BROKEN AT LOVE

A Novel by Lyla Payne

Copyright 2013 by Lyla Payne

Cover art and design by Sarah Hansen

Editing: Jim Thomsen

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Praise for Broken at Love:

“If you like Abbi Glines, you'll love Lyla Payne…Broken at Love is a sexy new adult novel that will leave you breathless for more!” – Denise Grover Swank, bestselling author of The Chosen series.

“Broken at Love is sexy, engaging and unputdownable! Emilie and Quinn sizzle on the page.” – Jennifer Iacopelli, author of Game. Set. Match (forthcoming from Coliloquy, May 2013).

The U.S. Open

Chapter One

Quinn

“And Alexandria Ikanova, the eighteen-year-old from Russia, takes her fourth-round match in straight sets, knocking off the reigning U.S. Open champ.”

A headache started at the base of my skull at the beginning of the short match, and by the end had settled behind my eyes. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Can we turn that off, for Christ’s sake?”

My half-brother Sebastian shot an amused look my direction. “We’re throwing a U.S. Open party. We can’t turn off the U.S. Open.”

I didn’t bother answering, turning my back on the television. The last thing I wanted to see was the hottest Russian girl to ever play tennis—and that was saying something—coyly answering interview questions, bathed in a post-match glow.

I’d seen that glow up close and personal, with substantially less clothing to hide it.

“Hey. Stop glowering at the bar, Q. You’re irritating the vodka. So, Alexandria dumped your ass like a hot potato after you had to leave the tour. There are going to be so many hot girls in this house tonight you’ll forget her name, I promise.” Sebastian got up from the polished barstool, knocking back another shot of vodka. “I’m going to make sure the bouncers are set up.”

My eyes wandered back to the television for the briefest of moments, and the sight of her flushed cheeks and wide grin turned my stomach sour. Alexandria had no right to break it off. Anger churned, still as strong as the night she’d flippantly informed me we were done.

“Come on, Quinn, what did you think would happen? You’d travel with me, following like a gimpy puppy on a leash? I’m eighteen, and you’re broken. I don’t have time for a dog.”

The simple memory of her words drew a growl from my throat, and I swallowed three shots, one after the other, of the leftover whiskey.

Chatter and laughter met my ears, signaling the arrival of our guests. Throwing these parties around the four tennis majors was my idea—a little extra fuck you to Alexandria—but making them exclusive, invitation-only events had been Sebastian’s doing. Every kid at Whitman University salivated for their golden ticket, and Sebastian loved nothing more than playing Willy Wonka, lording our family’s money and influence over our classmates.

Over everyone, actually.

He had a knack for accumulating power. He’d even snagged me in his net.

Instead of following him outside or playing the good host, I wandered out back and down to the beach. The loose footing settled an ache in the goddamn knee that cost me my career.

Waves crashed on the shore, sucking the sand from underneath my callused toes. The sound of the water unwound the tight muscles in my shoulders. At least an hour passed while I stared out to sea; by the time I turned around, people spilled out of the house, down the deck, and into the sandy yard. Dusk fell, and the lights flicking on inside the house made my guests visible through the giant picture windows.

I didn’t want to go inside. Those kids might be my classmates now, but they were not my people. My friends were gathered in Flushing Meadows, New York, playing night matches or winding down from the day session. A glance at my watch said another two hours remained before my own game began, but the peace of the sunset fell away with the sounds of the party. I needed a drink.

Alcohol helped the hours pass quicker than anticipated. The more whiskey that burned my gut, the easier it became to smile and laugh, to chat about classes and frat parties and girls without wanting to ignore every single person asking for my attention.

Then Annette Davis walked in the front door, right on time. Chin-length blond hair, pale blue eyes. Smoking body, with legs that disappeared into a barely-there black dress at the top and into strappy heels at the bottom. I could see why Sebastian chose her; she was easily one of the most attractive girls I’d seen since I’d begun my forced matriculation.

She was rumored to be a bit of an uptight tease, too, flaunting the goods but refusing to play when it came to the business end of the night. She’d shut down at least half a dozen of my frat brothers since the beginning of freshman year.

Sebastian bumped into her a few paces inside the door, his darker gold hair barely topping her height in those killer shoes. While two of my frat brothers waylaid her friends, ushering them toward the keg on the back lawn with practiced charm, Sebastian steered Annette—tonight’s top seed, if we’re using tennis terminology—toward the deck bar.

The next part was easy. Brush past her on her way outside, make eye contact. Give her a smile, let my eyes linger on her mouth until her cheeks bloomed pink, then keep walking.

After that, I drank with some of the guys. Flirted harmlessly with the mediocre, dull, predictable girls shoving themselves in my face, tripping over their feet and spilling cheap beer all over their overpriced designer dresses.

Tried not to kill myself.

Definitely didn’t watch the night matches spinning across the television screens in every room. Ignored the fact that not one of these girls, not even the sexy target of the night, compared to Alexandria’s exotic beauty, her flaunted confidence. Or her body, toned by hours and hours of chasing little green balls across tennis courts.

I shook the remnants of my old life away and checked my watch again. Right on time, a guy named Toby crashed into Annette from behind, spilling a carefully planted Irish Car Bomb down the front of her dress. The Irish crème meant she couldn’t stay in those clothes, not unless she wanted to reek like spoiled milk inside an hour, and she wasn’t one of the invited overnight guests. Which meant she didn’t have a change of clothes.

Gracious host Quinn Rowland to the rescue.

“Oh, what a mess,” she sighed heavily, mopping fruitlessly at the gobs of curdled crème and whiskey with flimsy bar napkins.

I liked that she smiled while she tried to clean herself up; a lot of girls would have lost their minds and screamed at Toby. If he hadn’t immediately disappeared.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Sebastian lamented. “Parties. What are you gonna do?”

The apology sounded false to my ears, like everything that emerged from Sebastian’s mouth. Probably because I knew better than anyone that every time he spoke, he was either lying or scheming.

“I guess I’ll go home.” She gave up with the napkins, slapping the used, shredded ones on the bar top and scanning the room. “Where are my friends? It’s not like them to disappear.”

I stood close enough to smell her perfume—something floral that smelled deliciously musky against her skin—and raised my eyebrows at Sebastian.

“Oh, Q! How fortuitous. One of your guests has been soiled by a nefarious frat brother.” He grinned at me, well aware of how much I hated his devolving into formal language at this point in the game. “Do you know Annette?”

She turned, her pale eyes widening when she recognized me. I stepped closer, invading her space enough to make her decide she liked it.

“Not officially,” I reply, letting her know I remember seeing her earlier. Our fabricated “connection.”

“Nice to meet you.” Annette bit her lower lip, flushing prettily.

My eyes slid from her mouth down her neck, over her very nice chest, and finally settled on the growing off-white stain covering the front of her dress. “That’s a shame. But please don’t leave. My father keeps the closets filled, so there are plenty of clothes upstairs.”

Indecision warred with desire in her gaze. “Well, I…”

I reached out and took her hand, suppressed a shudder at the contact, and offered her a small smile. “Please. I’d really like you to stay. The night has barely gotten started.”

She nodded, not noticing that Sebastian had disappeared a couple of minutes before, and let me pull her by the hand up the staircase in the foyer. Blessed quiet surrounded us upstairs, the pounding music downstairs reduced to a throb. One of the spare bedrooms housed a walk-in closet full of women’s clothes and Annette gasped slightly when I threw it open, revealing anything she could want, from cocktail dresses to jeans to some rather skimpy nightclothes.

“I’ll wait in the bedroom,” I said quietly. “Take whatever you like.”

The bed barely sank under my weight, the mattress top of the line like everything else in this house. Quiet noises emanated from inside the closet and I let myself wonder what she looked like naked, tried to get excited for what was coming. Her choice of clothing would tell me a lot—I could almost estimate how long it would take me to get her out of it based on what she selected.

The French doors pulled open and Annette stood framed by the golden light, angelic and certainly desirable. She watched as I took in the simple cotton sundress, a bright red with skinny straps that couldn’t hide the fact she hadn’t worn a bra.

Game.

Desire crowded out my anger—the temporary release from its hateful clutches was the real reason I willingly played Sebastian’s game. “You look better than before, and that’s quite the achievement.”

A smile lit her pretty face. “Thanks. It’s a great dress.”

When she came and sat next to me on the bed instead of making for the door, I knew I didn’t have to worry about losing this round. Annette would be mine as long as I wanted her. “It’s nice up here, don’t you think? Quiet.”

Her eyebrows went up in surprise, a skeptical tilt making me smile. “You don’t like parties? That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Oh? And what have you heard?”

“That you like parties,” she responded, a little wary now.

Wariness could add hours to my victory, and I didn’t feel like waiting. “Well, it’s possible people don’t know me as well as they think they do.”

I met her eyes, giving her my best wounded-puppy look. She reached out and took my hand from my lap, threading her thin fingers between mine. A necessary step, the affection, but not my favorite part. The idea of someone tethered to me made me nauseous.

“I’m sorry I said that. It’s not fair; I don’t know you.”

“It’s okay. It’s only natural for you to assume what you hear around campus is the truth. I’m the new guy.” I shrugged, letting my shoulders slump.

Her eyes went soft around the edges. The tension between us ramped up; I knew Annette would describe it as electricity, as a sign of attraction on some deep level when all it meant was that our bodies demanded physical contact.

She gave up a tiny gasp when my eyes found her mouth again. “Maybe we should go back downstai—”

I cut her off with a kiss, hesitant at first because that’s what she expected, and waited for the inevitable sighed acceptance. From there, sex was as foregone a conclusion as the meeting downstairs. But the night still required patience, so I eased back the moment I felt her start to relax into me.

“I couldn’t resist. We can go back to the party now.”

Pushing never got a guy in anyone’s pants. Okay, maybe it had, but that wasn’t my style. Quinn Rowland took what he wanted, but it needed to at least seem like her idea. Top seed or not, Annette was no different.

Instead of answering, she leaned back into my mouth. Her heart pounded against my chest, skin hot, hands busy. So I took, and followed the rulebook because it never let me down.

Kissed her neck. Let my forearm “accidentally” brush her boob, and when she didn’t protest, touched her on purpose. Watched her open up a little at a time, starting with her mouth and ending with every last piece of her. Including her heart. It had to be her heart, too, or I lose.

Sex and feelings. Shame and regret. That was the game.

Annette, the girl who had refused to let the rest of the guys inside her, paused only once. We’d gotten comfortable on the bed and with one another’s movements. The red dress lay on the floor in a crumple; her tanned, naked body stretched against me.

“Quinn,” she said quietly.

I raised my head, meeting her lust-filled gaze. “Are you okay?”

The expected question. Faked concern got them every time.

“Yes. I’m just…I’m not…I don’t usually do this. I never do this.”

She bit her lip again in that pouty way I had begun to suspect was orchestrated. It came across as hesitance, but under my hands her body screamed otherwise.

“Neither do I. No matter what you’ve heard. I feel…don’t you feel the connection between us?” I didn’t move, smiling at her and waiting for this unbearably predictable moment to end.

“I definitely feel something,” she breathed against my lips, kissing me with more urgency before wrapping her long legs around my hips.

That’s when phase one ended. The preliminary phase.

Set.

As she eagerly let me claim my prize for the next hour, the lie she’d believed so easily turned over in my mind. A voice deep inside me whispered the truth but she couldn’t hear it, even as our damp bodies moved in rhythm.

I do this all the time, Annette. All the time.

***

The guys hadn’t been right about Annette being hesitant to jump into bed, but she made me work for the rest of the victory. She wanted to feel important, considered, and like I desired more from her than the admittedly better than average sex we were having at least twice a day. So I let her believe I wanted more, too. If she knew the real me, she’d run.

And be the better for it.

Three days passed with me playing the dutifully interested frat boy. Annette and I danced. We held hands. I brought her drinks. Her friends were jealous. We had sex on the beach while the sun rose and I blatantly ignored advances from at least a dozen other girls I’d normally have boned and sent packing.

It exhausted me, the pretending to care. Listening well enough to respond appropriately. Finally, as the sun peeked over the horizon on the fourth day—the first day of semifinals at Flushing Meadows—she went ahead and took a hesitant step.

The bedroom we’d claimed warmed slightly from the rising morning, bathing our sweat-fresh skin with a cool breeze wafting in through the open balcony door. Sleep tried to drag my eyelids down, but nice guys who gave a shit didn’t fall asleep two minutes afterward, so instead I watched her chest as her heart stopped pounding.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, propping myself up on an elbow and reaching out to settle a hand on her flat stomach.

“I don’t know.” She rolled her head my direction, biting her lip in that playful way and sliding my hand upward, skin prickling in its wake.

She had a great rack. I might even miss it a little.

Her body responded to my teasing fingers, and if the game was going to last another day or so, I planned to take advantage. But as my lip pushed my fingers out of the way, Annette served wide. Double faulted. Handed me the win.

“I was thinking, Quinn.” She paused, gasping and fisting her hands in my hair, but I halted my efforts at the serious note in her voice. “I’ve got a sorority semi-formal next month. You’ll go with me, right?”

Our eyes met when I looked up; my eyebrows lifted in silence.

“I mean…I like you.” Annette looked away, her gaze sliding toward the open window, then back again. Hesitance hung there, but also hope. Happiness. Desire.

It would all turn to hate. I was a jumble of broken pieces, as Alexandria so sweetly pointed out, and Annette only liked the ones I’d let her see.

Even a whole Quinn Rowland wasn’t a pretty picture.

Relief lifted weight off my chest as she waited for me to return her admission of feelings, to echo her desire to take our relationship outside the confines of the party and the U.S. Open. I scooted away, the first real smile I’d shared with her stretching my cheeks. “I don’t think so. Now get the fuck out.”

Match.

The Australian Open

Chapter Two

Emilie

“Okay, so Dad doesn’t want to come, but are you going to be at the gallery show?” I paused, staring at my reflection in the mirror over the sink. My mother answered, giving me a bunch of reasons she couldn’t be at my first art exhibition, as I stared. It could be her face. Her Peruvian genes trumped every single one of my father’s Irish ones in the womb.

“Fine, Mom. I get it. There will be other shows…yes, there will. I’m not changing majors again and you can tell Dad the same thing…” My roommate Ruby threw open the door, letting it bang against the wall and launch closed behind her as she made a racket kicking off her shoes and flopping. “Yeah, Ruby’s home. I will. Love you, too.”

I hung up my cell phone and tossed it on my unmade bed, lying back on the tousled covers.

“They’re not coming to your show, huh?” Ruby squinted at me, her typical blunt manner grating the way it did when she invaded my privacy.

“No. My dad took some Doctors Without Borders speaking engagement that night and he wants her to be there.” The excuse paled, even for them, but I wouldn’t get a better one.

My father didn’t approve of my majoring in Art, which meant my mother didn’t approve either. I’d changed my major to Graphic Design, to appease them, but it hadn’t really worked. Apparently nothing other than Pre-Med or Pre-Law would make him happy, and I couldn’t stomach either. The sight of pretty much any bodily fluid made me want to yak and the thought of sitting in an office all day staring at a computer made me want to die.

Lose, lose.

But if Dad pulled my tuition money and shut down my trust fund, I’d have to cave.

Ruby shrugged and I smiled, content to drop the subject. “How was rehearsal? Get to the makeout scene yet?”

She grunted, a frown turning down her red lips. Ruby moved to sit on the end of my bed, prime position for being able to peek at herself in the mirror while she talked. “I swear, if Melvin Hickens has ever kissed a girl before now, I’ll eat my hat. Hell, I’ll even wear a hat.” She shuddered. “And if he tries to shove his tongue in my mouth I’m going to need a lawyer.”

I snickered. “I’m tempted to suggest it to him just to watch you not be able to freak out in the middle of your opening-night performance.”

Ruby finished sweeping her hair into a ponytail, pulling blonde strands of hair around her face just so, then turned and grinned. “So are we going to Quinn Rowland’s Australian Open party or what?”

I clapped a hand over Ruby’s mouth and waited for Annette to come barging in with those crazy eyes, screeching about evil Quinn Rowland. “Ruby, seriously. You know you can’t say his name out loud.”

She rolled her eyes, then giggled as I frowned at the smear of bright red lipstick on my palm. “He’s not Beetlejuice.”

One of the guys in my art history class, Toby Wright, had passed me a coveted invitation with a plus-one, and Ruby had been begging to go ever since. Now, her giant green eyes went sappy as she fell to her knees at my feet. Ruby threw her face in my lap, blonde hair tickling my thighs as she fake-sobbed. “Please, Emilie! We never get to do anything fun. Nothing exciting in the least ever happens here!”

Attending Ruby’s plays made my semesters brighter but sometimes her tendency to overdramatize every moment of regular life exhausted me. I moved my knees, pushing her to the side until she collapsed on her back, one arm thrown over her face.

She peeked at me from under her forearm. “Please? I know Quinn used and abused Annette, broke her heart, pushed her into therapy, whatever. But come on, Em. These are the best parties we’ll ever go to, everyone will be talking about it for months, and seriously, Annette shouldn’t have slept with the guy after knowing him for two hours, anyway.”

“All valid points…” I hedged.

The truth was, I wanted to go. Art history was a great class and I loved Toby. It would be fun to hang out, and Ruby wasn’t exaggerating about the status of Quinn’s parties. Plus, Annette shouldn’t have slept with him. Everyone knew about Quinn Rowland and his womanizing ways.

Not that it stopped half the girls on campus. The guy got laid more than a member of a British boy band even though he never called, never dated, and apparently never gave a shit about anyone but himself.

He’d seemed different to me on the pro tennis tour. More focused. Maybe he just didn’t have anything else to work toward since his injury forced his retirement at twenty years old. I’d felt sorry for him at the time.

“So we can go?”

“What about my art projects? The gallery showing is in less than two weeks.”

“You’re almost done.” Ruby stuck out her lower lip. “Come on, Em. We won’t tell Annette.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” I insist.

***

We spent hours getting ready, because not only are Quinn’s parties the best of the year, he’s also part of the undisputed hottest fraternity on campus. Toby’s not too shabby; we went out a couple of times, but I just wasn’t really into it. I liked him, though, and we’d stayed friendly.

The mirror reflected me but with more makeup than usual. Far from ugly, but on a campus full of some of the richest kids in the country, far from the prettiest girl in any room.

As if to prove my point, Ruby’s stunning frame appeared in the mirror behind me. She spun around, the bright red dress flaring around her thighs. “What do you think?”

“Gorgeous, as always.” I turned back to the mirror, curling a couple last stubborn pieces of too-smooth black hair. “Is this dress okay?”

It was hers, and shorter than anything I owned. It made me feel daring and sexy, two things that sizzled excitement through my blood. Ruby and I had been friends only since we were thrown together in the roommate lottery our freshman year, but I had been significantly bolder since that moment of chance.

“Duh. The emerald makes your skin do crazy hot things. You know I’m hella jealous of your mixed parentage, right?” She tugged my arm, making me drop the flat iron into the sink.

“Sheesh, Ruby! I almost burned myself.”

“You look amazing. Any hotter and the boys will be too afraid to talk to you. Let’s go.”

I let her drag me away from the mirror and down to her Acura. It might have been January, but winter in South Florida meant an occasional nip in the overnight air, not snow and heavy coats. Ruby had vetoed even the thin black cardigan I’d tried to slip over my bare shoulders.

“You have the invitation?” she double-checked.

“Yep. Green means go.”

My invitation was green—overnight guests were given white ones. I didn’t mind; no other Delta Epsilon girl had even been invited. That we knew of, anyway. With Annette’s total meltdown after Labor Day we couldn’t be the only ones afraid to breathe a word in the house that started with Q and ended with uinn.

The drive to the beach didn’t take more than fifteen minutes. Whitman University essentially sat on the Gulf Coast, but Quinn’s family home stretched across acres of private beaches. My family didn’t have to worry about money but we didn’t own our own flipping beach.

Or a house that probably had its own zip code.

We pulled up to the front door and stepped out into the twilight, the mansion rising into the deepening sky. Pretty cream-colored siding and blue shutters completed the massive coastal architectural dream. A valet—or rather, a freshman Sigma Epsilon Alpha pledge—took Ruby’s keys. The kids waiting to get inside stretched along the manicured privacy bushes, the pops of purple and red from the lush flowers bright in the early evening. The line disappeared around the western corner of the house, and the laughter and chatter interrupted the peacefulness of the coastline at the end of a long day.

“Ugh. Lines. What is this, some trashy Miami nightclub?” Ruby wrinkled her nose.

My roommate hated waiting for things, and she had very little practice. Neither did I, if I was being honest, and the idea of traipsing around in these three-inch heels made me want to punch the first frat boy who tried to pick me up. “We need a drink.”

“Did someone say drink?” a playful baritone interrupted.

I turned to see Toby, his brown waves tousled and a roguish grin lighting up his face. He held up two plastic red cups. Ruby reached out at the same time I did and we took a couple of big gulps. Watered-down beer. Preferable to the trash can punch that knocked you on your ass inside an hour that some frats preferred, but somehow I’d expected something more from a Quinn Rowland party. Champagne, maybe.

