmydirection.Her

eyes go wide, her cheeks infusing with color, and she lets out a small squeal before
grabbingforapairofpajamabottomsthatlayattheendofherbed.

Shit.

“Youshouldkeepyourdoorclosed,”Igrowlout,unabletotearmygazeawayasshe

strugglestogetherpantson.

“I…Ididn’tknowyouwerehome.I’msorry.”

“Doyoumakeitahabitofdancingaroundhalfnakedinfrontofmydaughter?”

“I’m not…I wasn’t…” Obviously flustered, she takes a steadying breath and

straightens her shoulders before saying more calmly, “Lily has been asleep for hours. I
wasjustgettingreadyforbed.Andifyoumustknow,IkeepmydooropenbecauseLily
hasnightmares,andIwanttomakesureIhearherifsheneedsme.”

SincewhenhasLilyhadnightmares?Irubthebackofmyneckandwince.I’vebeen

gonetoodamnmuch.

“Just close it from now on when you’re changing,” I bite out, more harshly than I

intend.

Shegivesacurtnod.

Ishouldwalkaway,butinsteadIjuststandtherestaringatherlikeagoddamnstalker,

myballsaching,andmycockharderthanit’sbeeninyears.

Whythehelldoesthiswomanhavesuchaneffectonme?It’snotlikeIdon’thavemy

pickofwomen.It’sjustmyluckthatIwanttheonlyoneIcan’thave.

“Isthereanythingelse,Mr.Philip?”sheasks,eyeingmesuspiciously.

Icough.“Icametoaskabouttheitinerarytomorrow.”

“We leave at nine.” A small smile spreads across her gorgeous face. “I think you’re

reallygoingtoenjoyit.”

I doubt that. In fact, spending time with her and not being able to touch her seems

moreliketorturethanfun.

Onthenightstandbesideherbed,herphonelightsupwithanincomingtext.Iglance

downandfrownwhenIseethescreenshotthat’ssavedasherbackground.

It’sapictureofherandLily.Butthat’snotwhatgetsmyattention.It’sthesmileonmy

daughter’s face that makes my heart skip a beat, because it’s the first time since her
motherleftthatI’veseenthatlookonherface.She’ssmilingsobigthatbothherdimples
areshowing,aswellasthehugegapwherehertwofrontteethshouldbe.

Ipickupthephoneandstudythephoto.“Shelostherfrontteeth?”

“Lastweek,”Elianasays,movingtowardsme.

“Ididn’tknow.Thetoothfairy?”

“Shewasverygenerous.Whoknewthatatoothwasworthsomuchnowadays?”Her

lipsquirkupinasmallsmile.

Inod,andhandherthephone.Ourfingersbrushwhenshetakesitfromme,andIsee

thesmalltremorthatracesthroughher.

“Goodnight, Miss Sanders.” Better to walk away now before I do something I’ll

regret.

“Goodnight,Mr.Philip.”

Ihaveafeelingit’sgoingtobeaverylongnight,becauseIhavenocluehowthefuck

I’mgoingtofallasleepknowingthewomanisonlyafewroomsaway.

CHAPTER4

Eliana

Lilycomesboundingintomyroomjustasthesunpeeksthroughthedrapes.Jumpingon
topofme,shegivesmeadimpledsmileandsays,“Wakeup,Elly.It’stimetogotothe

zoo.”

“Okay,okay.I’mup.”Itickleherandshelaughs.“Whydon’tyougowakeyourdad

up?”

Herlittlefaceturnssuddenlyserious.“Hedoesn’tlikewhenIdisturbhim.”

“Ithinktodaywillbeokay.Hetookthewholedayoffworkjusttobewithyou.”

Her eyes brighten again, and she quickly changes the subject, “Macy said there’s a

newbabygiraffe.Itwasonlybornlastweek,butit’salreadyastallasDaddy.”

“Wow.”

“Didyouknowthatgiraffe’sarethetallestanimalinthewholeworld?”

“Idid.”

“Except for whales,” she continues to ramble on. “But they’re not really tall, just

long.”

Itrytokeepastraightfaceasshespoutsoffmorefacts.

“Areyoutwostillinyourpajamas?”Adeepvoicesaysfromthedoor.Lucasstands

therelookinghotassininhiswhitet-shirtthatstretchestightagainsthispowerfulchest,
anddesignerjeansthatlookliketheyhaven’thadmuchwear.

I’msurprisedheevenownsapair.

IimmediatelyflushwhenIthinkaboutwhathappenedlastnight.Himseeingmehalf-

naked.Thenhisbrieftouchwhenhehandedmemyphone.Theheatofhisfingersonmy
skin.I’veneverfeltanythinglieit.

Hadhefeltittoo?

Thewayhe’slookingatmenow,allcoolandaloof,Idoubtit.Maybeitwasallinmy

head.

“Daddy,”Lilysays,jumpingoffthebedandrunningtohim.

My heart practically melts when he scoops her up and presses and kiss against her

cheek. For a moment, his gaze softens, and I see something almost vulnerable in his
expression.

Helovesher.Thatmuchisobvious.Sowhydoeshepullaway?

“Gogetdressed,”hesays,puttingherdown.“Wedon’twanttobelate.”