“Is the line the only option?” I wanted him to sneak us in, partly because I didn’t want to wait, but partly to impress Ruby. It was a nearly impossible feat.

“Well, I can’t get you in now, if that’s what you’re asking. But we can take a walk and come back.” He pulls a flask out of his pocket and winked. “It’s better than the cheap keg they’re rolling up and down the line, right?”

We followed Toby down the street. Once we passed what I assumed must be the edge of the Rowland property, he led us down to the beach and flopped down just out of the incoming tide’s reach. The flask contained tequila, which, while not my favorite, was preferable to vodka.

Clear booze made me barf faster than cheap Chinese food.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Toby said, wiping his mouth after a swig.

“You knew I couldn’t resist. These week-long tennis-major-inspired ragers are legendary. What would I tell my grandkids if I graduated from Whitman without attending a Quinn Rowland party?” I was only half kidding.

“An excellent point, as usual.” He glanced at Ruby. “You know she’s a genius, right?”

“Duh.” Ruby’s standard answer. Not terribly articulate, but she didn’t have trouble attracting guys. Friends were another matter, at least at Whitman, where new money was barely better than having no money at all. It didn’t bother me.

The three of us finished off the flask as the sun sank below the water, purples, pinks, and midnight blues stretching across the surface like a blanket. I drank enough to be sleepy, but not enough to ignore the sand falling out of every crevice when we trekked back.

Toby opened the ornate, carved wooden front door of the Rowland vacation home. The line had dissipated and everyone crowded in the tiled foyer, spilling onto the staircase spiraling up and into the rooms beyond. Warmth from the alcohol found my face, making my cheeks pleasantly numb and the racket from the sound system dimmer.

I turned to say something about the song selection to Ruby—she hated John Mayer more than most sane women—but she’d disappeared into the crowd. Toby was gone, too, which left me alone in a house full of my rowdy classmates. At least some of them would be familiar, but walking through the crowded rooms alone didn’t sound like my idea of fun.

Before the decision to go back down to the beach alone overwhelmed me, a handsome blond guy sidled up with a smile. He wasn’t very tall—only a couple inches taller than my five-eight in these stupid heels—and his chocolate eyes sent a shiver down my back.

Not in a sexy way, although he wasn’t unattractive. Despite his smile, something about him unsettled me.

“Hey, gorgeous. You look lost, and this is half my house. If you’d allow me to be a gracious host, I’ll show you to the bar until you find your friends?”

There wasn’t a good reason to say no, especially not to someone who must be Sebastian, Quinn’s half-brother, and I wanted a drink. I smiled back, shaking off my uneasiness. “I’m Emilie.”

“Yes, Emilie Swanson, I know. I never let the prettiest girls on campus escape me.” The choice of words sounded wrong, predatory, but he quickly moved on. “I’m Sebastian Blair.”

I nodded, anxious to move into the next room and look for Ruby. Sebastian led me past the winding staircase in the generous foyer, my heels clicking on the slick marble flooring. The guests absorbed the sound, making the room feel smaller, but on a normal day it would be vast and intimidating.

Which, based on the media perception of Theodore Rowland—Quinn and Sebastian’s media-mogul father—was likely done on purpose.

Farther into the house, I couldn’t help but gasp at the view. The living room stretched at least a quarter of the length of a football field, paved with creamy carpet and decorated with off-white leather furniture begging to be ruined by someone’s appletini before the end of the night. Pieces of impressive artwork that could well be originals hung on several walls. I wished I could stop and examine each one. Windows lined the entire back wall, revealing a sprawling deck that led down to the beach, the glinting black of the Gulf of Mexico crashing beyond it.

“This way,” Sebastian said, guiding me to the left, where a full-service bar on the deck hopped with activity.

As I crossed the threshold to the outdoors, someone squeezed past going the opposite direction, brushing warmth across my shoulder. My eyes glimpsed a muscled chest barely hidden by a thin blue t-shirt, then traveled up over a strong jaw, a shock of shaggy, jet-black hair, and the bluest damn eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

Chapter Three

Quinn Rowland.

God could not be serious with that face, on that body, with those eyes.

I’d seen him before, of course, but not in person and could honestly say now that the television did him no justice—and he appeared plenty attractive on the other side of a screen.

His eyes, soft and seductive like a shift of azure silk, slid to my mouth. Heat rushed unbidden into my cheeks, along with a few other places, and I realized I was staring at him. Practically panting like a dog in heat.

Without a word, I tore my eyes away and stepped out into the chilly evening breeze. The cool night helped calm my racing heart and after a moment the reminder that no girl in her right mind wanted anything to do with Quinn Rowland—ridiculously hot or not—eased the heat coursing through my blood.

Sebastian did me the courtesy of not mentioning my ridiculous swooning, instead grabbing me a glass of whiskey and 7-Up. “So, is this your first time here?”

“Yep. I have Art History with Toby Wright. He invited me.” I glanced around, hoping to glimpse Ruby’s red dress, or even Toby’s waves, but the last beams of sunlight disappeared at least an hour ago. Tiki torches sprouted out of the sand around the deck’s perimeter and forged a path onto the beach, but they blurred the scene more than clarified it.

That might have been the tequila, though. Or Quinn’s cobalt eyes going straight to my head. Now that I’d seen the guy in person, it didn’t seem fair to blame Annette for basically falling head over heels in a matter of days.

The way he looked, the air of sexy confidence he exuded, pretty much tipped every scale in his favor. It tipped mine for a minute and I’d heard every single day since September what a seductive, therapy-inducing monster he was.

I shook my head, clearing it and attempting to focus on Sebastian. “What?”

“I said, so you’re an Art major?”

“No. I’m a Graphic Design major.”

“Oh. Why?”

He asked the question as though he already knew the answer. He couldn’t, though, unless he was just very perceptive. Either way, my issues with my parents were not up for discussion. “More money in it, I suppose. I can still create, but be able to eat dinner, too. Win-win, right?”

Sebastian smiled and I felt less creeped out this time. He was being awfully nice, escorting me around when everyone else would have ignored me.

My phone dinged with a text message and I smiled an apology, digging it out of my bra. Embarrassing, but Ruby insisted no purses at parties. They always got lost, or you put them down, got drunk, and your friends spent half the night searching for it. It was a good rule, except for the finding a place to tuck your cell phone problem.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows, letting his gaze linger a little too long on the cleavage I had in this dress, but maybe that was the point of most of Ruby’s clothes. The text message wasn’t from my roommate, as I’d hoped, but from a girl I knew from home—Marla.

Thought I saw you at QR’s Aussie Open party. U here?

I typed a response quickly, curious what she wanted and why she didn’t just come and find me.

Yep. Where are you?

“Another drink?” Sebastian asked politely.

“Sure.”

Can you meet me out by the last tiki?

1 min.

I took the sweet mixture of whiskey and soda from Sebastian. “Thanks for not making me wander around like a loser. I’ve got to go check on a friend.”

“Wait, what? Where are you going?” The way his gaze surveyed the area, as though searching for someone specific, tightened my nerves. He dropped his arm, forcing a smile. “I mean, I was enjoying talking to you.”

Right. Sebastian Blair enjoyed getting to know me. His reputation was only slightly less infamous than Quinn’s, but less often forgiven since he hadn’t just injured out of the pro tennis tour. No girl with half a brain went near either one of them, not without clear eyes and a whole box of condoms. At the moment, I had neither.

I mean, I still had my brain, but my eyes were pretty blurry. And I didn’t have a single condom.

“My friend Marla needs to talk to me. Gotta go, girl code and all that. Thanks again.”

I left him at the bar, an irritated wrinkle between his too-groomed eyebrows, and headed toward the sand. The stairs tripped me up a little, telling me it was time to take at least an hour break from the booze, but finding Marla wasn’t too hard.

A lone figure hunched in the sand, golden grains sticking to her slinky black dress. Shadows hid her face; the circle of flickering firelight ended a few feet away. Marla and I hadn’t been great friends in high school—we were more competitors than anything, both for valedictorian and cheerleading captain—but our friendship had warmed since coming to Whitman. We grabbed coffee occasionally, kept up on gossip. Wallowing over a horrid professor’s inability to make the slightest bit of philosophy even mildly interesting had allowed us to leave high school behind once and for all.

“Hey, Marla. What are you doing out here alone?”

“Jack broke up with me,” she choked, swallowing what sounded like a fountain of tears. “And I thought coming to the party thrown by his stupid frat brothers, maybe hooking up with one of them, would show him I didn’t care.”

Standing over her felt awkward, but sitting would recreate the sand issue I’d managed to shake once tonight. Jack and Marla had been an item since like, fourth grade. Literally. The statement didn’t even sound plausible. “He broke up with you? Why?”

Marla shrugged, sobbing quietly and shaking her head. I put a hand down, my fingertips brushing soft brown curls.

“I can’t even say it. Some bullshit cliché about sowing wild oats.”

“Well…so you decided to come here tonight and sow some of your own?” She nodded. “What happened?”

“One of his friends saw me come in—they checked my invitation twice to make sure I hadn’t forged it because they knew he’d dumped me, but he just forgot to take it back. You know the house rules about invitations, if you have one, you’re in, so…” Marla heaved a shaking breath. “A few minutes ago a guy came to get me, said Jack wanted to talk to me, that he thought he’d made a big mistake. But when I went in the room, Jack was fucking some gorgeous, tall girl with the biggest tits I’ve ever seen.”

Nausea swirled in my gut, mixing badly with the alcohol. Her imagery was a little too good, and that moment wasn’t something I wanted to see through Marla’s eyes. Cripes, that’s harsh. Pushing aside my aversion to sitting on the sand, especially sand in such close proximity to a bunch of drunken frat guys, I dropped gingerly beside her. Her hand closed around mine, cold and trembling. “So what are you doing out here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought about randomly hooking up with one of the guys, but…it wouldn’t make me feel better. Plus, I kind of hate them all.”

The sound of her crying increased, making me swallow hard a few times as her sorrow infected me. I’d been through a breakup in high school that had been rough, and I hadn’t seen anything as horrible as she’d witnessed tonight. It was clear she needed to go home. Maybe she just needed a little help.

I pulled out my cell phone and punched in the number for our Sober Sister line, even though Marla wasn’t a DE, and prayed Annette wasn’t on duty. When Brooke answered, I let out a relieved sigh. “Hey, Brooke. It’s Emilie. Yeah, I’m fine, but a friend of mine is in a bit of a pickle…a jam. Trouble.” I rolled my eyes at Marla, who managed a wobbly smile in return. “Do you mind? I’ll really owe you one. Okay. Thanks…where are we?”

I bit my lip, knowing the chances that Brooke would spill about our outing to Quinn’s. The girl had a good heart but no sense of propriety when irresistible gossip was involved. “Um, before I tell you, let me remind you about the Sober Sister code…no telling anything about anyone you pick up unless they don’t care.”

Total crap. The code should have read “unless it’s funny,” because that was pretty much how it worked. But Brooke agreed not to say a word, so I told her we were at Quinn’s. She promised to meet Marla out front in twenty minutes.

Annette’s head was going to spin off into another dimension when she found out. It was too much to hope that in a sorority house filled with eighty girls, no one would let it slip. At least she and I weren’t really close to begin with. I mean, I liked her okay, but we weren’t friends.

“Come on,” I said, standing up and hauling Marla to her feet beside me. Instead of threading our way back through the crowded house filled with staring eyes, we stomped through the soft sand and scraggly grass that reached fingers toward the massive house.

A figure down by the water, little more than a dark shadow among shadows, caught my eye. It looked like a boy, and very few had the tall, lean, undeniably tough body of Quinn Rowland. He stood staring out at the horizon, his shoulders straight like he wanted to challenge the waves crashing at his feet. The posture reminded me of the way he’d played tennis. Like he could stick out his jaw and take any punch, keep getting up and hitting the ball back until his opponent simply ran out of steam.

I’d been a fan, as a girl. Like everyone our age who watched tennis, probably. It was more than his face, more than his body, or even his talent. The fire inside him, the way he’d never given in, made me cheer for him, too.

Why wasn’t he inside, drinking and taking swooning girls up to his bedroom in rapid-fire succession?

A clump of sand and weeds tripped me, knocking loose any more musings about Quinn and forcing my eyes and attention back to the mission at hand. It was later than I expected, the sky above smeared with too many stars to count. Clear nights like this one often shifted melancholy through me, the beauty overhead making it impossible for anything on earth to ever compete. It made me want to paint.

Brooke slammed her silver Camaro to a stop in front of the house, nearly taking out a couple of SEA freshmen. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the expanse of the house and its stretching grounds. I opened the passenger door and turned to Marla, anxious to get back and find Ruby. To be honest, I’d started to think that hopping in the backseat and going back to my pajamas would be better than sticking around here, but I couldn’t abandon Rubes.

The party had pretty much been a bust so far. No one had talked to me except Sebastian Blair, Ruby had disappeared, and my pleasing lightheadedness had been downgraded to a buzz. Not to mention a super nice girl had gotten her heart stomped on by a jackass.

Your basic frat party, I guessed.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” I asked Marla. Her face was a mess of tears and mascara, and underneath that, twisted misery.

I wondered if Quinn would toss me out of the party for kicking Marla’s ex in the nuts. It would be worth it, either way.

She shook her head and slid into the car. “No. Thank you, Emilie. I’m glad you were here.”

“What are friends for?” That drew fresh tears. “Hey, it’ll be okay. Jack’s obviously a fucking douche canoe. He should win an Oscar for not letting us see it until now.”

She didn’t answer so I nodded at Brooke, who shifted her car into drive before I got the door shut all the way. The taillights had just disappeared around the corner when Sebastian reappeared at my side, scaring the shit out of me like a damn ghost.

“Oops, sorry,” he apologized, grinning at the fact that I’d lurched sideways.

“What are you doing out here?” Amusing him made me grumpy.

“Would you believe I missed you?”

I snorted. “There are like three hundred girls here and all of them are in skintight dresses, drunk, and gorgeous. So, no.”

He shrugged, conceding my point. “I found your friend. Ruby. She’s at the deck bar.”

We entered the house again, the throbbing bass and squealing laughter even louder after the quiet outside that had been interrupted by nothing but the waves and Marla’s weeping. The thought of my old friend pulled my mouth down into a frown, and I scanned the room for Jack.

“Who are you looking for?” Sebastian shouted over the din.

He grinned, and for a moment I glimpsed what girls saw in him. Shining blond hair, dark brown eyes, good physique even though he was short. It didn’t erase the creeper vibe, at least not for me, and I hoped he’d leave for good once I found Ruby again. “No one. Jack Newton. You know him?”

Sebastian spread his hands. “I know everyone. Why are you looking for him? Does someone have a crush?”

“Hardly. I’d like to knee him in his baby makers.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

More people crowded the deck bar than before, but it wasn’t as loud out here since the noise had somewhere to go. Quinn’s father must have had soundproof windows installed. It’s like he knew his son would someday use the house to descend into debauchery. People smashed against me on every side, but still no Ruby.

“I thought you said she was out here?”

Sebastian turned from the bar, two shots glasses in his hand. He offered me one and I took it, clinking it against his before tossing it back.

“She was here.”

Suspicion dug fingernails under my buzz, which intensified after another shot of whiskey. It didn’t make sense that Ruby would send Sebastian to fetch me, now that I thought about it. Or that she would run off again if she had. Or that she had disappeared at all, honestly. Ruby could be flighty, but typically made a good wingman at parties. Wingwoman. Whatever.

“I’m going to go look for her,” I told Sebastian.

“Wait. One more, okay? These are my favorites and I don’t want to drink alone like a loser.” He handed me a tumbler half full of Guinness, then dropped a shot glass of Bailey’s and Jameson into the center, splashing beer all over my hand. “Drink up.”

Irish Car Bomb. I grinned at him. “Love these.”

Before I could raise the concoction to my lips, a body slammed into my back. The sticky mixture sloshed all over Ruby’s emerald dress, coating the front of me until the smell of liquor permeated the air. I calmly drank what was left in my glass, slammed it on the bar, and turned to let someone have it.

And saw Quinn Rowland.

He held up his hands in mock apology. “Wasn’t me. Carter Vallon. Want me to get him for you?”

Quinn grinned, displaying a row of sparkling white teeth that somehow sucked all the moisture from my mouth. Teeth shouldn’t be able to do that to a person. I tried to smile back, and I may have managed. “No, it’s fine.”

“Oh, Q! How fortuitous. One of your guests has been soiled by a nefarious frat brother. Do you know Emilie?”

Sebastian’s overly formal language made me give him the side-eye. With everything rumored about him on campus, no one had ever mentioned how absurdly strange he could act. Almost like a caricature instead of a person.

Quinn stepped closer to me, invading my personal space. The scent of him—salty ocean and sweet cologne on top, dusky boy underneath—went straight to my head.

“Not officially,” he replied to his half-brother.

The stress on the word officially reminded me of the way I stared at him like a lunatic earlier tonight and my cheeks heated up with embarrassment.

And maybe a little lust.

“Nice to meet you. Officially.”

His eyes lingered on my mouth, then slid down over my neck and chest, landing on the white mess of alcohol and milk decorating the front of Ruby’s dress. If Sebastian had looked at me that way I’d feel dirty, but with Quinn’s clear blue eyes on me I only felt hot.

It was like some kind of voodoo, this guy.

“A shame about your dress. But please don’t leave. My father keeps the closets filled so there are plenty of clothes upstairs.”

The offer intrigued me, and terrified me. I didn’t want to leave, especially without Ruby, but going upstairs alone with Quinn seemed like a recipe for disaster. My stupid body apparently didn’t care what we knew about him. “Well, I…”

He reached out and took my hand. An expression of aversion pursed his lips for the briefest of seconds before it turned to a smile. “Please. I’d really like you to stay. The night has barely gotten started.”

Chapter Four

You’re not sleeping with him, Emilie. You’re not even going to kiss him.

The sober part of my brain kept up a steady lecture as I followed Quinn up the winding staircase in the foyer. Hundreds of eyes landed on my back, making me itchy and uncomfortable, and all of the whispers suddenly seemed to be about me.

Going upstairs with Quinn Rowland. Ugh.

Expensive, cappuccino-colored paint matched the creamy carpet, thick under the soles of my heels. On the first landing I put a hand on the wall to steady myself and slipped out of the heels, which were too wobbly on the plush fibers. I stumbled, balance escaping me because of the liquor Sebastian insisted on pouring down my throat, and as Quinn reached out to support me, that same expression of slight distaste wrinkled around his mouth.

My face grew hot, but from irritation instead of his touch this time. “I’m clumsy. Get over it.”

His eyebrows shot up, and to my surprise, he laughed. It didn’t last long, but the richness of it, the way it burst from his belly, almost had me swooning again. If all the rumors about the prescription drugs at these parties were true, maybe someone had some manic depression bipolar meds I could scam. Apparently spending five minutes with the host had made me a crazy.

“It’s charming, Emilie. I was merely concerned you would fall.”

The explanation was smooth, practiced, but a lie. Nobody lied better than my mother, and I’d learned to read her before my tenth birthday. “I’m fine. Better now.”

He started up the stairs again, but the expensive artwork adorning the walls distracted me. I had never seen such gorgeous pieces anywhere but in a museum.

“Coming? I’m sure you’re starting to curdle.” Quinn winked.

I realized I was dawdling, staring at a particularly intriguing abstract piece at the top of the stairs, but couldn’t tear my eyes away. “Is this a Gauguin?”

“Yes. You know your painters.”

The hint of appreciation in his voice confused me. “Art lover” did not go with the image of him in my head. Quinn moved to my side, his shoulder brushing mine and transferring heat.

“Is it an original?”

“Of course.” He put a hand inside my elbow, sliding it to my wrist and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Do you like his work?”

I shrugged. “He’s not a personal favorite. But this is a great piece.”

“You’re an artist?” Quinn asked, fingers tickling my palm.

“Yes. I paint abstract like Gauguin but more…free, I guess.” I never knew how to explain my art to people who didn’t understand technique.

“Ah. A fan of Pollock, I suppose. Or maybe Turner.”

Surprise lifted my gaze to his face. Our eyes connected and in Quinn’s I saw something like intrigue for the briefest moment before he hid it behind polite interest.

“Turner’s my favorite, yes. How did you guess?”

“You’re very beautiful. Your hands…” He turned my right palm up, tracing up and down my fingers. “I can see how easily art could drip out of them.”

Breath stalled in my lungs, barely escaping in gasps. How was it possible to get so thoroughly turned on by a guy holding you hand and talking art? I pulled away and crossed my arms over my chest. “You could tell who my favorite painter is because you think I’m beautiful?”

The warmth in his gaze disappeared as quickly as it arose. He smirked, cocking a head toward the Gauguin. “You know he died of syphilis? I sincerely hope you don’t share the penchant painters seem to have for venereal disease.”

The shift in conversation surprised me into an unladylike snort. Quinn’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “I think we’re in the clear,” I managed to get out.

The fact that I’d basically made a comment that made it seem like we’d both need to be concerned with my STD status heated my cheeks with a mortified blush. Quinn either didn’t notice or chose not to comment, leading me up the remainder of the stairs and down the hall in silence. We stepped through French doors into a gorgeous bedroom, the carpet and paint the same neutrals the hallway but set off by crimson bedding. Moonlight glinted off the ocean and streaked in through the giant windows on the back wall.

They were cracked open, allowing a cool salty breeze into the room. It helped clear my fuzzy head. “Your house is amazing.”

“It’s not mine, but thank you.” He stepped to another set of double doors, opening them wide to reveal rows and rows of shirts, dresses, skirts, shoes, and accessories. “Take what you’d like. I’ll wait out here.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t move while I crossed the threshold into the closet, giving me another whiff of his skin, but I held it together. His hostess-with-the-mostest routine started to bug me, and despite the fact that my body wanted to yank his clothes off, the rest of me needed to get back to Ruby.

These parties were supposed to be the events of each quarter, but so far I’d been vaguely harassed by Quinn’s brother, had my heart broken for Marla, and gotten the stinkiest drink possible dumped all over me.

The doors clicked quietly at my back, leaving me alone with more clothes than I’d ever seen in one place, and neither my mother nor I were lacking in that department. At all.

Halfway through a rack of dresses, fatigue hit me. Partying no longer sounded like a fun idea—in fact, nothing sounded better than having a cup of coffee or two to sober up, finding Ruby, and going home. Maybe if Toby invited me to the French Open party, it would be better.

Instead of grabbing any number of sexy, gorgeous dresses I dug into some drawers and eventually found sleepwear under piles and piles of flimsy, silky nighties that looked like they fell right off a Victoria’s Secret runway. Quinn could be hoping I’d walk out in one of those.

I dismissed the thought, sure I wasn’t his type. Annette’s willowy frame, magazine-perfect hair, and long legs came to mind, reinforcing my suspicion. No need to worry about impressing Quinn, and why on earth would I care if I were his type, anyway?

In the back of the last drawer I found a few pairs of cotton shorts and an assortment of t-shirts; I grabbed a pair of plain gray bottoms that were shorter than I’d like, but passable, and an Australian Open top from a few years ago. Luckily the Irish Car Bomb hadn’t soaked through to my bra, but my underwear was a different story.

It would have to stay. Ruby’s no-purse rule meant I had nowhere to stuff it if I took it off, and I couldn’t leave dirty panties in Quinn Rowland’s guest room closet.

I padded barefoot to the doors, the nasty green dress tucked under an arm, and went back into the bedroom. Quinn jumped up from the edge of the bed and as his eyes took in my outfit, they turned into hardened jewels. Sapphires.

“Where did you find that awful thing?” His voice sounded strangled.

“The shirt? Is it okay? I don’t think I want to stay anymore. I’m kind of tired, so I’m going to find my friend Ruby and go home.” Unexpected, uncharacteristic shyness curled my toes into the carpet. I was a lot of things around guys, but shy wasn’t typically one of them. “I’ll bring the clothes back.”

“It’s fine.” He gave his head a quick shake, then sat back on the bed and blinded me with a smile. “Are you sure you want to go?”

Quinn on the bed, his soft thin t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, full mouth turned up in a smile, made me wonder how many other things those lips could make beautiful. The whole moment felt surreal. It brought on another wave of dizziness from the alcohol, still sweeping through my bloodstream, and I sank next to him on the bed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not going to puke, if that’s what you mean.”

“Hey, I don’t give a shit about the carpet or the duvet.”

I raised my eyes to his, quirking an eyebrow and feeling steadier. “Because you’re so well-known for your compassion toward girls in your bedroom…”

“Well, it’s possible people don’t know me as well as they think they do.”

The wounded look in his eyes drove guilt past my playful skepticism; no matter what happened with Annette, or what people said, it wasn’t fair to judge him.

I hated it when people judged me. The “Mexican” girl with the gold-digging mother who somehow snagged one of the foremost cardiothoracic surgeons in the world. The sad girl who’d lost her baby sister three years ago. The rich girl playing artist to piss off her daddy.

It made me ashamed, even though Quinn probably was every bit what they claimed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s only natural for you to assume what you hear around campus is the truth. I’m the new guy.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders slumping.

The tension between us changed, electrified, and his vibrant eyes slid to my mouth. My heart sped up in answer and the nearness of him made it hard to breathe. When Quinn hesitantly pressed his lips against mine, I let him. For a moment, maybe five, my body won the battle with my brain and I tasted him—because I really, really wanted to.

Heat diffused around us and I drank the saltiness I expected, along with the remnants of sweet whiskey and maybe a cigarette. It sank into my skin, soaked my blood until it swam through heavy desire. Then I pulled back, my shaking palms pressed against his chest.

Quinn tried to hide his surprise, but he wasn’t fast enough. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. We can go back to the party, now.”

“Yes. Okay. I need to find Ruby.”

I stood, running my fingers through the mostly gone curls. Quinn hadn’t moved; I turned back and found him staring at me with a baffled expression. “What? Does that crap about you not being like everyone thinks usually work? Girls just start ripping their clothes off?”

When he didn’t answer, my smile dropped away. “Holy shit, it does.”

“Never mind,” Quinn snapped. “Let’s go find your friend.”

He brushed past me, looking as beautiful as ever framed in the doorway. His expectation had pissed me off a little, and I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. He seriously thought I was going to sleep with him.

I crossed to the bed, leaning toward the wall and running my hand over the hidden side of the headboard. “Hmm.”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for notches.”

Quinn snorted, and even managed to make that sound sexy. “I keep those on my belts, sweetheart.”

When I turned to snap a retort he’d moved to my side, invading my personal space again in a way I wished I minded. His long fingers circled my wrist, a thumb playing over my pulse. I swallowed hard, then looked up to find him staring at me, looking a little confused.

“You’re attracted to me. I can feel your pulse throbbing. Why are you running away?” Quinn asked, as though this were a normal question. Like a scientist who couldn’t solve the equation in front of him.

I yanked my arm free. “Of course I’m attracted to you—I’m alive, aren’t I? I haven’t had my hormones surgically removed, and Jesus, have you looked in a mirror?” I paused, his genuine disbelief grating my pride. Like he figured a girl like me would jump at the chance. “Honestly, have you ever heard the word ‘no’?”

Something snapped in Quinn’s face. Tension had built the entire time I’d been talking, but up until now he’d been so in control, unflappable. Sure, my desire to leave the room and go back to the sorority house surprised him, but not in an angry way.

This was different. It was like watching a cloud break open, and anger rained through his eyes.

“Well, let’s see, sweetheart. How about ‘No, we can’t keep seeing each other because you’re worthless to me injured’? Or, ‘No, son, you can’t come home’. Oh, or my personal favorite, ‘No, Quinn, you can’t play professional tennis anymore’? Enough no’s for you, Emilie?”

My heart stopped after the first one, and the pain in his voice when it scraped out the last example broke it in two. I didn’t even know him, had only just met him, but his desolation over what his life had become made breathing the same air as him hurt my chest.

“Quinn…” I reached out to take his hand but he yanked it away. “I’m…this is none of my business. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll bring them back.”

He refused to look at me so I swept past. As I stepped through the door I heard him mutter, “Don’t fucking bother.”

Chapter Five

Quinn

What on earth possessed me to say that to a girl I barely knew?

The pity that had hung in her black eyes, so dark and mysterious I wanted to disappear inside them to figure her out, made me regret every single word.

I needed to get my shit together. The top seed just stomped downstairs in Alexandria’s goddamn t-shirt, and Sebastian would never let me pick someone else. Emilie Swanson was the game, and I’d totally shanked the serve. Fuck.

A deep breath of sea air on the balcony helped me calm down. I had two weeks to get Emilie into bed and make her fall for me. Until the last day of the Open. I’d certainly made it tougher on myself tonight, but she’d taken me by surprise. She’d looked at me downstairs the way they all did, flushed and pretty, out of breath. She’d come upstairs readily enough; I’d won that initial game. The conversation on the stairs had been a surprise. I hadn’t meant to get into such a personal topic with her, but the chance to have an intelligent discussion about art was hard to pass up.

That stupid t-shirt threw me. The Nike swoosh said it’d belonged to Alexandria—they were her sponsors—and no other girls would have left an Aussie Open shirt in my closet.

Rows of designer clothing and Emilie had chosen that. I could have handled her not being ready. Sometimes it took a few hours or even days of partying before I took down the set.

That fucking t-shit. Goddamn Alexandria to hell. The game was supposed to help me stick it to her, not the other way around.

“What the hell happened?”

The barely contained mirth in Sebastian’s voice tightened my fingers around the balcony railing. The chilly wood pressed marks into my palms. I forced an unconcerned smile on my face and turned, giving Sebastian a shrug. “A minor hiccup.”

“Minor? She’s downstairs in the kitchen chugging black coffee in your ex-girlfriend’s pajamas.”

I wanted to wipe the gleefulness off his face. Instead, I slung an arm around his neck. “Hey, I’ve got two weeks. No problem.”

He elbowed me loose. “You approve of my choice?”

Sebastian took great pride in finding the hardest girls to bed—and to be honest, Emilie was pretty, but certainly not in a typical way. Not like U.S. Open Annette. The majority of Whitman University women were better looking than ninety-nine percent of the dogs in the real world.

Not the tennis world. That was another planet, as far as looks went.

I shrugged. “She’s pretty enough.”

He wanted me to ask why he chose her; Sebastian reveled in being clever. I hated his tendency toward smugness. If you had to tell people you were good at something, you probably weren’t that good at it.

People told me I was good at tennis. I never had to say a word. Just play.

“She’s not your typical, I’ll give you that. Night to Alexandria’s day. But Emilie and Annette happen to be in the same sorority. Delta Epsilon. She’s surely heard intimate tales of how horrid you are. I thought it would make things interesting.”

I gritted my teeth. That explained her unwillingness to give in to what her body had obviously wanted. I’d never thought much about why girls were willing to go to bed with me. They just always had.

We walked downstairs into the fray. People slopped drinks and shouted, danced like frantic monkeys, generally had a great time at my expense. It was the way I wanted it. Education I could take or leave, but college sat okay with me.

I peeked in the kitchen, glimpsing Emilie’s shapely sunkissed legs and bare feet before retreating. Approaching her again without a plan of action would only dig me deeper.

First, damage control.

“Seb, go drag her friend away from whomever you’ve stashed her with, please. Emilie would like to go home for the night.” I winked when he started to protest.

My deviant half-brother’s thick eyebrows knitted together in an expression that made him resemble a blond Muppet. He didn’t question me, though, just scurried off even though he hated being left out of the loop. Since I wasn’t closing the deal tonight, I hoped whoever had been in charge of Ruby had behaved like a normal human being.

Back upstairs in the bedroom we’d left sadly unused, I picked up the crumpled and sour-smelling emerald dress that had looked dynamite on Emilie’s curves, then moved back toward the stairs to lie in wait. Two minutes after my opponent and her friend, a tall blonde more to my usual tastes—but with a loud-ass mouth—left through the front door, I followed.

“Emilie, wait!” With my best imitation of a guy desperate for a second chance, I hurried to the silver Beamer idling at the curb, ducking my head to see in the driver’s door.

A mixture of emotions—embarrassment, irritation, and that fucking pity—warred on her face before she settled on a small smile. It affected me in ways I didn’t expect, the way she smiled like she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

I wanted to make her sure.

The thought popped up out of nowhere but I buried it even faster. No. I wanted to make her like me enough to fall, that was it.

“You forgot your dress,” I explained, out of breath for some reason.

“Oh. Thank you, Quinn. It was nice to meet you.” She chuckled, and we were both probably thinking the scene in the bedroom wasn’t nice at all.

Except the kiss. That was all right.

I tore my eyes from her lips, forcing a light snicker of my own. “I’ve had better.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

We were both grinning by then while her friend stared from the passenger seat, a little flabbergasted. I waved her direction. “You must be Ruby. I’m Quinn.”

“I know who you are, dumbass. I don’t live in a fucking hole.”

“Right. Well. You girls have the green invites, so you’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

“Sure.”

Emilie pulled her door closed, fastened her seatbelt, and guided the red Acura onto the street. I wanted to bury my face in a bucket of bourbon.

There was no way they were coming back tomorrow.

***

She and Ruby didn’t come back the next day, or the day after that, either.

I drank tons and fucked some girls—I think a couple at once—but eventually the liquor wore down and no one brought me any more, and I couldn’t ignore the issue of Emilie Swanson any longer.

Two days wasted. Three if you counted her blowing me off that first night. Which meant I had eleven days to convince a girl who’d run out after checking my bed for notches to become one of them.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand and I answered without checking the number. I never did that, but my eyes were booze-bleary and I wanted the noise to stop more than anything. “What?”

“Mr. Rowland, this is Veronica, your father’s secretary.” She paused, as though she’d realized the clarification was ludicrous, seeing how I’d spent my first two weeks off the tour in her bed. Finally she cleared her throat and continued. “Your father needs to see you this afternoon.”

“About what?” My father hadn’t bothered to speak to me in months, not since he dropped the bomb that skipping college wasn’t an option if I wanted to take over his company at some point, along with the not-so-subtle insinuation that he’d rather give Rowland Communications to a monkey than the son he hated more than anything.

“He didn’t discuss it with me, Mr. Rowland.”

“Jesus Christ, Veronica, I’ve been inside every possible nook and cranny you own. I think you can call me Quinn. What time?”

Her voice shook a little on the response. “Eleven.”

I slammed the phone on the table, then picked it up to check the time. Nine-thirty. Despite the fact that it pissed me off, my father’s summons spiked my curiosity. Maybe he’d changed his mind about letting me apprentice instead of finish pointless schooling. For people as rich as us, degrees were hardly necessary. At best they were accessories for our billon-dollar office walls, a fact he knew as well as I did.

Which made my exile to Whitman University a punishment.

He’d hated me my entire life so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. My mother left the minute they’d discharged her from the hospital after my birth—had never wanted children, or so I’d been told, but in reality maybe she took one look at me and couldn’t bear the thought of staring at me every day for the rest of her life.

No one else since had felt any differently.

The leather steering wheel of my Mercedes felt cool under my overheated palms but I swore not to let him get to me. If Theodore Rowland wanted to blame me for losing his wife, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Lord knew I’d tried. Perfect grades, the best manners, interest in his company. None of it had gotten me anything but kicked repeatedly in the nuts. I’d given up by my thirteenth birthday, deciding I loved playing tennis, thinking it could be my way out—away from him. And not just then, but forever. I would have my own money, my own legacy.

Except now I wouldn’t. A stupid injury left me crawling back to my father who, no surprise, still wanted as little to do with me as possible.

I steered past the guard booth at his estate on the outskirts of town, waving to Ernie on my way through the wrought-iron gates, then parked with two wheels on the grass because Teddy hated it.

Inside, Angelica tried to take my jacket and keys but I refused. The crazy Haitian woman had practically raised me, would do anything for me except defy my father, since he’d made it clear her green card would disappear if she crossed him on my behalf. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek—the only person who could get away with touching me uninvited.

“I won’t be here long, Ang.”

The hallway was dark and silent, lining my path like a gauntlet of lonely memories. Behind ornately carved oak doors, Teddy paced in his office. Wine-colored velvet drapes blotted out the midday sun and his steps made no sound on the thick shag. A massive cherry desk sat between the windows, flanked by bookcases filled to the brim with volumes I’d never seen him read. Paintings valuable enough to feed a Third World country for a year filled the remaining wall space.

“Good morning, sir.” I dropped into one of the two leather chairs facing his desk when he didn’t acknowledge my presence. My head pounded, apparently immune to ibuprofen.

He crossed behind the desk, sank into the massive captain’s chair, and sighed. “I thought it was time for us to have a frank discussion about your future, and how our relationship might be mutually beneficial.”

The words snapped my head up, my attention pulled from trying to figure out where he stashed his Cuban cigars. The last time he wanted my thoughts on something business-related was…never. In spite of all the times I’d been disappointed, a tiny hope flickered so far inside me I only saw the shadows it cast.

“Of course. I have a ton of ideas on how we could expand our coverage to grab the twentysomethings—they have more money than people think, and advertisers…”

I stopped when I saw the look on his face. Exasperation and disgust. “You don’t want to discuss my future with the company.”

“Hardly. You’re not built to run a media conglomerate, Quinn. Shit, you couldn’t even run a tennis career.”

If the man had left me with any kind of a heart it would have sunk into my ass. The worst part was, he wasn’t wrong. “Then what is it? I had better things to do today.”

“My apologies if my summons interrupted yet another round of Russian roulette with the ovaries of Whitman University.” He shot me the famous Teddy Rowland smirk. “We all know you don’t have a great track record of coming out on top where Russian toys are concerned.”

The insult hit below the belt but I tried not to let him see the wound. If my father had taught me anything, it was that a good poker face could hide your emotions so well you’d forget where you stuffed them. So I smiled back. “I’d hate to disappoint any ladies looking to take advantage of my reputation.”

The playboy rep was the one thing that got under Teddy’s skin. He wanted nothing to do with me personally, but I was his only true son and presumably, as far as the public was concerned, his heir. My behavior reflected poorly on the company.

Maybe I’d give a shit, if it were going to be my company.

“There is a ribbon-cutting ceremony next week at the new art museum the company donated to the university. Since you’re a student, the press will expect you to be at my side for the event. I’d appreciate it if you could be there. And be sober.” My father narrowed his gaze at me. “If you ever hope to convince me I’m wrong regarding your ability to take on a role at Rowland Communications, this would be a good start.”

It was a dangling carrot. At best, he’d let me sit like a puppet on the board of directors at some point. For all the things he was, my father was not the kind of man to toss me out on the street without an inheritance. If he were going to do that he would have done it already.

Without a tennis career, though, I had no choice. At least puppets could drink whiskey and live in houses on the beach. “Sure. Whatever. Am I excused?”

He waved a hand, already focused on some reports in front of him. I left the room, closing the heavy oak doors behind me with a soft thud. The house sprawled over several acres—the twenty-room beachfront estate could fit inside it twice—but I’d never felt comfortable here. As a teenager I’d moved into the guest cottage out back to get away from the suffocating quiet that only billions of dollars could buy.

“You are well, Mister Quinn?” Angelica slid my jacket over my shoulders at the front door, turning me to face her so she could adjust my tie.

“I’m doing fine.”

She pulled me into a hug, which I didn’t return. I never did, but it didn’t stop her from trying, which made me the slightest bit warm. Her chubby hands gripped my cheeks, forcing me to look at her. They smelled like onions and pine floor cleaner. “You no let him ruin you, Mister Quinn. You are good boy.”

That she thought me a good boy throbbed a dull ache in my gut that might have been guilt. Or it might have been withdrawal from the booze.

“Okay, Ang.” I gave her my standard response, then stepped away.

Out in the car, I stared at the house my father had built with his sheer force of will. Probably more than a few legal breaches, too, though I’d never seen proof of anything. I put the giant brick, black-shuttered monstrosity behind me, still mulling over Angelica’s mantra.

My father hadn’t ruined me. It was impossible to ruin a person who had never been formed correctly to begin with, but I had ruined a few people of my own over the past several months.

Emilie’s smooth, peachy cheeks and coal black eyes rose in my mind. The fact that she’d not only refused me, but left the damn party all together and hadn’t returned, intrigued me more than a little. For the first time in a while I felt the rise of competition in my blood, the desire to spar with an opponent. I almost hoped she’d be harder to bed than I expected.

My mind’s eye wandered back over the way Alexandria’s t-shirt stretched over Emilie’s much fuller chest. Not to mention her trim waist, and the way those legs looked in shorts. I imagined her skin, the indefinable color of cream swirling into a cup of coffee, and what it would look like under my hands when I won.

Because I would win. My father couldn’t ruin me further, but I planned to deliciously defile Emilie Swanson as soon as she’d let me. I might even enjoy it.

Chapter Six

Emilie

“So what happened with you and Quinn the other night? Obviously something, so don’t give me that nothing bullshit again.”

I sighed, setting my paintbrush down and peering around my canvas at Ruby. She sprawled on the old comfortable couch I kept in the studio for nights that got away from me. Ruby raised her threaded eyebrows expectantly.

She hadn’t given up over the past two days; I may as well have confessed everything immediately. There wasn’t even really a reason to play mysterious, because nothing had happened, but I knew Ruby would blow it out of proportion.

“Nothing, Rubes. I spilled an Irish Car Bomb on your dress, he took me upstairs to change clothes, wekissedandIleft.”

Mumbling the last part didn’t work. Ruby shrieked loud enough to mate with the mastiff that lived in the space above me, then shoved herself between my canvas and me.

“You kissed? Emilie Ofelia Swanson, I can’t believe you held out on me! Spill.” Her blue eyes sparkled, mischievous but also a little hurt.

I should have told her right away. I don’t know why I didn’t.

The painting behind her whispered my name, calling me back to the canvas. It wanted to be created, and if I could finish it by next week it might be my centerpiece in the show. Quinn was to thank for that inspiration, in a way, but the work would have to wait. My eyes slid back to Ruby.

“Seriously. Everything. Who kissed who?”