Lilynods,anddisappearsdownthehall,leavinghimstandinginthedoorwayofmy

room,onceagain.

“Doyoualwayssleepin,MissSanders?”Hisbluegazeisnarrowedonme.

“It’sbarelyseveno’clock.”Isheserious?

Hegrunts,andturns,leavingwithoutsayinganotherword.

SomuchforthesoftnessIthoughtIsaw.Buthedoesn’thavetobenicetome.That’s

notwhyI’mhere.AslongasIcangethimtospendmoretimewithLily,I’vedonemy

job.Itmaynotbethejobhehiredmefor,butitistheoneheneedsmefor.

READMORE

E X C E R P T : P R E T E N D T O B E M I N E

CHAPTER1

Ross

The moment Brooklyn Walsh walked into my office I wanted her. No, scratch that, I
wantedtofuckher.Topullupthattightlittleskirtshewaswearinganddrivemyselfballs
deepintowhatwouldnodoubtbethesweetestpussyI’veeverhad.

But damn if it didn’t go against my one and only rule – never mix business with

pleasure.

Despitethewaymycockprotestseverytimeshewalksintotheroom,mysweetlittle

assistantwouldhavetostaythat.Sweet.Untaintedbymyperversedesires.Assistingmein
everyneedexcepttheoneIcan’tstopthinkingabout.

Today,Brooklyn’scurvylittlebodyissnuginalittleblackdress,thatwhilemodest,

screamsfuckme,please.Hell,Iswearthewomancouldmakeaburlapbaglooksexy.

She tucks a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear, and studies the tablet that

she’sholding.

I’vethoughtaboutfiringher.Thatwouldsolvemyproblem.Butfromthesmalldetails

Iknowabouther,sheneedsthisjob.Andinallfairness,she’sagoodassistant.Oneofthe
bestI’vehadinthefiveyearssinceItookoverthecompany.

ButwithBrooklynit’slikemycockhasamindofitsown.LikeI’msomehormonal

teenager and not a thirty-two-year-old CEO millionaire who can have any woman he
wants.

AnywomanexceptBrooklynWalsh.

Transferring her to another department crossed my mind. But I haven’t been able to

makethecall.Thetormentofhavingheraroundisnothingcomparedtohavingherassist
anyoneelse.

She’slookingatmenow,browsdrawndownwhenshetakesinmyappearance.Ican

only imagine what she sees. Still dressed in yesterday’s suit, I run my hand across the

scruffonmyjaw,thenthroughmymussedhair.

“What?”Ibark,makingherjumpslightly.

Sheglancesacrosstheroomtowardstheblackleathercouchandrumpledblanket,and

frowns.“Didyousleepherelastnight?”

Igrunt,refocusingmyattentiontothepaperworkinfrontofme.Yeah,I’dslepthere.

Becausetheonlythingthattakesmymindoffthetortuousacheinmyballsiswork.That
andthebottleofbourbonthat’shalf-emptyinthebottomdrawerofmydesk.

“Coffee?”Theliltofhervoicemakesmelookup.

Badmove.She’sstandinginfrontofme,andwhenshereachesovertoplaceacupin

front of me, I can see straight down the front of her dress to the pink satin bra she’s
wearing.

Holyhell,I’monehundredpercentscrewed.

I groan, and her gaze flashes to mine, eyes widening. So innocent, and yet so damn

inviting,Iswearmycockisgoingtoburstthroughtheseamsofmypants.

Downboy.

“Sit.”ThewordcomesoutharsherthanIintended.

She bites on her bottom lip and sits in the chair across from me, adjusting her dress

nervously.

IknowfullwellthatIscareher.I’mahardmantoworkwith,butwithherI’vebeen

evenmoredemanding.Morecallous.I’msurprisedshe’slastedaslongasshehas.Most
peoplewouldhavequitweeksago.

But not Brooklyn. Despite the sweetness about her, she’s tough. Like there’s a steel

ironinsideher,underallthoselusciouscurves.

“Yourfathercalled.”

My head jerks up at that, because I know the second part of that sentence will only

fuckwithmylifeonewayoranother.

I’dhopedhewouldtakeiteasywhenhehandedoverthecompany’sreinstome.With

hishighbloodpressure,retirementwasexactlywhatthedoctorordered.Nottomention
thathe’dletthebusinessslip.

It took two years to get it out of the red, and another two to clean up the mess he’d

created.So,whenmyfathersaidthathewasrunningforoffice,Ithoughtitwassomekind
ofajoke.

“And?”Idemand,tappingmyfingersontheedgeofmydeskwaitingforhertodrop

thebomb.

“HewantedtomakesureyouwerestillgoingtotheGladstoneCharityEventtonight.”

Shit.I’dforgottenallaboutit.

“WhenIspokewithhim,hesoundedprettypersistentthatyoubethere.And…”She

wincesandlooksaway.

“Andwhat,MissWalsh?”

“That you bring a date and not the same…” She bites back a small smile. “…floozy

youbroughttothelastone.”

I grunt and lean forward, forearms resting on my desk, and mentally go through my

backlogofwomen.Butthethoughtofspendingtimewithanyofthemisasappealingas
shovingmyhandinablender.