I searched my memory, the exact actions leading up to the moment clouded by hormones and whiskey. “It was mutual, I think. I mean, he kissed me but I let him? Maybe?”

“How was it?”

“You saw him, Ruby. How could it be anything but sexy as hell?” It had been more than that, too. Some kind of force. The idea that I wanted to taste him had been first in my mind, a thought I never remembered having before in my life.

And he was delicious.

“Sexy as hell. That about sums it up. Sexy but dangerous. Like hell.”

“Dangerous? He wouldn’t have hurt me. He was surprised I didn’t want to sleep with him, but he didn’t attack me,” I explained, feeling the need to defend Quinn for some reason.

“No, I don’t mean that. Dangerous as in, you’ve got a thing for him.”

“I do not.”

“Emilie. Come on. Every girl on this campus has a thing for him, not to mention every girl in the world between puberty and menopause. But he’s not the type of guy you fall for. He’s maybe the kind of guy you have amazing sex with for a couple of nights, but we both know that’s not your style.” Ruby pursed her lips. Her arms crossed in front of the small chest she hated, and she eyed me like a prison guard waiting for an inmate to make a run for it.

When she and I first met that might have been my response—to run. Ruby had seemed so glamorous then; she was the girl the boys wanted to talk to at the parties or clamored to accompany to a sorority function. It wasn’t like I came to college a virgin but she definitely outranked me in experience.

“He’s gorgeous, but trust me, I know what I’m dealing with in Quinn Rowland. Maybe I just wanted to see what it felt like to kiss him.”

“Mmhmm. And maybe you just want to see what it’s like to see him naked, too?”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean he’s interested. I’m not exactly his type. And even if I were, I’m not sure I could stand to be a notch on some guy’s belt.”

The memory of my body, pulled toward his like he had magnets under his skin, made me tingle all over again. The last time I was attracted to a guy that strongly was…never. My serious high school relationship had been all butterflies and the bumbling sweetness of first times. That, plus one fun and flirty summer fling, made up the total of my sexual experience and neither came close to what I felt sitting on that bed.

Maybe being a notch was worth snapping up that experience.

“Okay first of all, you’re everyone’s type. Besides the gorgeous face and fantastic tits—so jealous of your rack and you know it—the rest of you is perfection. Quinn would have to be dumb and blind to not want to bone you, and everyone knows he’s not that discerning anyway. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t…I don’t think I can just sleep with him.”

“I don’t think he’s the dinner and a movie type.”

Even the thought of that made me laugh, but the smile dropped off my face soon enough. She was right. I wasn’t the jump-into-bed-with-the-campus-heartthrob type and Quinn didn’t seem keen on even a short-term fling, outside of his strange party relationship with Annette.

Something about her story bugged me—even though I’d been attracted to Quinn in the room, it had never crossed my mind that he might be interested in more than the night, or a couple of romps at the most, and I didn’t know how she thought he would, either.

It all felt like an orchestrated series of moments, somehow.

Except that last one, when my teasing had gotten under his skin and his temper escaped. What he said about his ex and his father, his career, that felt real. And maybe the discussion on the stairs. He couldn’t have faked the familiarity with the art world or knowledge of painters. It drew me to him even more, to know we shared a passion.

I slid a practiced gaze toward my best friend. “Maybe he’s different than people think, Rubes. There must be more to him than parties and girls, and I sensed something.” Ruby rolled her eyes and my hands curled into fists. “I did.”

The contempt on Ruby’s face turned to compassion, because for all her brash and borderline insensitive commentary, she cared about me. Her fingers loosened my fists, then squeezed. “If you want to get mixed up with Quinn, you have my blessing. If you live to be a hundred goddamn years old you will never, ever get into bed with a guy as beautiful as him again. But don’t imagine there’s more to him. There isn’t. Promise me.”

I knew she was right. The problem was, I couldn’t be sure what exactly I wanted from him. But either way, I still needed to return his clothes.

***

The party thrummed, as loud and crowded as when we’d left two nights ago, alive with drunk, loud college kids. The nip in the air chilled me, probably because there was no alcohol to counteract it this time. I pulled the cardigan around my shoulders, wondering again about my decision to wear a dress.

I left the borrowed clothes in the car because it would be too embarrassing to drag them through the house, pretty much advertising the fact that I’d been in Quinn’s bedroom. Then again, if the rumors were to be believed, so had half the girls in the house. Not to mention that “shacking and shopping” was a sorority girl’s favorite pastime. And my roommate was proficient.

Still. What did or didn’t happen between Quinn and I was no one’s business.

The valets stared me down since I parked my own car, but I wanted to be able to get away fast. Or maybe I didn’t, but having the option seemed like a good idea, so I ignored them.

No Sebastian accosted me at the door. Two nights ago he’d clung like an algae-eating fish to the side of a tank, and though I never thought to care if I saw him again, walking alone through all of these people surrounded by laughing friends clenched my stomach.

It was stupid. Most of them wouldn’t remember if they saw Zac Efron tonight, never mind me wandering around alone. Except Quinn wasn’t in the house. He wasn’t at the deck bar, either, and I had no intention of going upstairs again, especially since there was a good chance I’d find him with another girl.

“Jameson neat, please,” I asked the bartender on the back deck.

There was no reason not to just leave the clothes upstairs, or in the bathroom, or something, but here I was ordering a drink. Which meant I wanted to see Quinn.

Admitting it lifted weight off my shoulders. So what if he’s the biggest playboy in Whitman University history? He was beautiful and, I thought, sad.

I chuckled under my breath and took a sip of the sweet drink. Ruby would kick my ass for even thinking such a thing, but it didn’t make it less true. He was a mystery. I’d made a promise to my baby sister not to let any of life’s little mysteries go unsolved.

From the edge of the deck, I saw the spot where I sat with Marla the other night and made a mental note to call her. Poor Marla. Jack had been part of her life’s plan since high school. I knew what it felt like to have a readied plan for the future ripped from under your feet like a rug.

I’d been tumbled on my ass by my own when leukemia took my sister three years ago.

A figure stood down by the ocean, alone. It gave me déjà vu from the other night, when I remembered thinking that it looked like Quinn. It still did, so before I could change my mind or get scared enough to leave, I started toward him.

The sea breeze scattered shivers over my skin, and the cool sand clung to my bare feet. He turned, sensing my presence, his face tensed as though expecting confrontation. The sight of my face shot his eyebrows up in surprise, but he quickly settled into a forced smile.

“Sorry to surprise you. I wanted to bring back the clothes I borrowed.” His eyes traveled down to the drink in my hand, lighting every inch of skin he passed on fire. “I also borrowed a drink.”

“You’re welcome to whatever you’d like.”

He grinned and the subtext of his gracious statement curled heat through my abdomen.

An awkward silence slithered between us when I didn’t respond to his teasing. Until now we’d been strangely at ease with one another, and the discomfort made me babble. “I left the clothes in the car. We can go get them. Why are you down here instead of inside with everyone else?”

His electric gaze found mine, and shit if my heart didn’t pound so hard it made my ears ache.

“You mean why aren’t I upstairs banging some chick?” The wry smile climbed into his eyes, a teasing glint relaxing my shoulders.

“Maybe. Why aren’t you?”

“I know you thought I was playing you the other night, trying to get you into bed, but I wasn’t. We don’t know one another and you’re making assumptions.”

The wheels in my head turned, processing the statement. The thing was, the first part sounded like a lie—and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have protested if I’d jumped him—but the second part felt like truth. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone really knows you, Quinn Rowland. You’re quite the enigma.”

“That’s a big word,” he replied, turning back toward the water and dropping into the sand.

“You can handle it.”

Quinn patted the beach at his side and I didn’t think twice about not sitting. I wasn’t planning on partying and the dress wasn’t one of my better ones. My curiosity increased with every moment we spent together.

The thing was, so did my fear.

I picked up piles of sand and let it spill back through my fingers while I tried to figure out what scared me. I’d promised my sister before she’d died to not be so careful, to take chances, to do the things that scared me because she would never get to do any of the things that scared her. The day she’d died, her hand going limp inside mine, I’d worked to change my outlook. Regret would never be a part of my life. I’d promised Anabel.

I thought I would regret not uncovering what about Quinn drew me in with such force. So even though nerves twisted my stomach, I stayed.

“I love it out here, at night. It’s quiet,” he said softly.

“I’ve always loved the ocean.” The night was still for so long, only the sighing of the winter breeze and the whisper of the waves against sand around us. The house was only a hundred yards or so from the house but it felt like a different world. The chatter and laughter, the pounding of the bass, barely registered inside this bubble of what felt strangely like peace. “Let’s play a game.”

It came out without permission, but anything that meant peeking inside Quinn’s brain felt like a good idea. Sitting with him was comfortable, but it allowed him his secrets.

He looked at me with a bemused expression, almost as though he’d forgotten I sat beside him. The flash of his spectacular smile looked real this time. “I don’t like games.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I don’t like games where I don’t get to whack balls,” Quinn amended.

“Me, either.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.

He burst into unexpected laughter and I couldn’t resist joining him. We settled down after a few seconds and he turned to face me, sitting Indian style. “You’re surprising me.”

“Is that weird?”

“You have no idea.” Before I could ask what he meant, Quinn steered us back on topic. “What did you have in mind?”

The way his full lips moved made me remember again what they tasted like against mine. It took a minute to shake myself free. “What?”

The hungry look in his blue eyes said he had read my thoughts, and it spilled desire through my blood.

“What game would you like to play, mi sopresita?” Quinn scooted forward until our knees touched and he laid his hands on my bare legs.

His rough fingertips landed underneath the hem of my dress and I nearly lost it. The sense that he knew it kept me from reacting. If I was his little surprise, then I’d continue to play the part.

As soon as I could breathe again, I smiled my best teasing grin. “Truth.”

“Like Truth or Dare?”

“Do you seriously think I’m stupid enough to play Truth or Dare with you, Quinn?”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Just Truth. We take turns asking questions, and have to answer with the truth. First person to refuse to answer loses.”

The game never lasted long. Or people lied. I’d told my fair share.

“I never lose at games.”

“Me, either.” The thrill of competition twitched in my muscles, unexpected but strong. A trait my father hated because it had come to me through my Peruvian blood, no doubt. “So are you in?”

“Not as far as I’d like to be.” Quinn smirked.

The heat from his touch sank lower, spilling through my knees, but I refused to react to his husky suggestions. Instead I played back, leaning forward and sliding a hand against his cheek before giving him a playful pinch. “You’re going down.”

“My pleasure.”

I was so far out of my league. Every word that slid past his lips conjured images in my brain. The exact ones he wanted to put there, which wasn’t helping, and my mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow.

No way was I saying the word swallow.

“Are you always like this?” I managed.

“Is that your first question?”

“No. Where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I hoped my attempt to push the conversation way from anything remotely suggestive would work.

“Well, there was this Argentine girl on the tour my second year in juniors…”

I heaved a sigh. “Okay, seriously. You can stop trying to…embarrass me or whatever you’re attempting to do with the all sexy talk all the time.”

His hands gripped my knees. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to seduce you. It’s still not working, huh?”

“I’m a tough little nut.” I held up a hand before he could take that one to town. “Stop. That’s too easy of a serve, even for you.”

“I seriously learned Spanish on the tour. I don’t speak it all that well. Actually, there are about seven languages I don’t speak all that well.” He relaxed his grip but didn’t move his hands from my thighs.

“Seven? Impressive. Your turn.”

“Hmm, let’s see.”

“Nothing sexy, Quinn. If you’re capable.”

“I’m restraining myself. Which is something I enjoy in the bedroom, in case you were wondering.” He chuckled at the look I shot him. “Sorry. Okay. Good questions…I must have learned something in first-semester philosophy. Are you an only child?”

“I had a little sister,” I replied before stopping to wonder whether I wanted him to know about her. Too late now. “She died from leukemia almost three years ago. She was twelve.”

The quiet returned, and when I found the courage to look up into his face, the pity I feared didn’t appear. Only sorrow softened his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” At least he stopped with the innuendo. For now.

We tiptoed around each other for a while after that, lobbing easy questions about favorite movies and books, places to travel, classes at school.

“What’s your major?” Quinn’s blue eyes filled with increased curiosity the longer we played, as though he found me as much of a puzzle to be solved as I found him.

“It was art but now it’s graphic design. But not for long, probably.”

“Why not for long, probably?”

“My dad. He thinks it’s a waste of time.”

He opened his mouth to ask something else, but I cut him off. “You already got two for the price of one. My turn.”

So far he’d managed to avoid any question that could help me discover whether or not I’d imagined the depth I sensed. Time to push. “Why do you hate it at Whitman so much?”

“Who says I do?”

“That’s just another question.”

A sigh wound out of his chest, barely audible over the waves. His fingers inched further up my thighs and I did my best to ignore them. When his distraction didn’t work, he looked out at the water. “It’s not Whitman that’s the problem.”

“It’s just not the tour?” I prodded.

The expression in his eyes hardened. “I don’t want to talk about tennis.”

“You still have to answer or I win.”

“It’s not where I expected to be, you know? I used to look into the future and know exactly where I’d be and what I’d be doing, even in twenty or thirty years. Now I look but there’s nothing to see.”

“But what about working for your dad?” The memory of his snapped anger the other night, the admission that his father wouldn’t let him go home, rattled in my mind.

“Questions about Teddy are off-limits.”

Sadness gripped my heart. The refusal from Quinn felt heavy, as though even in avoiding a topic, he shared a piece of himself. The implicit trust weighed on me. I knew exactly how he felt about his future and about his father. Art had been such a part of how I made sense of life since I was small, but we weren’t children anymore. “I thought I would be an artist, but all of the sudden it’s not about what makes me happy. It’s about my parents and earning potential and settling down.”

“Take it from me, if you can still do what you love, you shouldn’t let anyone stop you.”

Our eyes met, passion burning so hot in his gaze that it lit me on fire. I gasped when his fingers moved again, brushing the tender skin behind my knee. “It’s your turn again.”

“Did you like kissing me the other night?”

Oh, God. “Truth?”

Quinn nodded, his fingers skimming higher, leaving trails of wildfire in their wake. He was distracting me from the too-personal questions and the fact that he’d refused to answer most of them. My rational mind knew it but my traitorous body didn’t care if we’d finished using our mouths for talking the rest of the night.

“Yes.”

The word didn’t have a chance to fully form before his mouth met mine. The hot saltiness that clung to his lips tasted as good as the other night, and this time I let myself enjoy it. When he felt my hesitation dissolve he leaned in, hands sliding all the way up my dress and gripping my hips, tugging me closer. A whimper escaped at the demanding feel of his touch and I didn’t even care if he heard it.

My nerve endings came alive. If he had four or five hands it would have been better, because as good as they felt on my bare hips, I wanted to feel them everywhere else, too.

As though Quinn read my mind, one hand made its way up to my neck, tilting my head back and opening my lips. His tongue slipped against mine, not asking. Taking. My heart stuttered faster when his breathing quickened, fingers wound tight in the hair at the back of my neck. Shivers joined the shuddering heat and need wetting my skin. When his arm pressed against my left breast I managed to free my arms, winding them around his neck.

We couldn’t get any closer sitting cross-legged facing each other, and the intensity of my frustration at that fact knocked some sense back into me. His heart pounded underneath my palms, matching the thudding in my own ears. Quinn’s lips left mine bruised and swollen, moving down my neck. He flicked his tongue over my throbbing pulse in the hollow between my neck and shoulder. If I’d been standing, my knees would have given out.

“Quinn,” I gasped.

He paused but didn’t move, so I reached shaking hands to his strong jaw and lifted his face back to mine. I couldn’t resist pressing my mouth to his one more time, or sliding my tongue over his bottom lip to remember what he tasted like. Or taking a quick nip. Too delicious.

“It’s my turn.”

His eyes were closed but flew open at my statement, the same baffled surprise displayed as the first time I stopped kissing him.

“When was the last time you kissed a girl but didn’t have sex with her?”

His eyes dropped back to my mouth, then down to my chest, which still heaved from the sheer force of my want. I’d have been more embarrassed if he wasn’t having trouble catching his own breath. Quinn Rowland may not have been interested in a relationship, but he was interested in having me.

Desire and satisfaction, along with the same fear I’d felt sitting down, sucked the moisture from my mouth and I swallowed hard.

When he looked at me again the confusion was gone, replaced by an almost predatory need. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s not so bad, huh? Kissing?”

“That’s another question.” His confidence and cool head returned as quickly as he’d lost it. “Why do you stop these little scenarios of ours when you clearly don’t want to?”

“That’s your question?”

“Yep. Are you bowing out?”

“Hell, no. It’s simple. I am attracted to you. You’re a fantastic kisser and I’d do it for hours if I thought I could handle it, and obviously your…prowess in certain areas has not been exaggerated.”

“And kissing isn’t even my specialty.”

“Exactly. And I’m not a prude, or a virgin, but I also don’t sleep around. You can see my quandary here. Because you are not interested in dating, no matter how casually.” Quinn didn’t deny it, staring into my eyes with a kind of concentration that unnerved me. “If you want sex, Quinn, there are at least a hundred girls in that house who will oblige.”

“What would you say if I told you they aren’t who I want?”

“I’d say prove it.”

Chapter Seven

Quinn

Sebastian found me on the beach the next morning and handed me a steaming mug of coffee laced with bourbon. “Waking up alone doesn’t agree with you, brother.”

“Yes. Thank you for that.”

“Ah. The little Mexican girl is still giving you trouble. I saw her come back last night and figured you’d sealed the deal.” Sebastian sipped his coffee, peering at me over the rim.

“She’s not Mexican, she’s half Peruvian. Her favorite movie is The Philadelphia Story, The Three Musketeers is her favorite novel, her father doesn’t approve of her art and she doesn’t sleep around. Any other questions, because I could do this for at least another five minutes.” Anger rose like acid in my throat, but I swallowed it along with some black coffee. He wouldn’t stir me up.

“Ah, you bonded. How touching. I had a hunch about the sleeping-around part, although that usually doesn’t trip you up so much.”

I narrowed my eyes until he squirmed, thankful I hadn’t lost that touch. “Did you bet on her?”

He never bet against me before and if he had, winning this round would be fucking personal.

Sebastian shrugged. “You know I never discuss the books with the talent.”

Sand stuck to my legs and clothes when I stood, the gray morning colder than I preferred and rarely dealt with in South Florida. “If you’ll excuse me, it appears I have some wooing to do.”

His laughter followed me all the way up the back deck and into the house. We both knew I’d never had to woo anyone—nor had I ever cared to—and had no idea where to start. Playing girls for a few days came easily; saying what they needed to hear never bothered me, and it was simple enough. Convincing Emilie that I wanted her for more than sex would involve two things I honestly abhorred—emotional intimacy and lying.

There may be no honor among thieves, but I had my own code when it came to Sebastian’s game, and I never lied to girls to get them into bed. Even the line about me not being like everyone thought was the truth.

I was much, much worse.

There were no promises made about days to come, invitations to attend parties on my arm, talk of introductions to families. Never. Girls assumed what they liked and I let them, but I never lied. I didn’t see a way to get closer to Emilie without giving up some of my own secrets; last night had already pushed me to say more than I’d confided to anyone in years. The chances that she’d finally give it up without some kind of promise about the future meant I would break my second rule as well.

On the flip side, the competition thrilled me. Her body responded so fast on the beach last night, willing and pliant under my hands. That creamy skin heated at my touch and the sight of her swollen lips and salty neck had turned me on more than I wanted to admit. Emilie smelled like summer—some kind of citrus perfume, combined with the hour we spent talking beforehand in the ocean air—and it had gone straight to my head. Along with other parts of me.

Anticipation would only make the moment sweeter. Time to dig deep and find a Quinn Rowland capable of convincing Emilie to let me fuck her, because losing wasn’t an option. There was too much at stake, and my pride was the least important item on the list.

***

The fine arts building looked newer than most parts of campus; it had been built less than ten years ago instead of fifty. I appreciated art but had no particular inclination for it, so I had never been inside; majoring in business with a minor in communications seemed the best way to please my father.

To try to please my father.

Emilie walked out the front door, talking with Toby. She threw back her head and laughed, her neck stretched as she laid her head on his shoulder for a moment before straightening up. Two shocking things happened to me in that moment: I wanted to kiss that spot in the hollow of her collarbone again, the one that thrummed with her life, so badly it hurt. And I wanted to punch Toby in the face for touching her.

I had no idea what in the hell was the matter with me, but it couldn’t be good.

She saw me a moment later, pitch black eyes shining as a smile stretched her lips. It hurt a little that she looked happy to see me, when I only came to break her.

“Hey.”

“Stalker is kind of a good look on you, Quinn.”

Toby stood rigid at her side, giving me a stony stare. He should have buggered off now, given that he knew my claim on Emilie. Shit, he’d even helped set it up, inviting her to the party for Sebastian. “Toby.”

“Q.” He turned to Emilie, touching her elbow lightly. I wanted to snap his fingers. “Em, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Be safe.”