WorkistheonlyrelationshipIhavetimefor.ThelastthingIneedisanotherfemale

tryingtodigherclawsintomybedandbankaccount.Andthat’sexactlywhatwillhappen
ifIinviteanyoneofthewomeninmylittleblackbook.

Ineedsomethingsimpler.

Thethoughtofcallinganescortfeelsdesperate.AndI’vealreadyhadonehumiliating

experience that I’ll never live down. The last time I hired a companion for the evening,
mostofthemenattheeventhadrentedheroutbefore.Shespentmoretimehandingout
cardsthanactuallybeingmydate.

Shewasn’tthemostexpensiveescortonthebooksbecauseshewasgood.Shewasthe

mostexpensiveonebecauseshewaspopular.Thewholefuckingthingwasembarrassing.
Theideathateveryoneknewthatmydatewasanescortisonescandalthatmyfatherhas
neverletmelivedown.

I could go without a date, but that will only tempt the cougars and gold diggers to

thinkI’mstillonthemarket.WhichI’mnot.I’vemarriedmyselftothiscompany,andfor
nowthat’sallthecompanionshipIneed.

“Mr.White?”Brooklyn’swatchingme.Hertonguedartsoutacrossherplumpbottom

lipandIalmostgroanoutloud.

Thelittletemptressdoesn’tknowwhatshedoestome.

“What?”Isnap,lookingawayandtryingtothinkofanythingbuther.

“Wouldyoulikemetocalloneofyour…femalefriendstoescortyou?”

“Thatwon’tbenecessary.”

Becausethesolutiontomyproblemisstaringstraightatme.

No fucking way. I shake my head and focus on the contracts in my hand. Taking

Brooklyn anywhere outside of this office is a very bad idea, because the minute I allow
myselfonetouch,IknowIwon’tbeabletoholdbackfromconsumingallofher.

Shelooksatmewiththosebiggreeneyes,andIknowshehasnoideawhatI’mtruly

capableof.Whatkindofmanisunderthedesignersuits,andcold,calculatedmannerisms.

Iamthebigbadwolfthathermotherwarnedherabout.

Thegirlistoofuckinginnocent.

Andshe’smygoddamnassistant.

Keep your paws off her, my brain screams, despite the persistent pulsing bulge

betweenmylegs.

Butdamn,asI’mgivinghernotes,watchingherpinklipspoutasIspilloutatonof

choresforhertodobylunchtime,Ican’tgetthethoughtoutofmyheadthathersweet
littlebodywasmadeforme.

Ineedtogothroughmyblackbook.Tryandfigureoutsomeoneelsetotaketothis

damnparty.

“Canyoudoallthisbeforetwelve?Ineedtoleaveearlytoday.”

Shesighs,buttriestohideherfrustrationatmytightdeadlines.

MyphonebuzzesandIcurseundermybreathwhenIreadmyfather’stext.Ella,my

ex.Theonethatneverseemstogetthefuckingmessagethatwe’reoveriscomingtonight.
EvenmorereasonwhyIneedtofindadate,andfast.

IwasfuriouswhenIfoundoutmyfatherhadhiredhertohelphimrunhiscampaign.

But then he never could resist a pair of long legs and a pretty face. And Ella had both
goingforher.Whatshedidn’thavewasaheart.

Orifshedid,itwasmadeofpureice.ThewomanwasascoldandcalculatingasIam.

Theonlydifferenceisthat’sallthereistoher.She’llstopatnothingtogetwhatshewants,
andwhatshewantsismeonaleash,andatencaretringonherfinger.

Sonothappening.

Anothertextpopsuponmyphone.

Pleasedon’tdisappointme,son.

Seeyouateight.

I’mstuckgoingtothisdamnparty,andplayingthepartofthedutiful,adoringson.And
that’sallitis,aparttoplay.IfIdidn’tneedtokeepupappearancesforthebusiness,I’d
tellmyfatherexactlywhathecoulddowithinvitation.

Buttheman’sputhimselfcenterstage,onceagain.

Trustdadtowanttorunforoffice.

IshakemyheadasBrooklynstaresatme.WhenIdon’tlookawaylikeIusuallydo,

herbrowsturndownandshestartstofidget,nervously.

“What?”

“Areyoufreetonight?”ThequestioncomesoutbeforeIhaveachancetostopmyself.

“Icanbe.”Shefrowns.“Isthereaprojectyouneedmetoworkon?”

Itakemytimetowordthiscarefully,becauseforthefirsttimeinmylife,Iamworried

aboutarejection,somethingthatI’mnotaccustomedto.ButI’mfuckingdesperate,andI
knowthatIcan’tdemanditofher.BecauseIneedherhelp.

CHAPTER2

Brooklyn

TosaythatI’mexhaustedisanunderstatement.IstartateighteverymorningandifI’m
lucky I leave by the same time in the evening, but I suspect that tonight’s going to be
different.Thewayhe’slookingatme,tellsmehewantssomethingmorethanmyusual
twelvehourshift.

I’m tempted to say, ‘Yes, sir. Do you want anything else? Like for me to drive to

Chicagoandbackbeforetheendoftheday?’

Butsarcasmdoesn’tgooverwellwithmyboss.Actuallynotypeofhumordoes.He’s

themostseriousmanI’veevermet.

Dark.

Brooding.

Andsexyassinonastickwithwhipcreamontop.

Focus,Brooklyn.Themaniswayoutofyourleague.

I smile at him, the same way that I do every single time he asks me to do the

impossible.

Theman’saslavedriver.AlwayswantingmorethanIcangive.

He’s obsessed with work. Maybe that’s the role of being a CEO, being on top of

everything.Ormaybeit’stheperfectionistinhim,drivinghimtoalwaysachievemore.

Buthowmuchmorecanonepersonseriouslyneed?Orwant?

He has staff. A lot of them, nearly two hundred employees and he is obsessed with

micromanagingnearlyeveryone.

Includingme.

ButIwon’tquit.

Becauseleavingmeansgoingbackhomeorevenworse,backontheroad.

Ihaven’tbeenhomesinceIgraduatedfromhighschoolandI’mnotabouttogoback

now.Itisn’tanoption.Ever.

Gettinganotherjobseemsliketheeasiestsolution,exceptthatittookmesixmonths

tolandthisone.Beforethat,Iwasworkinginacoffeehouse,barelyabletopaymyhalf
oftherent.

Pricesinthecityareoutrageous.

Ineedthisjob.AndworkingwithRossWhiteisn’tcompletelyterrible.Whenheisn’t

growlingatme,orshoutingorders,hecanactuallybekindofsweet.Well,maybesweet

isn’ttherightword–morelikecivil.

Italsodoesn’thurtthathelookslikehe’sbeenpluckedoffaGQmagazinecover.Dark

hairthat’salwaysmussedjustright.Clear,intelligentblueeyesthatsmolderwithpromise.

Justnotforme.

He’s made it very clear that our relationship is one hundred percent business. I’ve

neverhadamangosooutofhiswaytomakesurehedoesn’ttouchme.

It’sfine.Idon’tdorelationships.Orsex.

I’mjuststartingtogetmylifeontrack.

Nothing,notevenMr.Tall,Dark,andDeliciouslyBroodingwillgetinmyway.

CHAPTER3

Ross

“Ineedyourhelp,MissWalsh.Butit’llmeangoingbeyondwhatIpayyoufor.”

Herexpressiongoesfromguarded,tointrigued,tofulloutsuspicious.

“Iwantyoutoescortmetonighttothefunction.”

Hermouthdropsopenslightly.“Youwantmetobeyourdate?”

“Strictlybusiness,ofcourse,”Iaddquickly.

“Ofcourse.”Hertoneisanechoofmine,stoicandreserved.ButIcanpracticallysee

thewheelsspinninginsidethatprettylittleheadofhers.ShethinksI’muptosomething.

AndIam.

“Whyme?”Hergreeneyesnarrow,regardingme.

“Idon’thavetimetocallanyoneelse.”Knowingthewordsarealittletoocurt,Iadd,

“AndIthinkmyfatherwouldappreciateyouoverthefloozyItooktothelastevent.”

Thatcausesasmallsmiletoplayonherlips.

I shake my head thinking about the reason that I’ve kept our relationship merely

professional.She’smyassistantandapartfromnotwantingasexuallawsuitonmyhands,
she’swaytooyoung.Christ,thewomanispracticallyadecadeyoungerthanme.

“Ifyou’rebusy–”

“No.”Thewordcomesoutinarush,andhercheeksturnashadeofpink.“Imean,I’m

free.Ifyouneedmyhelp.”

Thisfeelslikeabadidea.

BecausenomatterhowhardItrytodenyit,Iknowthiscanonlyendoneway.With

herinmybedandmycockburiedballsdeepinsideher.

READNOW

E X C E R P T : H O T T A K E O V E R

CHAPTER1

Alicia

“Alicia,didyouhearme?”

I set aside the design I’m working on and look up at the woman who’s currently

hoveringoverme,blondehairpulledtightinabun,greeneyesfilledwithmaliceasthey
rakeoverme.

CynthiaBriggs.

Myboss.

TheonethatignoreseverydesignIsendher.

“Yes?”Iforceasmile,butonelookatthewoman’spinchedfaceandallthefrustration

thatIletgoofduringthismorning’syogasession,slamsintome.

Ibreatheoutthroughmyclenchedteethandtrynottoshowmyagitation.

The company I work for is Love Lace. The name implies that we sell sexy lingerie.

Yet,sheinsistsonproposingthesamedesigns,seasonafterseason.

Boring.Unenticing.Granny-pantiesmadefromspandex,ratherthanlace.Nottheracy,

provocativepiecesthatIbelieveourcustomersarecraving.

TheonesIdesign.

There are others in the room, a couple of senior managers and designers, and I see

themstiffenandturnawayasnottoincurherwrath.Theyallknowthathervisionforthe
company is the reason we’re in the red. But no one is willing to risk their necks to do
anythingaboutit.Andbecauseofthat,we’reallprobablygoingtobeoutofajobbythe
year’send,ifnotsooner.

“Inmyoffice,now.”Cynthia’svoiceisshrillandsendsashiverdownmyspine.

I’m in trouble. And I know why. She’s angry about the designs I sent her for the

upcomingholidayseason.

Slowly,Ipushmychairbackandstandup,thenfollowbehindherassheclicksand

clacksdownthelonghallwaytowardheroffice.