The last statement irked me, and the surprise in Emilie’s eyes said it wasn’t a normal parting statement for them. She smiled at Toby and nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m fine, Toby.”

He left, shooting me another reproachful look before disappearing around the side of the building. Emilie’s hand brushed my tensed forearm and brought my attention back to her. “What are you doing here, Quinn?”

People stared at us as they exited the building. This fucking debacle was going to be the talk of Whitman before I got it done. “I thought we could hang out.”

“Oh.” The soft, breathy response tugged my eyes to her chest for a moment. “I’ve got this art show next week and I really need to finish my centerpiece. Maybe later? Or after you’re done with the Aussie Open party?”

I couldn’t wait that long.

“I don’t need to go back to the party; Seb can handle it. I’d love to see your work. I mean, if you don’t mind showing me.”

Her brow furrowed and I counted to ten in my head before she shrugged. “Okay.”

“I’ll drive.”

On the way to her studio I told myself to reach over and take her hand, but my body refused to obey the command. One step at a time, I guessed.

The studio loft was near campus in an older building, not the kind of space I expected for a girl with the kind of money her family had. It made me wonder how bad her problems at home were, but instead of commenting I complimented her on a few of her pieces.

Art had been a part of my life forever; my father loved it and acquired it the way the girls on tour snapped up new designer outfits. It was a passion he and I shared, though I’d stopped trying to discuss it with him by middle school since he purposefully trashed anything in which I expressed an interest.

“These are excellent, Emilie. Really.”

It wasn’t a lie, which struck me as a pleasant turn of fortune. Her bold brushstrokes, color palate, and layered technique were flawless, but it was the way each painting came alive and leapt from the canvas that made them extraordinary. The emotional state that accompanied each piece, laid bare and exposed for everyone to see. The one that intrigued me the most was the one she hadn’t finished—had hardly begun, really—propped on her easel. It felt raw and somehow sexual, but also edged with fear.

She moved it when she caught me looking, flipping it upside down. “That one isn’t finished.”

“You’re talented.” A pretty blush crept across her cheeks and pride made her dark eyes sparkle like stars in the night sky. I stepped in close, breathing her in, thankful she still smelled like summer.

“Thank you.”

“Your parents must be proud, even if they don’t think it’s a proper career. You’re going to exhibit at the show next week, right? At the new museum?”

“Not so much to the first statement, yes to the second.”

“I’ll see you there, then.” She’d probably be less than thrilled by that time, since it would take place after the Open ended.

“You’re going to a museum opening?”

The incredulous tone stopped me for a moment, but hopefully she didn’t notice the hitch in my step. It rarely bothered me when people assumed me a Philistine due to the professional-athlete thing. It did now. “I grew up in a house with a man who loves art. And in a life filled with more money than even you can dream. But I’m more interested in why you think your parents aren’t proud of your accomplishments.”

They were accomplishments, I thought again as I wandered from her side, running the tips of my fingers across her finished work. The intensity of a battle between light and dark throbbed in her work like a heartbeat and it spoke to me in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely. It made me more curious than ever about her, this girl who seemed so light and essentially good creating pieces equally infused with darkness and desire.

When Emilie didn’t answer I turned, and the look on her face, like she was piecing together a puzzle, made me want to toss her on the couch and solve it for her.

“My father’s a surgeon. A really important one.” She shook her head, refusing to meet my eyes. “Mine is a time-honored story, Quinn. Nothing too interesting. I was off the hook before Ana got sick, because she loved all of the blood and guts and science and math, but now I’m all he has left. Much to his disappointment.”

“I don’t think he could be too disappointed, seeing as he pays for this space for you.”

“He doesn’t know. I’m taking the money out of my medical school trust.”

Surprise clenched my fists. “He’s not going to be happy when he finds out.”

“True. If I don’t sell any work at the show, it’ll be the end of it. That will be the proof he needs that I’m not good enough.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “He won’t keep paying for school unless I change my major.”

Admission to Whitman meant family money and all of the trappings that came with it, and no matter her brave face, Emilie had grown up as privileged as all of us. She wouldn’t be able to stay if he pulled her trust fund.

Why on earth that bothered me, I’m sure I didn’t know, but the tears in her eyes wrenched something loose that had been tied down long ago. It flapped around like torn rigging in the wind, slapping painfully against my insides. I hated it, and her, in that moment. Because it hurt. “You’ll sell some work at the show. People would be blind not to see your talent.”

“I hope so.” Her cheeks glowed, a shy and tentative belief cloaking her.

My blood warmed, flowing lower and pushing need past my curiosity. What about this girl made me want her so badly, in a way that had nothing to do with any game? I wanted to win so that I could have her body, and not only to simply keep Sebastian in line or keep the memory of Alexandria’s rejection at bay. If I had met her, and there was no game, I would have wanted her anyway.

“It will work out. You’ll see.”

My eyes slid to the overstuffed couch again, thoughts running through my mind that made it hard to think straight. Emilie followed my gaze and when her eyes returned to mine, the desire fluttering in them almost made me groan. But when I stepped to her side, intent on at least touching her, she put her hands on my chest and held me at arms’ length.

“Quinn. I’ve been thinking about last night, and the other night, and what I said. I don’t want you to prove anything to me, so if that’s why you came here today, I’m sorry. We can try being friends, if that’s something you want, but we are who we are. You’ll get my clothes off and then tire of me quickly, and I’ll spend the semester feeling used and avoiding running into you on campus. It’s not my place to expect you to change.”

“So you believe what everyone says about me. And that’s all I am.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think it’s all you are, Quinn. But playing that game last night, you struggled to answer a single real question. So I think right now that guy is who you want to be. And as much as I’d seriously like to make out with you on that couch right now, I think it’s going to be best for me if you left.”

Convincing her I cared meant pretending to take her wishes into consideration. Not to mention the fact that she confounded me with how she seemed to see through me. It snapped my head around as easily as someone who’d given me a strong slap, and the right answer escaped me in the moment. So I left.

Chapter Eight

My anger had risen to a boil by the time I returned to our beachfront estate. The afternoon wore on, bringing more and more overnight guests to life in the rooms and on the grounds, and the lack of privacy made me snarl at everyone who crossed my path.

What pissed me off the most was Emilie’s accuracy. I was content to be the monster.

I found Sebastian in the library, a blissfully silent room off-limits to guests. Fewer than a hundred people received overnight invitations, the majority of them frat brothers, and most of the people milling around were quiet. Nursing hangovers. Cleaning up.

The smell of glue and old pages combined with furniture polish in the darkened room. Sebastian smoked a cigar behind the glossy mahogany desk, his dress shoes propped near the keyboard attached to a dusty desktop computer.

I flopped onto a terribly uncomfortable designer couch in a godawful shade of red, rubbing my eyes.

“I take it the wooing is not going according to plan?”

“Not exactly, no. What is it exactly that some girls have against sleeping around, anyway? I find it invigorating.”

“They cling to the ridiculous ideal of marriage and commitment, and the assumption that one day the man who sweeps them off their feet will be disgusted by multiple sexual partners in their past,” Sebastian guessed.

“I think you’re wrong. I just think they like the control.” I sat up when the library door creaked, surprised to see Toby’s face peek around it, and even more surprised that my irritation with him had grown since this morning.

Sun streaked through the gauzy white curtains, illuminating specks of dust on the air like flecks of glitter as the two of us stared at one another. Finally he cleared his throat. “Um, Q, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“What about?”

“It’s about Emilie Swanson.”

Of course it was. What wasn’t these days? “What about her?”

Toby licked his lips and flicked an anxious glance toward Sebastian. My half-brother made most people nervous. Probably because he was a fucking lunatic one bad decision away from exile to Canada or death row, depending on what exactly went down. Toby would probably rather talk alone but I wasn’t really in the mood to be accommodating, especially with the guy who seemed intent on fucking with my Aussie Open top seed.

God help him if he was literally fucking her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sebastian drawled. “So talk to Quinn or don’t.”

“I wanted to know if there’s any chance of stopping this round. With Emilie.” He swallowed so many times in a row his Adam’s apple reminded me of a basketball.

“No.”

“I mean, what if we chose someone else and everyone agreed to the change so you guys wouldn’t lose any money, and…” He stopped, a defeated air crawling over him as he looked at my face, which probably appeared at least half as livid as I felt. “She’s a good girl, Quinn. Sweet and funny.”

“And you like her, is that it?”

He nodded, swallowing a few more times before raising his wary gaze to mine. “I agreed to go to this theme party with her tonight. Before Sebastian picked her. I want to go, but I know…she’s part of all this right now.”

Sebastian’s silence started to unnerve even me. I stood and crossed to Toby, patting his shoulder. “She’s a beautiful girl, Toby. I can see why you’re interested.”

Hope filled his face for a second before I leaned down to mutter in his ear.

“You stay the fuck away from her. Don’t look at her, don’t let her help you in class, and so help me Jesus, if you tell her anything about what’s going on here you’re going to regret it.”

Anticipation fell away from him like the discarded shell off a cracked nut. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the carpet, and turned to go.

“Oh, do stay a moment, Toby. Quinn has to be going, but I’d like to speak with you.” Sebastian turned his smile, the one that never reached his eyes, on me. “Grab Scott and Adam for me, will you?”

“Yeah.” A thought occurred to me, making me almost thankful for Toby and his ill-advised puppy crush on my opponent. “What’s the theme of the party tonight?”

His eyebrows shot up but he didn’t question me. “Eighties prom.”

Great. Fucking fantastic.

***

One blue tuxedo and pink ruffled shirt later, I stood on the steps of the Delta Epsilon house with my cell phone to my ear. Emilie’s number had been easy enough to find. I just hoped she’d get her sexy ass out here before Annette happened past.

“Hello?”

“Emilie? It’s Quinn.” I gobbled up the catch in her breath as proof that she didn’t mean it when she’d basically thrown me out of her studio earlier. “Can you come downstairs?”

“I’m waiting for my date.”

“He’s not going to make it.”

“What?”

“Would you please come downstairs? I hate talking on the phone and I don’t want to run into…anyone.”

“You mean Annette.”

I sighed. “Yes, I mean Annette.”

She paused longer than necessary, making me nervous for some reason.

“Fine, I’ll be right down.”

I hung up, fidgeting with the ridiculous collar on my getup. When she pushed open the door a moment later it brought an immediate smile to my face.

Emilie glanced down at her pile of hot pink ruffles, then pursed her lips at the sight of my stupid suit. “Why are you wearing that?”

“I told Toby I’d escort you in his place.” I stepped close to her, dying to run my hand over her bare shoulders but restraining myself. For now. “I don’t hate Whitman. I hate that my father refuses to let me be a part of the family business no matter what I do, and I’m admittedly a cliché. And I hate that, too.”

“You mean the way you act out so your dad will pay attention to you.”

“Maybe.” A shiver zipped down her spine, breaking goosebumps across her perfect skin, and I shrugged instinctively out of my powder blue coat, handing it over. “Or maybe now that there’s no more tennis, and my dad doesn’t think I’m worthy of his empire, I don’t know what to do with my life.”

Every word had to be chipped off and extracted with purpose. No personal confession came away without effort, or without discomfort, but I was running out of time. Emilie wanted to feel like she knew me better.

“No, that’s not it.” She pulled the jacket around her and stepped down off the porch. “You love it, I think. The idea of running Rowland Communications. So why not try to make him change his mind about you instead of acting like a guy who just got out of prison and found himself in the middle of spring break weekend?”

She waited for more discussion, but I’d already given up more than I wanted. Emilie was hesitant, but my innuendo on the beach the other night had gotten under her skin, and when I kissed her, she forgot everything. Being nice and trying to woo her had gotten me a little bit further, and it would have to be far enough.

No more feelings or secrets. I told her about my dad to erase the her perceived failure to get me to open up on the beach the other night, but now we would play more…physical games.

So I brushed my palm down her bare neck, over her shoulders, and finally pressed it into the small of her back. I led her to the party bus waiting in the parking lot, and decided tonight would be the night.

Chapter Nine

Emilie

Quinn obviously didn’t want to talk about his father or his future with Rowland Communications, but it meant a lot that he’d opened up to me about his lack of direction. The truth was, even though I’d found the strength to tell him we couldn’t be anything but friends earlier today, I hadn’t meant it. It had been a last-ditch effort to push him away.

But I was glad it was him and not Toby at the door tonight. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone in my life—it tugged at me like an insistent force until nothing mattered. The thought of tasting more than his lips spilled hot need down into my knees.

Maybe he wouldn’t try again, and then I would be spared the embarrassment of being another Quinn Rowland conquest. The bad part was, if he didn’t try again, I’d regret not seeing what would happen for the rest of my life.

That had been my promise to Anabel. She’d never grow up and kiss a boy that made her forget her name, fall in love, feel the delicious thrill of a man’s naked flesh against hers. Would never go to college and make mistakes, never defy our father, never lie to everyone about where that extra five hundred a month went.

So as my twelve-year-old sister lay dying, I’d promised her that I would live. I wouldn’t be fifty and married to a guy I could barely stand, with two kids and a golden retriever running in our cookie-cutter yard, regretting all of the things I didn’t do.

When I walked out the door tonight and saw Quinn in that silly blue suit, it became irreversibly clear that he would be a regret. And not only because of the crazy attraction, or because he was so handsome it made me want to squint.

Because I sensed the pain inside him since the first night we met, and today when his questions about my father and his praise of my art made me break down, I felt something break inside him, too. Quinn handled the changes in his life all wrong, but maybe I could help him.

If he’d let me.

“Oh, shit.” I dragged Quinn to a stop outside the party bus.

“What’s wrong?”

“Annette’s going to be here. On the bus. She’s going to see you. Us. Together.”

“We’re not together, I’m just filling in,” he said quickly.

“Yes, I realize that, dumbass. Thanks for the reminder, though.”

“Did you just call me a dumbass?”

“Shut up. There she is.”

Annette saw us at that exact moment and her jaw hit the ground. Tears filled her eyes and she turned, running up the steps of the party bus without getting her name checked off at the door. Guilt tugged at my belly, but it wasn’t like they’d dated or anything.

He’d just wrecked her emotionally for the last six months.

Dammit.

“Well, I think that went pretty well.” Quinn raised his eyebrows at me.

I whacked him in the shoulder. “Don’t say a single word on that bus or I swear you aren’t going to have sex for at least a week.”

“With you or anyone?”

“Anyone. Maybe two weeks.” I reached up to smooth the ruffles on his shirt that blew in the breeze unfettered since his coat wrapped my shoulders, smiling in spite of myself. It made me mad so I hit him again.

“Why do you keep hitting me?”

“You’re talking.”

“We’re not on the bus yet.”

“How is it possible for anyone to look hot in a powder blue leisure suit?” I murmured, almost to myself.

He winked. “You should see how hot I look out of it.”

“Good God. Just come on.”

We walked to the bus, his heavy arm settled around my waist, and I didn’t have the strength to move it. Poor Annette. But this was my chance to spend an evening with Quinn and I wouldn’t give it up because she’d slept with him five months ago.

***

The bus ride was uneventful, but my shoulders were bunched and tense by the time we arrived at the hotel. This was a serious breach of the bullshit sorority sister code. Everyone was going to hate me. There would probably be an ethics meeting with our alumni or some crap, where I’d have to explain how Quinn hadn’t been my date and no, we hadn’t slept together. As if the fact that a bunch of old ladies decided who was too fat to recruit new members wasn’t bad enough.

Annette stayed away from us as everyone climbed off the bus and made their way inside the Ritz-Carlton. The ballroom left something to be desired—the only decorations were some pink and silver streamers around the chairs and on the front of the DJ and punch tables, along with a disco ball in the center of every empty table. Décor wasn’t really the point of these parties. It was more to be able to invite guys on dates without inviting guys on actual dates.

It mostly just looked like a ballroom. White tablecloths on round tables. An oak dance floor, already crowded, tables lined with spiked punch and snacks that cost too much. There had been a flask on the bus, so we’d already gotten a head start.

Ruby had no intention of keeping her mouth shut now that we were free of a confined space. Her blonde hair spun down her back in fat sausage curls and she had bangs hairsprayed to the ceiling. The silver dress barely covered her ass and tulle spiked out from under the silk. Eighties punk, or some other such nonsense, but she looked better than most.

She raced up to the two of us at the edge of the dance floor, talking loud enough to be heard over the music but pretending Quinn didn’t exist.

“What are you doing here with him? You made me promise we wouldn’t even tell anyone we went to his party, then you kissed him and went back to his house and kissed him again, and then—”

“Hey, it was more than kissing,” Quinn interrupted. When I gave him a look he shrugged. “What? You’re not telling it right. It was hot, Ruby. Hot.”

She shook her head at him. “You are annoying and strange. It’s weird that I want to rip your clothes off and slap you at the same time.”

“I get that a lot.”

Ruby snorted. “I’ve heard.”

I snapped my fingers in my best friend’s face. “Focus. Ignore him. You can’t win, he has a sexy comeback for everything.”

She crossed her arms, still eyeing my date. “I’m waiting.”

“Toby bailed and Quinn agreed to take his place. End of story.”

Her eyes grew wide. “I forgot you were coming with Toby. I saw him at the hospital tonight—somebody kicked the shit out of him.”

“What?” I turned to Quinn. “Is that why he couldn’t come? Why didn’t you tell me? I should have gone to see him!”

“First of all, I didn’t know. He just called and said since you and I were friends, would I mind taking you tonight. He didn’t say why. Second, I didn’t know you two were so close.” His jaw tightened and those blue eyes hardened the way they did when he didn’t want to continue a discussion.

If Quinn were a normal guy I would have thought he was jealous.

“We’re not. I mean, we’ve had a bunch of classes together—he’s a television major and we do design stuff for them all the time—and we hang out sometimes. Still, he agreed to come tonight and now I’m having fun with you and he’s…what happened to him, Ruby?”

“Why were you at the hospital?” Quinn asked.

“Her mother’s on the board,” I explained before demanding that Ruby give us details.

“I don’t know. They were stitching him up when I left but I don’t think they’re keeping him overnight. Some of your goon brothers were waiting to take him home.”

“I have a problem,” Quinn announced.

“What now?”

He leaned down, his hot breath tickling my neck. “You said we’re having fun. But you’re not having fun at all.”

Before I could protest he swept me onto the dance floor just in time for a slow power ballad, the kind they played in movies my babysitters used to make fun of when I was a kid, and tightened his arms around me.

They were strong and he smelled good. When I tipped my face up to say something, the strength of the desire in his eyes punched me in the gut, tightening my fingers in the curls on the back of his neck. He leaned down in front of everyone and pressed his lips against mine, softly, then pulled back and kissed my nose.

“That’s just a kiss. That’s not what happened on the beach.”

“Got it,” I said, barely recognizing the breathy voice as my own.

“I want you to forget about your dad and the art show, and Toby, and Annette. Let’s pretend we’re the only ones here.” His husky voice shuddered into my heart, pushing it into a gallop and making my legs shake.

“If we were the only ones here, we wouldn’t be dancing.”

“Oh? What would we be doing?”

I loosed a shaky laugh. “The dirty talk is your specialty, Quinn, not mine. No dice.”

“Fine,” he sighed, pulling me flush against him.

There were too many layers of taffeta and silk ruffles between us. I wanted to feel my breasts press against the hair on his chest, feel his hot palms on my back. When he lowered his head and tugged my earlobe between his teeth my knees nearly buckled.

“First of all, these clothes would be long gone,” he breathed into my ear. “I’d start here.” He pressed a kiss to my throat, flicking his tongue over my pulse. “And move down until I’d tasted every inch of you—and I have a feeling you are delicious absolutely everywhere. You’d be hot, and wet, and ready for me.”

“Jesus,” I gasped against his throat. “Stop.”

“No. You don’t want me to. Just like you didn’t want to stop the first time we kissed or the other night on the beach. You’re afraid, but you don’t want to stop.” Quinn’s vibrant blue eyes challenged me to lie.

I drank them in, completely gone. The desire to let him do everything he just said and a whole lot more licked along my nerve endings. “I’m afraid you’re going to break me, Quinn.”

“Don’t let me.” The challenge in his eyes intensified, heating up and pouring strength into me. “Don’t you let me fucking do that, Emilie. Don’t let anyone break you. You’re stronger than that.”

His opinion of me, the fact that he believed me tough enough to handle even a guy like him, pushed me past the point of no return. What would I regret more, sleeping with him or not sleeping with him? It was a tossup, but living meant not being scared. “Okay.”

Relief flooded his face and the sly grin reappeared.

I returned it, feeling confident and beautiful for the first time in a long time. “I won’t let you break me, Quinn. But right now I’d let you do about anything else.”

Before he could comment I took his hand and led him out of the ballroom.

Chapter Ten

The carpet in the hallway muted our footsteps. My dress rustled and sounded louder than it should; all of my senses stood on high alert.

To my surprise, Quinn’s big hand folded around mine a moment later.

I tugged him along, turning corners and looking for somewhere quiet and dark and with at least the potential for privacy. Frustration spun through my blood. Impatience wasn’t something I enjoyed, and right now every second not spent touching Quinn made my teeth grind together.