Shecouldhavehadhersecretarycallmeinsteadofmakingasceneinfrontofmyco-

workers. But that’s not Cynthia’s style. She likes – no loves – to assert her power
whenever she can. Especially with me. And humiliating me in front of my colleagues is
theperfectwaytodoit.

Whenwe’reinheroffice,sheslamsthedoorshut,thenstalksacrosstheroom,sitting

behindherlargemahoganydesk,withherfingerssteepledassheglaresatme.

“Sitdown,”shedemands,asmall,wickedsmilecatchingthecornersofherlips.

Now,I’mafraid.No,I’mpetrified.BecauseCynthiaisonlyhappywhenshe’sdoing

onething–makingotherpeoplemiserable.

Is she going to fire me? She’s been hinting at it for months. Always making empty

threats.

Ilovethisjob,anditwouldgutmetoloseit.

“Isthereaproblem?”

“I want to talk to you about the designs you submitted,” she says, still watching me

withnarrowedeyes.“Youstillseemtobeconfusedaboutthecompany’svision.”

Ispenttwoweeksworkingdayandnightonthedesigns.Butwithasimpleflickofher

wristsherejectedeachandeveryoneofthem.

The company should just change its name to Underwear For The Dead, because no

onewithapulsewouldbuythenewdesignsthatCynthiasuggested.

I bite my tongue and try not to lash out at her, but it’s so damn hard. The woman is

insufferable.

Myparents,friends,everyonethatknowsme,saysIshouldgetanewjob.Theydon’t

understand why I stay. Some days I don’t understand myself. I’m going nowhere fast. I
shouldquit.ButeverytimeIgotogivemyresignation,Ican’tbringmyselftodoit.

Thisisn’tjustajob.It’smypassion.Ilovedesigning.Lovecreatingbeautifulpieces

and knowing that a small piece of fabric can change a woman’s mood, bring out a
confidenceinherthatshedidn’tevenknowshewaslacking.

Everywomandeservestofeelbeautiful,andthefactthatIcanhelpthathappenmeans

everythingtome.

I know what it’s like to be insecure about my body. I’ve struggled with my weight

sinceIwasthirteen.Neverlivinguptotheimagemymotherhadforme.

Evennow,atalmostsixty,mymomisslimwithouteventrying.Me,Isplurgeandeat

abowlofrockyroadicecream,andIgainfivepoundsthenextday.

It’sonlysinceIstarteddesigninglingeriethatIstartedfeelingcomfortableinmyskin,

because I could create pieces that aren’t only comfortable for a full-figured woman, but
alsoincrediblysexy.

“Alicia.” Cynthia’s sharp tone breaks through my thoughts. Arms crossed over her

chest,sheglaresatme.“You’veworkedhereforacoupleofyears–”

“It’sbeenfour,actually.”

Ididn’tthinkherexpressioncouldgetanymoredisdainful,butitdoes.

“We need to be able to sell fashionable pieces. We’re not designing lingerie for

brothels.”

Brothels?Issheserious?“Ithinkifwesurveyed–”

Again, she ignores me. “Our customers want class, style, not trampy pieces that are

practicallypornographic.”

Ifeellikestrippingoffandshowingherthatnoteveryonewantsspandexpantiesthat

startatthewaistandstopmid-leg.Neitherdotheywantbrasthatstartattheshouldersand
endatthewaist.

Whatcenturyisshelivingin?

Hungaroundtheroominframesarethecertificatesandawardsfromthefancydesign

school she attended. I’m tempted to prove one day that they’re all fake. She can’t be
qualified,becauseshedoesn’thaveaclueaboutfashion.Oraboutwhatwomenwant.

“Yourtimehereisover,Ms.Parker.”Thewordscomeoutcold,andemotionless.

“Excuseme?”Ifeelasiftheairisbeingsuckedoutoftheroom,becauseIcanhardly

breathe.

ThecompanythatIfeltwasmylifelinetofashionisbeingtakenawayfromme.Ihave

no social life, no love life, and I gave it all to Love Lace and she wants to take it away
frommebecauseIdon’tbelieveinspandex.

If that was the case then it should be called, Spandex Love. But, we’re not, because

we’resupposedtobesellingsexy,lacelingerie.

“Cynthia,please–”

There’s an abrupt knock on the door, which stops me from saying exactly what’s on

mymind.

“CynthiaBriggs?”Aman’sdeepvoicerollsthroughtheroomasthedooropens.

Iglanceovermyshoulderandfreeze.

Oh.My.God.

StandinginthedoorwayisthemostbeautifulmanI’veeverseen.

Tall,dark,andhandsomedoesn’tevenbegintodescribehim.

Dressed in a fitted suit, with a sky blue tie that matches his pale eyes, the man is

gorgeous.SogorgeousthatforasecondIforgetthatmybossliterallyjustsackedme.

There’s something familiar about him. I shake my head thinking that I’ve seen him

somewherebefore.IknowthatIhaven’t,atleastnowhereotherthanmydreams.

Foralong,intensesecondheholdsmygaze.Dark.Intense.Smoldering.Iswearthe

manispracticallyundressingmewiththosehypnotizingeyes.NormallyI’dbeoffended,
butwithhimI’mjustfreakishlyturnedon.

My heart begins to race, and my palms actually start sweating with the force of my

reactiontohim.

Thenheclearshisthroatandlooksaway,allbusiness.

“Ms.Briggs?”Heasks,eyesdartingtoCynthia.

Sheclearsherthroatandstutters,“Ye-yes.”

He’sevengothertonguetied,whichisquitethefeat.Thewomannevershutsup.

“I’mKillianScott.YouweretoldthatI’dbecomingin.”

Sheseemsconfusedormaybeshe’sanxiousassheswaysherheadtotheside,andfor

thefirsttimesinceshe’sstartedworkinghere,Iseeaweaksidetoher.OnethatIdidn’t
knowexisted.

“I-Ithoughtthatyouwerecomingtomorrow,”shemanages,regainingsomeofherice-

queencomposure.

“Idecidedtocomeintoday,”hesaysunapologetically,andIhaveafeelinglikethings

areabouttogetinteresting,becauseneverinthetwoyearsthatCynthiahasworkedhere
haveIseenhersquirmlikeshe’sdoingnow.

Hiseyesfixonmeonceagain,buthe’scooledtheintensityofhisgaze,andallthatI

seetherenowiscuriosity.“Andyouare?”

“Justleaving.”

Cynthiahasn’tactuallyfiredme,andifIcangetoutofherequickly,maybeshewon’t

havethechance,andI’llbeabletocomeupwithsomemiracleplanofhowtokeepmy
job.

Istarttowalkoutwhilehewalksin,fullyawarethathisgazeneverleavesme.

“Mr. Scott, what can I help you with?” Cynthia’s brittle words pull his focus away

fromme,andI’mleftbothdisappointedandrelieved.

Whoisthisman?

Someone powerful that’s for certain. And someone that clearly makes Cynthia

nervous.

AsI’mabouttoclosethedoorbehindme,InoticethatCynthia’ssecretaryisn’tather

desk.LeavingthedooropenasmallcrackIstayandlisten.

Isitright?No.ButthenIneedallthehelpIcangetifIhaveanyhopeofkeepingmy

job.MaybethisKillianScotthassomethingonCynthiathatIcanuse.

“I think you know why I’m here, Ms. Briggs.” His voice is that deep baritone that

makesagirl’spantiesmeltrightoffherwithoutasingletouch.Pure,hot,sexy,velvet.

“Ididn’tthinkyouwerecominginuntiltomorrow.”

“Itdoesn’tmakeadifference.I’veseenthedesignsthatyousentme.I’vealsotakenin

adetailedaccountofeverythingyou’vedoneoverthepasttwoyears.Thiscompanyisn’t
goingtomakeitifyoukeeprepeatingthesamemistakesoverandoveragain.”

Amentothat.

“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”

“For some reason I got two emails. The first one had designs that I thought were

perfectforthecompany.Laceyandsexy,exactlywhattheLoveLaceneedstostartgetting
backintotheblack.”

Cynthiablurtsout,“Theyweresentbymistake.Ididn’tknowmysecretarysentthem

toyou.ThemomentIfoundout,Isentyoutherightdocuments.”

“That’sthepartthatworriesme.Thefactthatthedesigns,whichwereperfect,were

sent by mistake and the spandex collection is your new proposal. It’s just not going to
work.I’vetalkedwithmanagementandthey’veagreedwithmydecisiontoletyougo.”

“No.Youcan’tdothat.I’m–”

“YouweregivenalifelineandIthinkit’ssafetosaythatyou’veblownit.”

“Do you know who you’re speaking to?” Her voice is two octaves higher than it

normallyis.

“Awomanwhoneedstostartlookingforanewjob.”

I hear Cynthia’s sharp intake of breath, then the click-clack of her heels coming

towardsthedoor.

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I quickly move away from the door and

down the hall towards my work area, unable to stop the grin from spreading across my
face.

WithCynthiagone,andmynewbossatotalhottie,maybetodayisgoingtobeokay

afterall.

CHAPTER2

Killian

“I’m not fucking leaving here.” Cynthia slams the office door, causing one of the
certificates on the wall to crash to the floor. The one that after a single day of
investigation,Idiscoveredwasn’treal.Likemostofhercredentials.

“Ifyoudon’tcalmdown,I’llhavetocallsecurity.”

Whenthelampcomesflyingatmyhead,Imakethequickdecisiontonotmakeitan

empty threat. I’ve been around enough women to know bat-shit crazy when I see it.
Pullingoutmycell,Imakethecall.

“Bastard,”shescreams,sendingastaplerzippingacrosstheroom.

A small warning about the woman’s unhinged mental status would have been nice

beforetheownerssentmeheretodealwithher.

Iusuallylovemyjob.AndthentherearedaysliketodaywhenIwonderwhythehellI

still do it. It’s not like I need the money. I made my first million at twenty-one, and my
firstbilliontenyearslater.

IknowbusinessandIknowmoney.GivemeoneandI’llproducetheother.

Atthirty-five,Iownmyownjet,ayacht,andseveralestatesacrosstheglobe,noneof

whichI’vemadeahome.

I hate being anywhere for more than a few months at a time. Never liked any place

enoughorbeengivenagoodreasontostaylongerthanthat.

It’swhyIenjoywhatIdosomuch.Thethrilloftakingsomethingthat’sbrokenand

fixingit.That’swhatdrivesme.AndonceIworkmymagic,Imoveon.