Finally I yanked him into an elevator. As soon as the doors closed and we jerked upward he punched the emergency stop. The next instant he picked me up and we slammed into the wall as my legs went around his waist, holding on for dear life. His sweet salty lips were on mine, then they were everywhere, his tongue teasing my jaw and my collarbone.

Quinn gripped the puffy sleeves of my eighties prom dress and yanked, tearing fabric and raining sequins on the carpet until he managed to loosen it enough to push it to my waist. My bra straps fell off my shoulders, hanging around my elbows as he shoved the last of the fabric out of his way and moved his demanding mouth lower. When it found my breast my back arched, pushing me harder against his lips.

I fisted my hands in his hair—gasping, groaning—drowning in a desperate desire for more. When he lifted his face, my trembling fingers yanked at the buttons on his shirt. A giggle escaped, borne of nerves but also his ridiculous pink monstrosity.

He quirked an eyebrow at me in a silent question. I shook my head, biting my lip to stifle another breathy laugh. “I never imagined I’d be so desperate to tear a pink ruffled shirt off a guy, that’s all.”

A gorgeous smile lit his face with the kind of honest emotion he’d kept hidden and the following rich laughter spilled over my shoulders. It warmed me further, to share a moment of mirth inside the desire, but it dissolved quickly when I got rid of enough buttons to slide my palms over his muscled chest.

Quinn—Quinn Rowland—pressed into my palms, biting back his own groan. The proof that he wanted me shifted against my thigh, making me again desperate for fewer clothes, and the fact that he was as frantic as I was in this moment made me impatient again.

His mouth crushed mine; our tongues tangled as the taste of salt and sweet whiskey made me dizzy. At the same time his hands bunched my dress around my waist. One held it in place, pinning me between him and the wall, while the other made its way underneath the white lace underwear I’d worn just in case.

I didn’t care. I wanted it all, right now. In a hotel elevator.

The intensity of his fingers pushed inside me shocked like electricity and I tensed against his mouth, my fingernails digging into his bare shoulders while I tried not to scream.

Quinn froze and his eyes flew open. He pulled back, blue eyes dark like the sky right after the sun finally sets, hungry but sparked with concern. “Are you okay?”

The quiet alarm in the question made me smile, and instead of answering I rocked slowly, deliciously, against his hand and kissed him until he kissed me back. “Don’t stop,” I whispered into his lips.

He didn’t, and apparently no one had lied about Quinn’s proficiency with women. Expert fingers shot waves of pleasure that weakened my legs, shuddered through my limbs until Quinn and the elevator wall were holding me up. When he lowered his lips again and sucked my breast against his tongue, the world exploded in a wash of pleasure and stars. I bit down hard on his shoulder, stifling a shriek as incoherent ecstasy exploded through me.

I clung to him and waited for sight and sound and oxygen to return. When I trusted my legs I stood and reached for him, intent on more, on everything, but his hand dropped my dress and captured my wrists in a pinch. Even that felt good. I raised a questioning gaze to his and found his eyes closed, his own breath coming in gasps.

“Give me a second,” he rasped.

“I don’t want to wait.”

“God, Emilie, neither do I. I can’t even look at you—that gorgeous skin swollen and sweaty.” He took another shuddering breath. “But we should go.”

“Go?” The word confused me, like I’d never heard it before now.

Those blue eyes opened and fixed on mine. Instead of the heady lust he’d shown me since showing up on the front porch of the sorority house tonight, there was anger and resentment there.

“I’m not fucking you in an elevator.”

The words slapped me in the face, embarrassing me for a second, like maybe I was the only one who had gotten carried away. When he saw the look on my face, though, the irritation moved to the side and made way for panic. The anger didn’t leave, it only receded.

“Emilie, no. It’s not because I don’t want to fuck you in an elevator—” I choked out a laugh. “It’s that it shouldn’t be like this. Not our first time. I’m not…I don’t want it to feel like I’m having sex with you and then dropping you at the curb like a hooker.”

“Okay,” I said, more meekly than I intended, a little stunned that he cared.

He reached over, helping me pull my clothes back into place and making sure the redesign he’d done on my dress would let it stay on my shoulders. I adjusted my skirt and then buttoned his shirt back up before he hit the emergency stop button to get us moving.

To my surprise Quinn reached out and took my hand again, threading our fingers together. The thought of where his hands had just been made me hot all over again.

As the doors dinged he looked over and winked at me. “Plus, I’m not at my best standing up. I’d hate to ruin my reputation now.”

***

“So he said he didn’t have a condom and needed to run to the store…and then he just never came back?”

Shame burned the back of my throat. “It doesn’t matter if you ask me a fifth time, the answer’s still the same.”

“I know, but…Quinn Rowland does not give up sex, so I find it hard to believe he doesn’t carry condoms. I can’t believe he didn’t seal the deal in the elevator. Which is totally hot and daredevil of you, Em. I approve.” Ruby smiled like she knew I was about to fall apart.

It wasn’t that he’d left. I’d expected him to do that—just after we’d had sex, not before, and the result was me going over every single moment in the elevator and searching for what I’d done wrong. It was humiliating.

“He texted you, though…right?”

“Yeah.”

Quinn texted about an hour after he’d left me at the sorority house that there had been an emergency at the Aussie Open party he had to deal with and that he’d be back to pick me up later. That was five hours ago.

“Well, maybe something really happened. What else could it be?”

I shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal if I never heard from him again, but it wasn’t true and we both knew it. The promise that ran through me on the dance floor tonight returned then, weaker but still present. He would not break me. Not my heart or my confidence or anything else.

Except now that I’d seen him up close, frantic and vulnerable in his way, I wanted to see it again and again. The way his beautiful face felt against my body, how his silky black hair slid between my fingers, the tensed muscles under my hands. I didn’t care how long it might last, I only wanted one more day.

“Em.” Ruby tugged on my hand. “Maybe it’s better this way. I don’t like the way he looked at you tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Curiosity pulled my mind from the vortex of desire that I couldn’t seem to shake. Quinn had looked at me a bunch of different ways tonight but I didn’t recall not liking a single one of them.

“I don’t know. Like you belonged to him—and yeah, like he wanted you—but it made him angry.” She frowned, the expression out of place on her normally chipper features. It was mostly her upturned nose that made her appear perpetually happy, because in reality she was snarky pretty much twenty-four-seven. “I’m not explaining it very well, but I don’t think Quinn’s someone you want to be in the way of if he gets pissed.”

For some reason my mind flashed to Toby. He’d been hurt tonight and no one knew why, at least not yet, and Quinn had showed up to take me to the dance in his place. The two things weren’t connected, surely. They were frat brothers—friends. Toby told me so, and we were close enough that he would have warned me if Quinn was dangerous.

“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about that. Quinn doesn’t have any interest in a girl belonging to him in any sense but in the bedroom.”

Chapter Eleven

Quinn

“I need to talk to you,” I growled at Sebastian.

He turned toward me, irritation barely concealed due to the fact that my interruption had lifted some random brunette’s hand off his crotch. “What is it, Quinn? And for fuck’s sake, what are you wearing?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I motioned for the girl to get out, impatient to have this conversation.

My blood ran hot every time the scene from the elevator pushed into the front of my mind. It made me the weirdest mixture of angry and horny I’d ever experienced in my life.

If Sebastian would agree to my proposal I’d never feel it again. Emilie would be out of my life forever, and even though she might not agree right now, since I’d run away from her faster than a Kenyan in the New York Marathon, it was the best thing for her, too.

I’d felt too much. Kissing her, seeing her body swell against my lips, the sensation of her teeth clamped on my shoulder when she’d come in my hand…it was like coming back from the dead and living hurt like hell. I didn’t want to, but somewhere in the past week while I’d been pretending to care about getting to know Emilie Swanson, I’d actually started to like her.

Not just want her, or respect her as an opponent—which was rare enough—but like her. I wanted to punch her dad in the face for not seeing how amazing an artist she was, and strangle God for taking her sister, and castrate any guy who had her before I did.

The immensity of it overwhelmed me like nothing I’d felt before or been conditioned to handle. A life devoid of positive emotion had built me into this man; an excess of any feeling had been a foreign concept.

Until now.

Anger boiled again, replacing the lust and debilitating pain caused by the reanimation of my flesh. She wouldn’t do this to me. No one would. I didn’t deserve anything good.

Sebastian dismissed his lady friend and followed me to the library, adjusting his crotch a couple times on the way there, and I took a small amount of pleasure from the fact that he was as uncomfortably unsatisfied as I was right now. He dropped on the couch I’d used earlier, leaving me the desk chair, but I didn’t sit.

“Well, what is it? Did you win or is this another injury timeout?” His eyes narrowed, raking over my appearance. “You do look a tad disheveled.”

“I want to change this round.”

He lit a cigar, puffing several times while peering at me from the shadows. A lamp on the desk was the only source of light, leaving the two of us in what could be a cave. “It’s not possible.”

“It’s our game, Sebastian. Of course it’s possible.”

“Convince me.”

I’d come in here prepared to suggest we simply pick a new girl, and it would even be upping the stakes since I only had about a week remaining before the lights went out on Rod Laver Arena for another year. I closed my eyes for a second and felt the heat of the Australian summer, smelled the sweat and cement, heard the pop of new cans of balls, the murmuring of the crowd, and the squeak of new tennis shoes across the court.

I should have been there. Winning my way into the second week, poised to take down my second major title on a hard court, going back to the hotel and rolling around in bed with the most objectively hot girl on the tour.

Not here begging my twisted brother to let me not go to bed with an equally hot girl, albeit in a completely different way. What the hell had gotten into me?

Emilie Swanson, a voice whispered.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to sleep with her.”

His eyebrows went up. “Why ever not? She’s not your type, I realize, but Emilie’s pretty enough, and those tits—”

“—It’s not that,” I cut him off before he could go further. “She’s beautiful. And I don’t have a type.”

“Beautiful?”

My mistake caught his attention, as I should have guessed. He missed nothing.

Smoke from the cigar wound up from the couch and diffused in the air, sweet and cloying. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, but I’d be damned if he’d beat me at the silent battle-of-wills game. I’d grown up playing it every day with my father. Sebastian might have been my half-brother, but he’d grown up with his whore mother until he was eighteen and couldn’t match me when it came to deflecting emotional manipulation.

He hit the goddamn lottery the day he’d learned Teddy Rowland had fathered him. And I’d lost half of the fortune I’d earned with my silent childhood and every single time I’d been cast aside since.

“You like her.” He held up his hand when I started to protest. “Don’t bother denying it. There is no other reason for you to refuse to get between those shapely little legs. And by the state of your hair and misbuttoned shirt, I assume the lady is no longer playing hard to get.”

“I don’t want anything more to do with her. I’ll bag two or three more girls this week, whatever you think is appropriate. Whoever. Just not her.”

“No.”

My heart sank. I’d known he wouldn’t change his mind the minute he guessed it was personal. And not because of the money, although the bets he took over the course of four tennis majors added up to a small fortune. I got my cut of that, not that either of us actually needed the money.

He wouldn’t change the deal because he liked seeing me squirm. If I refused, then he wouldn’t take half of my inheritance, he’d take his blackmail public instead.

“I mean, unless you want to stop playing all together. I’d miss the cash but the fallout from your impressively shocking photos would be more than enough to keep me entertained for a while, and every blog, website, news show, and paper in the country—hell, half the world—would love to see your pretty little face on the front page.”

Sebastian had some rather unflattering photographs of me taken right after my career ended, and if they went public it would be the final nail in my coffin. My father would never allow the future of his company to be jeopardized by an unflattering reputation. He’d paid Sebastian’s mother over a hundred million dollars to go away and never return. She also signed over parental rights on a forged adoption document that made it look like my father had simply adopted a homeless kid off the street out of the goodness of his heart.

The photos Seb had of me contained various drug paraphernalia, including full-body shots with needles hanging out of my arms, pills crushed into powder on glass tabletops, naked escorts draped across my lap. I hardly remembered the four months it took me to pull my head out of my ass. The photos didn’t lie, though, and my father would disown me. Even if he didn’t, his shareholders wouldn’t be keen on being ordered around by a former drug addict. Goodbye, future.

When Seb first suggested the game as a way to make some cash, I’d agreed willingly enough, more for the challenge than the money. I’d come up with the idea of using the majors as a way to get back at Alexandria—the representation of all women everywhere—and prove I didn’t give a shit that she’d dumped me.

Which, while true in the sense I didn’t care about her whiny ass, was not true in the sense that she had no right to send me packing like a dog that had peed on the carpet one too many times.

“No. I don’t want to quit.” I sighed. “You’re really not going to be reasonable, I suppose.”

“On the contrary, I’m being very reasonable. I’d reasonably like to see you go over there and fuck this girl like you’ve fucked all the others. You’ve made her care about poor, misunderstood Quinn Rowland, the rich boy no one ever loved; now is the fun part. Reap your rewards and then leave her without a word. It’ll be good for you. Get her out of your system and we can get back to business.” He stood, ashing his cigar in the tray on the desk, and made for the door.

“You didn’t have to go after Toby so hard. Putting him the hospital nearly blew my cover. Again.” It was a nitpick, but I wanted something.

“I merely wanted to ensure he wouldn’t go tattling to his little crush and ruin everything once and for all. I figured you’d feel the same way. Mea culpa, brother.”

Sebastian left the room. The scent of smoke and pure evil remained in his wake and I sat breathing it for several minutes, trying to soak it in and return to my former self. I was going to have to finish what Emilie and I had started.

Desire stirred at the thought. So did my anger. I would use them both to get through the next days. If ire took over it would consume my misgivings, eat them the way fire devours an entire structure, and I could prove to Emilie that she wanted nothing to do with me.

Besides, she was no better than Alexandria.

Emilie was a girl, and eventually she’d show her true colors. I could get her naked in the next hour, and it shouldn’t take more than a day or so for her to admit she cared about me. Then I would walk away without a backward glance. Like always.

My entire life I had been left behind by everyone and everything that was supposed to care about me. My mother. My father, in the sense that he wanted nothing to do with me. Alexandria. Tennis.

No one ever stayed. So I didn’t, either.

Chapter Twelve

I caught her on the way into her studio around eight the next morning.

The guarded look in her dark eyes tried to crack my re-hardened insides. She smiled that smile, the one that wasn’t sure it wanted to emerge, but this time I didn’t wish I could make it sure of me. Emilie shouldn’t be sure of me. She was too smart for all of this, and it made me angry all over again that she was about to fall for it.

“Hey,” I said as she stopped in front of the glass doors of the old building.

People bustled up and down the streets in this old part of town, headed to work or school or breakfast. None of them paid us any mind, didn’t have a clue what happened to us last night and didn’t care. She met my gaze and the embarrassment I’d prepared for caught my breath.

“Where have you been?”

“I told you, something came up at the party.”

“What?”

I paused, unprepared to be thoroughly questioned. No one had cared to grill me since I’d fired my first tennis coach when he tried to play daddy one too many times. “A family matter. I don’t care to discuss it.”

“Okay.” She shrugged, her coffee-and-cream skin peach in the cheeks.

“You were going to work?”

“Yes. I need to finish the centerpiece in the next couple of days.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No. I was going to grab some coffee in a bit.”

The stilted conversation belonged to people who knew one another casually, not to people who had been half-naked in an elevator less than twelve hours ago. I hated it. More importantly, I didn’t have time for it.

Maybe I wanted to erase the worry in her eyes and the wrinkle between her eyebrows, if only for a few hours. “You go get to work. I’m going to get us some coffee and breakfast.”

“Quinn?”

Her voice stopped me before I’d made it five steps. It trembled, but when I turned she smiled, and it punched me in the chest. “Yeah?”

“Try to make it back in less than eight hours this time.”

“Deal.”

***

I was gone less than twenty minutes.

Upstairs in her drafty but comfortable loft, I unpacked bagels and coffee. She told me how she took her coffee and I made it for her, blowing the steam away before putting it in her hand. Our fingers brushed and it took everything in me not to jerk away.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She went to pick up her paintbrush, then stopped. “I really need to work, Quinn.”

“I won’t bother you. I brought my laptop.” I patted the bag slung over my shoulder. “Homework.”

Emilie raised her eyebrows. “Homework?”

“I decided you were right. About my dad. If I want him to take me seriously, I’ve got to start acting serious. There’s a big project coming up in my multimedia class and I was thinking I could use it to design some progressive integrated media for Rowland’s overseas expansion portfolio.” I stopped talking, embarrassed that I’d said so much.

“I have no idea what most of that means, but it’s good that you’re excited. I don’t know a whole lot about your dad that the rest of the world doesn’t know, too, but if you want to be a part of what he’s built, then you should show him.” She turned to her easel and picked up the paintbrush. “Now get started so I can finish this.”

The ratty couch was more comfortable than it looked; no springs poked my ass and the fabric was worn and smelled lightly of sunshine, as though in its previous life it enjoyed soaking up the rays. My laptop warmed my knees and the coffee sloshed in my stomach. At some point I noticed Emilie had changed her canvas for a blank one, leaving the sexy painting full of vibrant summer colors against the wall.

She smiled faintly at her new creation, looking inspired. Her cheeks glowed and stars shone in her coal black eyes. Her black hair hung down her back in a long ponytail, but silky strands had escaped and settled against her cheeks and neck. A brush hung from her right hand like an extension of her arm, like I knew it would the night I met her and saw the way she stared with such intensity at the Gauguin in our hallway. Concentrating on her canvas, standing with her feet spread apart like Peter Pan in ratty shorts and a paint-splattered hip-length sweatshirt, I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

It was then I realized the real reason I was going to sleep with her, get her to admit she wanted to date me, and leave her.

Because Emilie Swanson was far too good for me. One day she’d realize it and hit the bricks.

I was merely going to do it before she could.

The buzzing comfort in this place, the way we were quiet but together, wrapped around me and I felt safe. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt at home in a place other than a tennis court.

***

I woke up with Emilie’s tentative mouth pressed against mine.

When my eyes flew open she sat back on her heels at my feet. “Couldn’t resist. You looked adorable.”

“No one has ever called me adorable in my entire life.”

“Maybe you never let anyone watch you sleep, then.”

The taste of her lingered on my lips and I licked them, my eyes traveling down over her body. She must have read my mind—not that it would have been difficult—because she stood up and pulled off the long sweatshirt, dropping it at her feet. The shorts were next, leaving her standing in front of me in a thin brown tank top and a scrap of pale pink lacy underwear.

“Come here,” I demanded, reaching out to grab her hips. My voice sounded scratchy and hoarse, I supposed from just waking up.

Emilie smiled a slow smile, one that was sure this time, and spread her knees around my hips, settling on my lap. My body responded immediately and there was no way to hide it. She leaned her arms into the couch and slid her tongue along my lower lip, catching it in her teeth a little roughly.

She gave me a saucy grin that made me want to stop letting her be in control. “You taste good.”

“Like sleepy breath?”

“No. Like the ocean if it were made of whiskey.” Her breath whispered across my face.

Hot breath trailed down my jaw and neck, along with her lips, and the occasional slip of a tongue, driving me mad. It had been a long time since I’d sat back and let a girl have her way but I didn’t stop her. The desire stumbling through my blood urged haste, but I wanted it to last.

“You like whiskey?”

“I love whiskey. It’s delicious.”

“Mmm.” Words escaped me as her fingers worked their way under the hem of my thin t-shirt and splayed out on my stomach.

She tugged it over my head, running soft hands over my chest before slipping off my lap and back to her knees. Kisses trailed down my stomach and I couldn’t suppress a groan when her palm rubbed me through my jeans. The rest of my patience evaporated when she went for the button fly.

I hooked my hands under her elbows and dragged her back onto my lap, sliding the thin shirt over her head, baring her body to me from the waist up. The ability to breathe escaped me at the beauty of the moment. I wanted to remember this; her chest heaving in time with her heart, desire tightening her golden skin in anticipation of my touch.

My hands brushed the base of her neck, pulling gently until her lips met mine and opened eagerly for my tongue. The willingness of her entire body turned me on as much as anything else. With women, I took what I wanted with gilded words and carefully orchestrated movements. Emilie was giving it to me like a gift, open and offered even with the knowledge that I wasn’t the guy she thought I could be.

She pushed my hands down until her tits filled them. They responded to the lightest touch, and the way she shuddered harder with each brush of my thumbs loosed a groan from deep inside me. I throbbed against my jeans almost painfully, unsure how much longer I could draw this out but wanting her to remember it.

That I made her feel good, even if it was only once.

Her tongue grew more demanding against mine, pushing harder and asking for more. Then pulled her lips away, eyes like black pools of water reflecting the stars. “Quinn,” she breathed against my mouth.

“Hmm?”

God in heaven do not let her say stop. I’d never hurt her—or take from any unwilling girl—but I’d have blue balls for a week.

“Do you think you can fuck me on a couch?”

Her use of that word in this moment, along with the memory it evoked of last night in that elevator, sent me over the edge. I stood up with her in my arms, her gorgeous legs wrapped around my waist, then turned and dropped her on the couch. My jeans and boxer briefs were gone, along with her pink lace distractions, in the next two seconds. Another minute and I had the condom out of my pants pocket and in place.