Love Lace is a smaller company than I usually work with. But Bernard Turner is a

friendofmyfather.AndI’mdoingthismoreasafavorforhimandhiswifethananything
else.

LikemostofthecompaniesIworkwith,therootoftheproblemispoormanagement.

TheproblemwithCynthiaisthatshe’snotjustbadmanagement,she’sjustnotgoodfor
the company. She has shares in a company that produces spandex, and that’s been the
reasonforherpushingherGod-awfuldesigns.

“Ms. Briggs, if you don’t leave the office peacefully then I’ll have no choice but to

exposeyourinvestmentsinSpandacare.”

Herfacegoespale.“I-Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”

Thewomanisterribleliar.

“Thecompanyhasbeenverygraciouswithyourseverancepackage,butIcanjustas

easilymakesurethatalldisappears.”

I’musuallynotanass,butshe’spushingmyfuckingbuttons.

There’saknock,thentwosecurityguardscomeintotheoffice.

“Ms.Briggs,”Isay,hernameawarningonmylips.“Thiscangoonewayoranother.

Eitheryouleavewiththesemenpeacefully,ortheydragyouout.”

Wereatastandoff.Gazeslocked.ButIhavenointentionoflosingthisbattle.

“Fine,” she hisses. “This company is pathetic anyways. I give it two months, maybe

three,andit’llbebankrupt.You’redoingmeafavor.”

Shewalksoutwithherheadheldhigh,limpingasshetriestobalanceherselfonone

shoe. The other one, thrown at my head in her anger, lies discarded in the corner of the
room.Shedoesn’teventrytoclaimit.

Whenshe’sgone,Idragmyhandsthroughmyhairandtakeaseatinthelargeleather

chair behind the desk, and glance around the office. The one that I’m supposed to be
workinginforashorttime,tryingtosortoutthemessthatCynthiacreated.

IsighasIthinkaboutthechallengethatI’vebeengivenatLoveLace.

She’sright.Thecompanyisintrouble.Bigtrouble.

But I’ve always loved a challenge. And this one’s no different. Plus, there’s the red-

haired beauty that was here when I first came in. The woman is one of Love Lace’s
mysteriesthatIhaveeveryintentionofunravelling.

I need to hold a meeting with the top managers. Not only so that I can introduce

myself,butsothatIcanfindouthername.

CHAPTER3

Killian

I’mholdingmyfirstcompanymeeting,andlikeeveryfirsttime,myadrenalineisspiked.
Ishouldbeusedtothesetypesofmeetings.TheoneswhereIhavetotellthestaffabout
thechangesI’llbemaking.Theonlydifferencethistimeisusuallytopmanagementleave
amicably.Especiallywhentheygettheirseverancepackage.

Everyone here must know what’s going on. Cynthia was shouting loud enough that

rumorshadtohavealreadyspreadlikewildfire.

And judging by the scared, doe-like eyes that meet me when I walk into the

conferenceroom,Iknowexactlywhatthey’rethinking.

Who’shegoingtofirenext?

And in all fairness, it’s a good question. Because it’s what I do – weed out the

unproductive.Getridofwhatdoesn’twork,andreplaceitwithwhatdoes.

But it’s more than just that. It’s also my job to find the rare gems that haven’t fully

maxedtheirpotential.

That’smyfavoritepartofthisjob.

Notthatshitthatwentdownearliertoday.

Buttherewasnohelpingit.Ijusthopeitdoesn’tgoagainstmewhendealingwiththe

staff members that are left. I learned early on that fear isn’t always the best motivator.
Praiseandrewardsworkmuchbetterintheend.

Thenagain,judgingbytheroundofapplausethattookplaceasCynthiahoppeddown

thehallwithoneshoe,escortedbythesecurityteam,it’sclearshewasn’tlikedorisgoing
tobemissed.

Iclearmythroat.“Goodafternoon.”

Silencemeetsme.

Blankstaresblinkback.

Theystareatmelikewastedzombies.

Dull.

Drained.

Nofireorpassion.

I expect reactions like this from nerds who spend too much time behind the screen,

whoaren’tusedtohumaninteraction.ThegeeksquadasIliketocallthem.Theonlytime
they’re used to communicating is if it involves sending a message via their phone or
whateverelectronicdevicethey’vedecidedistheirlifeline.

Iclearmythroatandstartagain,“Goodafternoon,mynameis–”

BeforeIcanfinishmysentence,shewalksin.Thered-hairedtemptress.Thewoman

whoIhaven’tbeenabletostopthinkingaboutallday.

“SorryI’mlate,”shesays,trappedbetweenthedoorandme.

Iwatchhereverymove.Soft.Feminine.Notfullyawareofherbeauty.Andyetstill

confident,andincrediblysexy.

Morethanadozenpairofeyesareonme,andtheonlythingonmymindis,what’s

yourname?

She’swearingatightblacknumberthatleavesnothingtotheimagination,andyetstill

shoutsclass.Ithugsherbodyinalltherightplaces.Andthosecurves.She’dputanyof
thoseVictoriaSecretsupermodelstoshame.

Inaworldwhereskinnyistherage,shewearshercurveswithconfidence.

Damn.