Her first, my mind chided.

I growled, more desperate to feel her wrapped around me than I could believe. A deep breath helped, allowed me to push her back on the couch until she was flat against the tan cushions. My lips started at her jaw while my fingers played lower, trying not to push, wanting to make sure she wanted this as much as I did.

My mouth trailed down, wishing I had enough control to linger on her tits an hour more, because they were fucking magnificent. When I slipped a finger gently inside her there was no doubt she was as ready as I was. She clenched around the second invading finger, growing my need uncomfortably.

“Shit,” I murmured. The hot wetness at her center, the dampness across her chest and neck, were enough to make me worry I’d finish before we even got started.

Which was not typically a problem for me.

I moved lower, intent on making sure she got her pleasure before taking mine, but her fingers fisted in my hair and pulled my head up.

Her eyes met mine, wild and snapping, burning with lust. “No. I want you inside me. Not your fingers or your tongue. You.”

That was enough encouragement for me. I braced myself with one hand on the couch and nudged her knees farther apart, letting my hips fit in between them. When I slid inside her I almost collapsed from the intensity of the pleasure. Her spine arched, her body intent on pulling me closer, but I held still for a few seconds. Leaned down to kiss her lips and her jaw, her neck and her chest.

Set.

Emilie tipped her hips up, making me fall deeper inside her and wrenching a gasped moan from my throat. She smiled that saucy smile, sweat scattered across her forehead, and drew my mouth to hers again. I forgot about trying to go slow or be gentle, because nothing mattered to me but the perfect hotness of her wrapped around me, wanting me, encouraging me and meeting me at every thrust.

We moved together, increasing in intensity as our tongues played together and her hands roamed my body. Our skin slipped against one another’s and she came fast the first time, gasping her release with hot breath on my neck while her fingernails dug into my back. When I felt her building again I let go too, holding her up off the couch and tight against me as we shuddered together for several seconds. We stayed that way for a long time, me buried inside her, until my arms started to ache and she unwound her legs from around my back.

I flipped us quickly so that I pressed into the cushions and she rested against my chest. Her eyes sparkled, and I loved that she didn’t get shy and embarrassed like we’d just committed a crime. A lot of girls did that, and it always bothered me. It was sex, not murder. If we both wanted it—and we did—feeling shame ruined one of the better parts of life.

“I suppose your reputation will have to stay intact. Because…whew.”

“That’s good to know. And you’re not bad yourself.”

“I’m a girl. What else do you need?” She asked me with a smile, then laid her head underneath my chin.

You.

The thought came out of nowhere. No, it came from a place where sincere things were hidden away. Her teasing statement was true enough, in that I could get off with any willing girl provided there was enough alcohol or few enough lights. But the kind of sex we just had on a ratty old couch in a drafty loft…that was more than getting laid.

There was something between our bodies that went beyond chemistry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d lost myself in someone that way; I had no idea if we’d moved together for thirty minutes or an hour, only that it had been the perfect amount of time. First times especially could tend toward awkward, no matter how experienced the participants. This felt like we’d done it a hundred times before; our bodies responded as though we knew one another intimately, but it was also a hot surprise at every turn.

“Maybe we could go to the museum thing together?” She murmured against my chest. “My parents decided to come after all and I could use the moral support.”

Match.

I didn’t answer, letting her believe I’d fallen asleep again. After a moment or two she leaned up and pressed a kiss to my neck, the curled into my side. The feeling of her unbelievable naked skin pressed against mine made me hard again and I almost gave in to my desires, but then her breathing deepened and her muscles relaxed against me.

I tightened an arm around her waist, tugging her as close as humanly possible, then shifted slightly to take a deep breath, memorizing the way she smelled like fresh sunshine mixed with the salty sweat of sex. My eyes closed, too. A few more hours wouldn’t hurt anything.

Chapter Thirteen

Emilie

I woke up a few hours later, warm from the way Quinn’s arm pressed my body into his side.

The moment overwhelmed me but I drank it in, trying to remember what it felt like waking up in his arms, the way he smelled, how deliciously my muscles ached. Quinn’s deep steady breathing said he still slept and I lifted my head, memorizing his beautiful face. When no one watched him the tension in his jaw and mouth disappeared, leaving him smooth and looking almost happy.

The sun had risen high, burning off the gray fog that had enveloped the morning, and I guessed it was probably early afternoon. My stomach rumbled, the bagels from this morning still forgotten on the table, but food wasn’t on my mind.

I meant what I said to Quinn the last time we were here. There was more to him, I was sure of it, but I remained equally sure that he wasn’t ready to show that person to the world. Maybe because it sounded like his father made his life harder, or because his dreams were ripped from him last year when that injury forced him to leave the tour.

Or it might have been Alexandria.

I didn’t want to think about her and her gorgeous, blonde, five-foot-ten tennis body perfection. He’d had that every night, naked and willing in his bed, and it made me boil with jealousy no matter how good the sex had been this morning.

And it had been good. I thought. My experience certainly paled in comparison to Quinn’s, but it had never been so natural for me. Not so easy to let go, to not feel self-conscious but to just ask for what I wanted and have it given to me.

We couldn’t last that long. This wasn’t a relationship. I didn’t know what it was, exactly, but something made him keep hunting me down, coming around, and before today it hadn’t been the sex. Maybe he would never come back now.

If he was going to do that, I needed at least one more memory, even though it would surely haunt me sooner than later. My hand slid across his naked stomach, marveling at the way my body grew heavy in response to the hard muscle that covered him. When my fingers teased lower, dipping through the bramble of hair that grew thicker below his stomach, he hardened in his sleep.

When I wrapped my hand around the length of him he woke up with a groan, turning so that we faced each other but not so I had to give up my grasp. Quinn gave me a sleepy smile, a quick flash of his teeth against his lips catching my breath, then trailed a lazy hand down to cup my breast.

It would be impossible to describe how much I loved the feeling of his hands on me. They were kind but demanding, soft but skilled, and soon I was the one arching forward and begging for more when it had been my intention to do that to him.

“Mi sopresita,” he breathed against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Why does it feel like I’ve been waking up naked with you for years?”

The words fell quiet on my ears, as though he didn’t really mean to say them aloud, but they stopped my heart in my chest. He felt it too, that familiarity between our bodies. What did it mean?

“Yet I’m still your little surprise,” I teased, pulling back so I could drink in his electric blue gaze.

“Yes. Even more so now that I know what a willing little tigress you are in the sack.”

His words turned me on, emboldened me further, and I hooked a leg over his hip and lifted up to straddle him. A surprised chuckle turned to a lusty growl when I guided him inside me and sat down hard, moving my hips to meet his needy strokes.

Those hands reached up to find my breasts again, testing their weight, driving me mad, but as our playfulness gave in to frantic desire he slid them to my hips. He pushed me hard against him and we moved faster, heat rising and pounding through my blood. It swirled and lit my nerves on fire until my body moved on its own, desperate to find release. When I tightened around him, my fingers curled into his chest, our eyes locked as his name came out in a whisper.

Quinn moved quickly after I relaxed on top of him, pushing me onto my back with one hand and digging in his pants on the floor with the other.

Condom. I’d totally forgotten.

He slid it on and was back between my thighs in a matter of minutes. The feeling of him filling me felt as good as my orgasm a moment before, and I thought I would never tire of seeing his face above mine, of hearing the way my name scraped hoarse out of his throat when he finished a few minutes later and collapsed in a sweaty heap against my chest. I wanted to do this again and again as many times as we could before our inevitable parting.

Our skin tingled where it met and I wondered how we would ever get dressed, but then my stomach let loose an impressive growl. We both dissolved into laughter before rolling off the couch and stuffing ourselves back into wrinkled clothes.

Quinn stared at me while I found my tank top and slid it back on, his lips twisted into an expression that looked like regret.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he knelt between my knees as I sat on the couch and kissed me softly on the lips. Then his mouth trailed down and hovered over the center of my right breast, not touching but breathing hot air through the flimsy material. The sensation made me flushed with need in an instant, but before I gave in, he stood.

“I don’t like you with clothes on, anymore.”

I chucked weakly, trying to gather myself but distracted by the new bulge pushing against the front of his pants. It seemed as though twice a day wasn’t enough for either one of us. Even so, he let me finish getting dressed, and ushered me out of the loft and down the stairs.

On the street below it felt like everyone who glanced our direction knew we’d spent the entire day in bed.

“I’m not dressed to go anywhere to eat,” I pointed out, even though my stomach demanded sustenance of the nutritional variety.

Quinn smiled down at me. “I rather like the outfit.”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for public. Especially not in January.”

“Fine. So how about you drive your car back to the sorority house and change clothes—take a shower if you want, although I think you smell sexy as hell the way you are—and I’ll do the same and then pick you up in a couple of hours.”

“Deal.”

I lingered, wanting to kiss him goodbye, but the first real moment of awkwardness we’d experienced pushed between us. Quinn’s gaze fell to my lips. What I saw shot a shiver down my spine. In addition to the lust I’d quickly become familiar with, there was something else that kept popping up unexpectedly—regret.

A moment later his mouth crushed mine, his arms circling my waist and lifting me hard against him, and I forgot my own name never mind what I had been thinking. It was more than a see-you-later kiss. Quinn’s tongue pushed against mine and I responded, eager for him still and getting a thrill from the public display.

He pulled quickly away and stepped back. The loss of heat gave me a chill; I wrapped my arms around my waist.

“So, two hours?” Quinn asked, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Sure.” I wanted to ask if he was okay but I didn’t.

I think part of me wanted to believe for a few more hours that things would find a way to work themselves out.

***

It was exactly two hours later when a sleek black Town Car pulled up to the curb at the DE house. Ruby had left a while ago with some of the other girls, including Annette, who still wasn’t speaking to me. I guess Ruby wasn’t too happy with me, either, since I’d bailed on Girls Night.

A driver in black pants, a white shirt, and a matching hat and jacket stepped out into the early evening. He crossed to my side of the car while I waited. I’d been carted everywhere by a similar car and driver most of my life so the protocol was familiar—it wasn’t my job to open the door.

Except he didn’t open the door.

Instead the stoic blond man tipped his hat. “Evening, Miss. Are you Emilie Swanson?”

“Yes.” My stomach twisted. All of the sudden I knew Quinn wasn’t waiting inside that car. Which meant he was running again, the way he did last night after the elevator.

“This is for you.” The driver handed over a white envelope with not even my name scrawled on the front. “Good evening.”

He got back in the car and pulled away from the curb. I stood trembling in front of the DE house, terrified to open that envelope and read the inevitable words. Even though I’d guessed the conclusion of any story that involved Quinn Rowland, and I had to admit it came earlier than expected.

Unless today hadn’t been for him the way it was for me. Exceptional.

In the empty room upstairs I took a deep breath and pulled out the folded note.

I don’t think we should see one another again. Thank you for the past several days—I’ve enjoyed you more than I can say—and please don’t take this as a comment on anything you’ve done. I’m the one who is broken. Best of luck.

Best of fucking luck? Was he kidding with this shit?

I crumpled the note and tossed it into the sink, curling up on top of my covers. The dirty white stuffed polar bear I’d brought from home smelled familiar against my cheek and it wasn’t the first time his head soaked through with my tears.

I’d wallow in my sorrow and shame, embarrassment, and anger at my own stupidity until Ruby got home. Then she could smack some sense into me.

Her name still lingered in my mind when the door slammed open, whacking the wall, and she stood in the room.

Ruby’s eyes widened at the sight of me. “That motherfucking piece of goddamn fucking shit.”

A wet laugh escaped, her presence lifting weight off of my shoulders. “Quinn was only what we already knew. Not more, like I thought. But no less.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s in the sink.”

“He dumped you in a fucking note?”

“He didn’t dump me at all. It’s not like we’re dating.”

She crossed to the sink and grabbed the wadded-up ball, smoothing it against the formica. “Best of luck with what?”

“Knowing Quinn, probably with finding someone as good as he is in bed.”

Ruby’s eyebrows arched even higher. “You slept with him? And then he left you this?”

“That would be a yes.”

She bounced onto the bed next to me. “First, I have to know. How was it? Does he look amazing naked? Is his penis crooked?”

“Better than I thought possible, of course, and no.” I flopped back into the pillows, hugging my stuffed animal to my chest again.

“Why are you crying? We talked about this. Sex, okay. Emotionally involved, not okay. He’s…” Ruby pursed her lips and tried to figure out what to say. “Anyone can see that boy is a hot mess. He’s the broken guy that every Hollywood romcom makes you believe will change if he falls in love with the right girl but it’s a lie, Em. He is who he is, and personally I think you should be well rid of him.”

“You’re right.”

I knew she was, too. My life needed to be focused and on track—doing well at the art show in four days so I could convince my parents this would be a living for me, not just some hobby mattered more than being brushed off by a guy.

She was wrong about Quinn, though. I’d felt it more than ever when I’d woken up in his arms; he’d held me tight against him as though letting go was unthinkable. His actions seemed to be more about fear than anything else.

It wasn’t my problem anymore. He had friends and, like ninety percent of the rich kids at Whitman, probably an excellent therapist. He didn’t need me. I’d been silly to think he did.

“Earth to Emilie. You don’t look like you think I’m right. You look conflicted. I don’t like it.” Ruby’s kind blue eyes landed on me and she put her hand on my leg.

“I’m not. I’m going to feel smug about bedding Quinn Rowland and focus on the art show.” I smiled, hoping it worked.

Ruby was my best friend; she didn’t buy it but she did let it slide. She slapped me on the ass. “You know the best way to say fuck Quinn Rowland to the world?”

“Um…”

“Tequila.”

I laughed and rubbed the soft bear against my face, clearing away the tears. It had only been a week, and though I felt more for Quinn in a week than I’d felt for anyone else ever, I couldn’t cry in bed. I wasn’t that girl, especially not when I’d only gotten exactly what I expected. Quinn had promised me nothing, had done far more listening than talking.

He might have been afraid of something other than lust burning between us, but he had left me a healthy fear of my own. Because even if I refused to be a mess over this, or go begging for an explanation, or totally lose my shit like Annette had, I was terrified that I would never feel this way again as long as I lived.

Chapter Fourteen

Quinn

The student art show and the dedication of Whitman’s new museum were today, Friday. I hadn’t seen Emilie since I’d left her on the street late Monday afternoon, but she would be here tonight, and I sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be a scene. My father hated scenes almost as much as he hated me. Almost as much as I hated myself.

I’d gone straight back to the beach house and washed the smell of her body away from mine. She didn’t call or text, didn’t show up out of the blue to yell at me for sleeping with her and bolting. It bothered me and relieved me at the same time. Maybe she’d taken my advice at the eighties prom party to heart and refused to let me break her.

Of all the things I wanted, that would never be one of them.

I’d wanted to break the others. Every time Alexandria took a step forward in her career I’d promised to be at home taking out my vengeance on another woman, but it was different this time. I didn’t know why or how, but that girl had gotten under my skin.

It was done. We needed to get through this opening tonight and then Emilie Swanson and I never had to see one another again.

The museum had turned out beautifully, though the sloped, all-glass facade that reached several stories into the air was a bit modern for my taste. It let great sunlight in during the day, illuminating the pieces that could weather it and hiding the rest in artificially lit expansive rooms and alcoves. The building also housed two concert halls and a full bar.

People in formalwear milled in the lobby, drinks swirling in their cut-glass tumblers, the murmur of their voices muted by the expensive but flawless acoustic design. The building had cost Rowland Communications several million dollars. I tugged at the collar of my tux, hot and uncomfortable for some reason even though I’d basically been born in one. I felt more comfortable in a shirt and tie than anything else except tennis clothes.

I grabbed a drink and swallowed quickly. My nerves numbed and settled, but when my father appeared at the opposite end of the room, shaking hands and smiling in a way he refused to in private, I popped a mint in my mouth.

Teddy didn’t disapprove of drinking, but I’d rather not give him any ammunition. Our eyes met and he gave me a quick jerk of the head, beckoning me to his side. When I got there he grinned a big fake one and patted me on the back, then turned to the group of donors and advertisers. “This is my son, Quinn. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

I smiled, too, and shook their hands. The chorus of nice to meet you, heard so much about you, and sorry about the knee melted into a giant soup of chatter. Together, Teddy and I worked the room for another half an hour before I excused myself, expressing a desire to peruse some of the art for sale by my classmates.

Everyone in the vicinity smiled indulgent approval, but Teddy’s eyes darkened. “The dedication is in twenty minutes. Out here.”

“I’ll be back before then.”

I escaped without a backward glance, not intending to upset him but needing some time to breathe. For all of the parties and people constantly in and out of my house, crowds got under my skin unless they were neatly seated in stadium rows. It had gotten me a bad rep as a player who avoided autographs on the tour, but the crush of humanity pressed around me, shouting my name and sticking shit in my face, really wigged me out.

The clean, wide hallways displayed artwork and provided a less clogged space. People spoke softly in front of different pieces, commenting on brush strokes or color or possible inspiration. The lighting back here was softer, aimed at the walls instead of beating down like spotlights on a stage. It helped me relax, and the art took my mind off my father for five minutes.

Until I turned a corner and found myself in a nearly empty alcove. A girl with long dark hair pulled up into a knot sat alone on a bench. The bare, slumped shoulders were the color of toffee and when I closed my eyes I could smell them again.

I almost ran. Maybe I should have, but we were going to have to face one another sooner or later and we might as well get it done alone. “Emilie.”

She turned slowly, standing to face me, and the sight of her in the cherry red gown literally took my breath away. It hugged her waist on its way to the floor, strapless but tasteful, baring an enticing hint of what I’d held in my hands only days ago.

Unspilled tears shone in her dark eyes and she wiped at them hastily. I pulled the off-white handkerchief square from my breast pocket and handed it over.

Emilie wiped her eyes a few times, then glared at me. “I’m not crying about you.”

“I didn’t assume you were.”

The quiet snuggled around us like a cocoon until her sigh whispered against my ears. “I haven’t sold a single piece.”

“The night is young.”

She shook her head. “Plenty of the others have sold canvases already. It’s me. My father was right about this being a stupid life decision. It’s time for me to face it.”

My arms ached from holding still; I wanted to reach out and tug her against my chest, keep the pain of failure away. No one could do that, though, not for any of us. Sometimes you got your ass kicked, but it didn’t mean you got to walk off the court before the match ended.

“It’s hard to create, Emilie. You put your heart onto canvases and let other people look at it. They can love it or they can trash it, but you’re not an artist until you share your work. It’s brave.”

“Kind of like relationships, no?”

A challenge ignited in the center of her intelligent black gaze. It burned a hole through my skin until I felt exposed and I shrugged. “Some might say that.”

“Not you.”

“There are people who will appreciate your work,” I said, changing the subject. “Maybe they’re not here tonight but it shouldn’t stop you.”

“You really like my work?” The surprise in her voice cut like a knife.

“I told you I did.”

“Yeah, but after what…happened I assumed you were just saying that.”

“To what? Get you into bed?” Anger tightened my jaw. “I’m not a liar.”

She walked toward me, the lithe movement reminding me of how supple and acquiescent she was underneath that dress, and I closed my eyes briefly as the summery smell of her washed over me. Her hands reached out and so help me God I would rip that dress off her if she touched me.

They only straightened my bow tie, then returned the dampened hanky into my pocket.

“I know you’re not.” Her smile was hesitant and sad, but not over the two of us. It looked more similar to the pity for me she’d displayed the night we met. “At least, not when it comes to the things you tell other people.”

Before I could respond, her eyes widened and she stepped away from me, brushing escaped hairs back into her bun and behind her ears. I turned to see a handsome couple striding toward us. The tall Latina woman with the most generous rack I’d ever seen and snapping pitch-black eyes could only be Emilie’s mother. The man stood a head taller than his wife, even in her four inch heels, but when he drew near I realized we were about the same height—around six-foot-two.

Emilie’s genes had largely come from her gorgeous, petite mother and not this blond-haired stern-looking man with ruddy cheeks. He spared me a glance, following it with a grimace. She eyed me with interest, then slid her inquiring gaze to her daughter, who heaved a sigh and stepped to my side.

“Mom, Dad, this is Quinn Rowland. Quinn, my parents. Esme and Gerald Swanson.”

“Nice to meet you,” I responded, reaching first for her mother’s tiny fingers. They were cold but grasped mine firmly before letting go so I could shake hands with her father.

“Emilie didn’t tell us she’d made friends with the local celebrity,” her father said too loudly.

I raised my eyebrows, feeling strangely protective of her in the presence of this man who struck me as a bully. “Are you a tennis fan, sir?”

“Of course. We’re not Rowland Communications but my family can be quite civilized.”

“How did the two of you meet?” Her mother continued to eye me with more scrutiny than required. Mothers tended to like me a lot less than their daughters did.

“Actually, I was just in here admiring the artwork. Emilie and I have only met casually but her work is quite stunning. Don’t you think?”

I felt Emilie’s wince at the word casually more than I saw it, but her mother’s face said she hadn’t missed the brief discomfort. Her gaze sharpened but her blusterous husband interrupted.