She’sprobablythetypethat’sbreakingheartsallovertheoffice.Thenagain,judging

bytheirvacantexpressions,Ifindithardtobelievethatanyofthemevenhavepulses.

“Ididn’tcatchyournameearlier.”

“AliciaParker,”shereachesouttoshakemyhand,andassoonasourpalmsconnect,a

flash of energy burns through me so hot that I swear I’m going to combust. But I don’t
wanttoletgo.Ican’thelpbutholdhersmallhandinmine,strokingthesoftskinwithmy
thumb.

Asmalltremorracesthroughher.Iseeit.Feelit.Theattractionmutual.

MyGod,butIwantthiswoman.

There’sasmallrumblingintheroom,acoupleawkwardcoughs,andIletherhandgo,

noticingtheredthat’screepedintohercheeks.

Shit.Nicemoveasshole.

ShemovesastrandtothesideandIcan’thelpbutnoticethesubtletattooonherneck

–abutterfly.Interesting.

“Andyou’reournewboss?”sheaskswhenIkeepstaring.

I’mblowingthis.

“No.” I shove my hands in my slacks and take a deep breath before continuing and

makingsuretolookanywherebutather.“I’mheretohelpthecompanygetbacktowhat
itwas.Afterthat,apermanentmanagerwillbehiredtotakeMs.Briggsplace.”

Again,noreactionfromtherestoftheroom,justmoreblankstares.

TheonlyreactionisfromAlicia.Asmall,almosthappygrunt.

“Istheresomethingyou’dliketoshare?”Iask.

“Cynthia leaving is the best thing that could happen to Love Lace. I know that’s

probablynotnicetosay,butit’sthetruth.”Shebitesherbottomlip,stoppingherself.

“Goon.”Inodather,wantingtohearmore.

She looks around the room, but when she doesn’t get any reaction, those gorgeous

grayeyesturnbacktome,andshesays,“I’vebeentryingtogetCynthiatoapprovemy
new designs, the ‘Charlotte Range.’ But she said…” Her tongue darts out over her lush
lips before continuing, “She said that it was a range that belonged to hookers and I was
way out of my league. But I think if we surveyed our customers, we’d see that what
womenwantisnotonlycomfort,butpiecesthatmakethemfeelsexy.”Sheglancesdown
andsayssoftly,“Evenifit’sfortheireyesonly.”

Idon’tsayanything,becauseI’mblindedbyherbeauty,andbythefactthatshepretty

muchreadmymind.There’salsothehintinherwordsthatsuggestsshenotonlyenjoys
designingsexypieces,butalsowearingthem.

God,whatIwouldn’tdoforaglimpseofthatimage.

“Sorry,Isaidtoomuch.”Shiftingnervously,shedragsherpalmdownherskirt.

IremembertheoriginaldesignsthatCynthia’ssecretarysentme.

“TheChristmasdesigns.Theonesthatweresentbymistake.Thosewereyours?”

Shenods,“Guilty.”

Isitdownandsay,“So,whydoyouthinkMs.Briggsdidn’tapprovethem?”

Sheshrugs,“Idon’tknow.I’veneverunderstoodhermanagementstyle.”

I don’t want to put their manager down, especially because I don’t know anything

aboutthisAlicia.Yes,she’shot.Andsexyashell.ButuntilI’vedonemyhomeworkon
somethingotherthanhermeasurements,I’llhavetokeepeverythingstrictlybusiness.

Shelicksherdrylips,andIthinktomyselfthatit’sgoingtobefuckinghard.

Probablynearimpossible.

ButI’veneverbeenonetomixbusinesswithpleasure,andevenforthisdeliciouslittle

temptress,I’mnotgoingtostartnow.

READMORE

A B O U T T H E A U T H O R

A good ol’ Canadian boy, who loves hockey, maple syrup and beavers! I also love to write sexy stories about strong
alphamenwhowoulddoanythingtoprotectthewomentheylove.

Stayintouch!

authorcarterblake@gmail.com

A L S O B Y C A R T E R B L A K E

TheNannyandtheBeast

TheTeacherandtheBeast

Document Outline

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
Spencer Bad Boy MMA Cage Fight P T Macias
Redemption A Bad Boy MMA Fight Tia Lewis
DONG NHI Bad boy
Nadia Aidan Bad Boy in Brooks Brothers
Mine A Bad Boy Mafia Romance ( Penelope Bloom
BARRED A Bad Boy Billionaire R Linnea May
Jorrgus & Focus & Etna Polski Bad Boy
Dirty Filthy Boy A Bad Boy Spo Magda Alexander
Sold Innocence A Dark Bad Boy Sky Corgan
Stephanie Rowe Immortally Sexy 4 Sex and the Immortal Bad Boy
11042 BAD BOY MOTORCYCLE DUAL LIGHT DIAGRAM
Chase A Bad Boy Romance Kylie Walker
Bad Patient A Bad Boy Romance Tanner, Natasha
Marked by the Bad Boy Avarice Rose
Lip Service A Bad Boy Billiona Jessa James
02 Fox, Jaide Intergalactic 01 Intergalatic Bad Boy (New Co
The Super A Bad Boy Romance Connor, Anne

więcej podobnych podstron

Thunderstruck An MMA Bad Boy R Carter Blake

Document Outline