“What does a washed-up tennis player know about art?” he snorted.

Irritation ground my teeth together. It was a good thing this dalliance with Emilie had ended because I wanted to throttle her father every time he opened his mouth. “I wasn’t always a tennis player, Mr. Swanson. But I should go. Emilie, lovely to see you again.”

I bent and brushed a kiss across her cheek, not missing the way it transferred a spark to my lips, then left, intent on getting far away from her. Her father’s blaring baritone stopped me before I could move beyond earshot, though, and I stopped in the hallway to listen.

“Enough of this foolishness, Emilie. I’ve put up with it long enough, and we came here tonight to support you, but—”

“—You didn’t come here to support me,” Emilie interrupted smoothly. “You came here to watch me fail. And I have. So I guess that makes you pretty happy.”

“Don’t be silly, darling, we came to be there when you failed and help you make the decision to move onto a different path, that’s all.” Her mother’s voice might not be as offensive as her father’s, but the words were meaner for it.

“I’m not quitting.”

The righteous defiance that spilled past Emilie’s lips warmed me from the inside with something that must be pride. It felt strange to feel it for someone else and not my own accomplishments.

“Then you will attend college without our help,” Gerald Swanson said bluntly. “I won’t pay for what is clearly a waste of money. Come, Esme.”

I moved quickly, worried that if his ruddy face came into view my anger would burst free and destroy the assumption that Emilie and I didn’t know one another. My own father’s lips tightened when I reentered the lobby, looking pointedly at the clock. The dedication began in five minutes.

I nodded my understanding. Off to one side of the room, near the bar, I found the museum sales manager. Shining blonde hair that seemed too perfect to be natural ended just below her ears, setting off her luminous green eyes. A simple black dress hugged every ample curve. I’d have to have been blind not to notice, but the way her hungry gaze raked me rankled.

“I’d like to make a purchase,” I said shortly.

“Certainly, Mr. Rowland,” she purred.

The scent of floral perfume clogged my nostrils and I took a step back. “How many pieces by Emilie Swanson are in the catalogue?”

“Let me check.” The woman stammered, clearly not used to being ignored, and for good reason. She ran a manicured finger down a list. “Six.”

It occurred to me that buying them all would be suspicious. “I’ll take three.”

“Which?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll choose them after the night concludes, unless there’s more interest before then. And I’d like to keep my name private.”

“Fine.”

My eyes found Emilie as she entered the room flanked by her parents, her lovely face hard and miserable. They headed toward the bar, closer to me, so I thanked the girl—Jillian—one more time before making quick arrangements to finalize the transaction before leaving.

It would only end up hurting Emilie to get involved with me. If she knew the truth behind the night we’d met and everything that had transpired since she’d hate me, with good reason, and if there was one thing I knew for certain it was that I had nothing to offer.

Except a good night. A reason to believe in her talent. She would be happy.

A minute later, my father took the podium with me in the background, giving a succinct, prepared speech about the importance of art and culture in our society—which he actually believed, oddly—and everyone raised a glass to Rowland Communications. At his side I felt a part of things. That everything would be as it should if my father found a way to look past the hatred he’d dumped on me for twenty years and realize that the company should stay in the family.

Teddy’s contemptuous gaze said he felt nothing of the sort. “Where did you disappear to earlier?”

“I was buying a few pieces. A good investment, as you know, and also I thought it would look good to support our venture.”

“My venture. You just showed up and looked pretty.” His gaze narrowed. “I hope you’re smart enough not to get involved with a girl.”

My father had no use for women outside of sex. They were a hindrance to focus and did nothing but squander his money. I didn’t know what had given him the idea that I was involved with someone, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he’d had someone follow me.

“You must be kidding. What kind of Rowland man allows himself to be distracted by a woman?” That actually earned me a brief smile.

“I’m going to make my apologies and leave. I have a board meeting in the morning regarding the possible expansion into Eastern Europe. Please conduct yourself appropriately in my absence.”

“Of course.” I swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “I’d like to talk to you about that expansion, actually. I have some ideas and I’ve been working on a business model.”

The pause seemed to go on forever.

“Have Veronica set something up.”

He was gone before my smallest of victories processed. My father was going to listen to a proposal from me regarding Rowland.

Sweet relief mingled with determination in my blood. Hope, something I never allowed myself, blossomed again, and I hated that where my father was concerned it seemed to never learn its lesson. My gaze unconsciously sought out Emilie’s sleek, dark head.

The idea that she was the one with whom I wanted to share my father’s response shocked me. Muscles bunched in my arms and legs, propelling me from the lobby and back to the room containing her artwork. Away from her.

I needed to choose three pieces and conclude the deal with Jillian so I could get back to my guests at the beach house. Sebastian allowed lines to be crossed that I did not, and leaving him alone for too long was a recipe for disaster. One girl getting roofied and taken advantage of, and I could kiss any chance of changing my father’s mind goodbye.

The invitations were designed to avoid that scenario, but I’d rather not take any chances, especially after tonight.

The first thing that caught my eye was a set of keys on the bench where she’d been sitting earlier. I picked them up, noting the DE keychain before stuffing them in my pocket and planning to hand them over to Jillian. Talking to Emilie again was not at the top of my list of things to do.

I perused the pieces displayed on the walls and easels, deciding quickly on the vaguely sexy summer canvas she’d discarded for something new the last time I was in her loft. In her.

The errant thought drove a shudder through me, but it was nothing compared to the numbed astonishment when my eyes landed on her centerpiece.

Black and blue paint swept together across the huge canvas. The vibrant colors tangled in some places, joined to the point of being indistinguishable, but seemed to repel in others. Red splotches inched toward the center, faintly reminiscent of lips about to come together. The brush strokes were hesitant around the edges but more sure and bolder toward the center, as though as the colors drew nearer they were unable to resist the pull.

It was us. Emilie and me.

And it was stunning.

I sank down onto the bench when my knees refused to hold me up, staring at it for longer than I intended, memorizing each line and marveling at the way it all felt familiar. I’d told Emilie earlier tonight that being an artist meant putting your heart on a canvas and hanging it on a wall for the world to see.

It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d put mine up there, too.

Chapter Fifteen

I didn’t realize that Emilie’s keys were still in my pocket until she sent me a text a few hours later.

Hey. Did you pick up my loft keys by any chance? Can’t find them and no one turned them in at the museum.

Dammit. We weren’t supposed to be talking. I couldn’t ignore her, though, seeing as though I did have her keys.

Yes. Sorry. Meant to leave them with Jillian. I can bring them by.

No. Can you meet Ruby before class Monday at The Grind?

Sure. 9?

K.

It bothered me that she didn’t share her news about selling some of her art. Then again, I didn’t tell her about my father agreeing to listen to my expansion pitch. There was no reason either of us should have, either.

I told her I didn’t want to see her anymore—in a note—less than five hours after having sex with her multiple times and promising to pick her up for dinner. I was lucky she hadn’t burned my house down.

As if he felt my confliction, Sebastian strolled into the bedroom I used when I wasn’t entertaining. “Q.”

“Sebastian.”

“Only two days left before the men’s final. What’s the story?”

“It’s finished.”

His eyebrows went up before he could hide his surprise. “That cost me about two hundred grand,” he snorted.

“You shouldn’t bet against me.”

“Normally, no. I had a feeling about Emilie, though. Ces’t la vie, I suppose.” He sat down in a dark blue wingback next to the window. “I suppose I don’t need to ask for proof.”

“That’s never been an issue.”

“No. But usually I get the pleasure of seeing your top seed toppled and running out the front door crying. How do I know you got it?” He crossed his arms. Dampened fury glowed in his muddy gaze and I guessed he probably lost more than a couple hundred grand. “Especially since Pete saw your little pixie out the other night downing tequila like it was her job.”

The tidbit twisted like a knife in the gut, heightening the already uncomfortable situation. I hadn’t wanted to break Emilie, but I wanted her to care. It couldn’t be both ways. I should be glad she had gone out and had a good time.

I shrugged, hoping he hadn’t read me. Knowing he had. “You know girls. She was probably crying in her room and the rest of the swarm decided a night out was just what the doctor ordered.”

“Was that what happened?”

“You have ways of finding out what you need to know, Sebastian. I fucked her on the couch in her studio and afterward she asked me to escort her to the museum opening tonight. I later sent a note declining and telling her I thought it would be best if we didn’t see one another again.”

“Hold on. You sent her a note?” The incredulous tone in his voice turned to anger in a split second. “That was not part of the deal.”

My own rage built, begging to break loose, but I checked it. “I fucked her and dumped her, Seb. Emilie believed the same thing they all do—that she could fix me and I would love her. She’s not thrilled, but it’s not my problem if she’s not home crying about it like you wanted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”

The look on his face said this wasn’t over. I hated to imagine what that meant.

***

Nine o’clock on Monday would have been a lot easier if I hadn’t been wasted since Alexandria won the Australian Open on Saturday.

Her shining smile, faked humble speech, and the mental imagery of her celebrating had added to the anger and dread spilling around me after the conversation with Sebastian. Being incoherent seemed the best way to deal with it, if only for a few days. I deserved a break. I’d won another match of my own and put distance between Emilie and me.

The Grind, which was a ridiculously suggestive name for a coffeehouse, buzzed and thrummed with students anxious for their pre-class caffeine fix. I found a table for two near the front window and hunched over my double espresso. The smell alone eased my pounding head.

Ruby showed up a few minutes late, announcing her presence by smacking me in the back of the head. “Morning, jackass. You look like hell.”

“You have really lovely manners.”

“I learned them from my internet-sensation father and exercise-billionaire mother.”

New money. That explained it. The couth and manners genetically ingrained in generations of my family—passed down along with the real estate holdings, investments, and billions—had barely had time to take root with the Cottons.

Nevertheless, I wouldn’t disparage my upbringing by sinking to her level. “Thank you for meeting me. I didn’t mean to keep her keys.”

She snorted. “Right. If you think you can keep toying with Emilie, you’re wrong. I mean, I’m not saying she didn’t enjoy herself but you’re hardly worth crying over.”

“I quite agree.” My phone rang. Normally I would have let it go to voicemail but the caller ID said it was Veronica, probably calling to set up my appointment. “Give me just a second, Ruby.”

She rolled her eyes and blew on her latte.

“What? Oh. Yes, I did purchase a few things the other night.” I eyed Ruby, hoping fruitlessly that she wasn’t paying attention. “Three of them. Yes. I’m sorry they’re bothering you. I asked Jill—er, the lady—to send them to the beach address. This afternoon is fine. Have Roger pay the bill out of my personal account. Yes.”

I hung up and met Ruby’s wide gaze, rubbing the days old stubble on my face. It itched. “What?”

“Did you buy Emilie’s paintings Friday night?”

“What? Why would you think that?” Dismay ran through my veins like ice water. I didn’t want anyone to know, least of all Emilie.

“Oh my God, you did.” Ruby pressed a hand against her generous red lips, staring at me with puzzlement crinkling her forehead. “Why?”

When had I become so terrible at manipulating women? First Emilie saw through me with that crap about lying to myself and now Ruby had guessed about the paintings based on a cryptic phone conversation.

I took another sip of espresso and sat back in the uncomfortable industrial chair, then admitted defeat. “I liked them.”

She stared at me another minute and then shook her head. “No. I mean, maybe you do, but that’s not all. You like her, don’t you.”

I didn’t reply. Anger flashed across Ruby’s classically pretty features.

“Why did you treat her like all of those other girls, then? Or stop seeing her?” Her protectiveness eased into confusion. “She likes you, too, although I’m sure I can’t fathom why. Beyond the obvious.”

She gestured to my entire body and I rolled my eyes in response, trying to deflect with impatient humor. That wouldn’t do, though. Emilie couldn’t know I bought the paintings. Ruby needed to understand that.

“I’m staying away because I do like her, Ruby. And she’s way too good for me. Way better off without me.”

“At least we agree on that.”

“Then you can’t tell her about the paintings. Promise?”

She bit her lip, discord wrestling in her eyes. “Why did you buy them? If you really think it’s best she stay away?”

In a strange way, I wanted to tell Ruby everything. It would be such a relief to have it all off my chest, and she and I both had Emilie’s best interests at heart. “Her father said he’d pull her tuition money since the show hadn’t proven her choice to be a smart one. She was sad. I just wanted her to be happy.”

“Oh, fuck me running. It’s worse than I thought.”

“What?”

“You’ve totally fallen for her. This is bad. You need to stop it.”

Her words thundered through me like a storm, all flashes of lightning and rumbling pain. I hadn’t even admitted the possibility to myself that my attraction to Emilie went beyond the physical or the intrigue of her constant surprises. But it had.

For the first time in my entire stupid life I had done something for someone else.

“I have. Fallen.” I whispered the confession, but she heard it. Her eyes grew impossibly wide until I worried they’d tumble out of her face. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything about it. And you’re not going to say a word, either. Keep telling her she’s better off, the way I’m sure you have been for the past week.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s a first.”

The fact that Ruby had no comeback proved the level of her shock. She took the keys when I pushed them across the table and then stood to go, the last half of her latte forgotten and growing cold. She looked down at me after shouldering her satchel filled with books. The sadness ringing her blue eyes squeezed something in my chest.

“I’m going to trust you when you say it’s better for the two of you not to be together. It’s noble, if that’s what you believe, and it doesn’t jive with my opinion of you. But it’s sad, too, Quinn. And kind of presumptuous. Em’s a big girl. Why can’t you let her make the decision for herself?”

“Because she’ll make the wrong one. Trust me. And she won’t realize until it’s too late.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m not sure you’re right.” She shook her head. “I guess it’s not really my business. It was nice of you to buy the canvases—she was thrilled. But her dad’s pulling her tuition and freezing her trust fund anyway unless she switches majors.” Ruby turned and left, but the air of sorrow remained.

The news didn’t surprise me. Mr. Swanson had only been using the show as an excuse and had probably planned on putting his foot down, regardless. I only hoped she felt validated for a few precious moments.

Chapter Sixteen

Emilie

Toby and I partnered in Marketing for our latest web design assignment, creating a logo for a Saint Patrick’s Day charity pub crawl in town. If I didn’t make it as an artist, designing pretty things for other people might not be the worst way to go.

Better than becoming a lawyer, which was my father’s latest suggestion. I’d finally convinced him that someone who grew queasy at the sight of blood shouldn’t go into medicine. My father wouldn’t let up, but the euphoria of selling paintings at the show had proven to me that I couldn’t imagine working in a different field.

Tuition or not, I would find a way to do it. For me and for Anabel.

“Are you going to this pub crawl?” Toby glanced at me sideways, the bruises around his eyes and jaw long faded. He’d acquired a bend in his nose that hadn’t been there before several weeks ago, though.

“I don’t know.” I hadn’t felt much like going out lately. I blamed my lack of interest on the constant battle with my parents, refusing to even think Quinn’s name.

He shot me another look that said he knew what I was thinking, so I changed the subject. “You’re going to have to find someone else to cheat off of next semester.”

“What? Why?”

“My father’s pulling my tuition unless I change to pre-law or business. For a while I thought I would do it to make him happy, because if it’s not art, what do I care what I end up doing?”

“But…”

“But I do care. It’s my life. It might be his money but it’s my life.”

“True.”

“But…” I replied, teasing him with his own trick.

A piece of brown hair fell in front of his soft, kind eyes and he brushed it back, studying me. “Don’t get mad. But what are you going to do? Get a job?”

“I could.” I sighed. “I made a good bit of cash at the art show. Not enough to afford Whitman, though.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I think so, yes.”

He was quiet for a while, clicking on web pages and jotting down notes. I followed suit. Focusing on the project helped slow the pounding of my heart. Toby was the first person I’d told besides Ruby.

I certainly hadn’t thought things would turn out this way. But Ana’s gap-toothed smile kept rising in my mind, and staying and doing what my father wanted meant breaking my promise to her. I couldn’t do that.

“I’ll miss you, Emilie.”

“You’re the only one. Maybe Ruby.” I regretted the suggestion of self-pity in the words the moment they left my mouth.

“You mean Quinn.” He pressed when silence answered him. “Tell me you’re not hung up on him.”

I sighed, tired of pretending all the time. “Maybe I am. It’s been weeks and things should be getting easier, but I miss him.”

“Miss him? You only knew him for a week.”

“I know. It’s dumb.”

Toby’s dark eyes flicked around the room as though he thought someone would be listening into our pathetic conversation. That would have been embarrassing, since I was being such a stupid girl. It had been weeks since I’d said anything about Quinn to Ruby, even. She hadn’t changed her mind about him, but avoided the topic like a box of grocery-store hair dye.

“Do you trust me, Emilie?” Toby’s eyes probed mine.

“With what? I mean, to do my homework, maybe. To take me rock climbing, probably not.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes, I can see that.” My throat tightened in anticipation, sure I didn’t want to hear whatever was coming. “Just say it.”

“You can’t tell anyone I told you. I’ll get my ass kicked again, and this time it won’t be just my face and a few ribs.”

Oxygen sucked out of my lungs. If he was going to reveal something about Quinn, what would that have to do with his getting hurt? “Did Quinn do that to you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to talk about that. And I’m not going to give you any specifics about what goes on at SEA. I’m going to say this—the next time you talk to Annette, ask her to describe exactly how she met Quinn at the U.S. Open party.”

“Time’s up for today, class. I’ll see you after spring break!” Our prof clicked off the overhead and grabbed his briefcase and jacket, hitting the bricks like maybe he was late for a pub crawl of his own.

I turned to Toby as he dumped his notebook and pen into his messenger bag. “What do you mean? Why?”

“That’s all I’m saying. I only said that much because we’re friends. I like you. You should forget any fantasies you have about Quinn Rowland being a good guy behind the rep. Ask Annette. You’ll see.” He swept out of the classroom before I could move.

Talking to Annette didn’t hold any sort of appeal for me, since the last thing I wanted was to be lectured or commiserate with someone else Quinn had deemed unworthy. But my curiosity prickled. Not to mention I badly wanted to find a way to convince myself that I shouldn’t miss Quinn’s presence in my life. Maybe it had been under my nose all this time.

***

“Annette, are you busy?”

I found her in the Chapter Room, kind of like the common room in the sorority house, empty except for her. We held our meetings there, prepared skits and studied potential new members during Rush, and it offered a quiet place to study most weeknights.

Floral paper spackled the walls with creams, maroons, and navy blues—our sorority colors—and the frilly furniture all matched. A baby grand piano sat at one end, between the windows that faced the back lawn, and Annette sat curled up in a high-backed chair with a thick textbook on her lap, the television muted as some reality crap spun across the screen.

She looked up at the sound of my voice, sunny hair bouncing prettily around her round face. Her lips pursed. “What do you want?”

This wasn’t going to be easy, apparently. We hadn’t spoken except for meetings and committees since the eighties prom theme party. She had no idea that anything had been going on between Quinn and me, or that I’d had an experience similar to hers, and I preferred to keep it that way.

“I wanted to talk to you for a minute.” I took a deep breath. “About Quinn Rowland.”

“What about him?”

I hoped this conversation wasn’t about to undo months of therapy. The chair opposite her was empty and the soft maroon fabric sank gently under my weight. “I’m sorry I blindsided you by bringing him to the last theme party. It wasn’t planned or I would have told you ahead of time.”

“He just accidentally showed up?” Sarcasm oozed but I deserved it.

I made fun of the whole sisterhood thing sometimes, but in truth, I loved being a part of DE. I couldn’t claim to be friends with all of the girls living under this roof, but I did care about them all. “My date was hospitalized and he asked Quinn to fill in at the last minute. I didn’t know until he showed up at the door, I swear.”

“I forgive you.” Annette sighed, closing her Bio textbook and dropping it on the carpeted floor with a thud. “Why did your date call Quinn? Are the two of you friends?”

“I’m not sure Quinn has any friends.”

The response wasn’t going to appease her, not after I’d sparked her curiosity by coming in here, but telling her everything was out of the question. For her sanity, but also for the sake of my poor aching heart, which had somehow gotten tangled up in this situation in spite of my best efforts to check it at the door.

It wasn’t even the sex that had drawn my feelings into this mess with Quinn. It was the guy hovering behind the playboy. The one who made me laugh, who made me believe in my ability as a painter and understood what it was like to have all the money in the world but an uncertain future.

Not to say my body didn’t ache to explode the way it did under his again, but that wasn’t what hurt. It wasn’t why I was here talking to Annette.

“We met at his Aussie Open party.” My eyes darted to hers. “I’m friends with this guy Toby and he invited me, so Ruby and I went but we didn’t tell anyone.”

“I already knew you were there. Brooke told me.”

Figured.

“Okay, well…that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I don’t care if you went to the party. I would have done the same thing in your shoes.”

“No…” I hesitated one last time, unsure that asking her to relive what had clearly been a traumatizing night was the sisterly thing to do. But I had to know. “Would you tell me exactly how you met Quinn at the U.S. Open party?”

Storm clouds darkened Annette’s blue eyes. Her lips pursed again as she studied me, maybe trying to decide why I wanted to know.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“I’m sorry I ever met him, Em. You know?”

I nodded but couldn’t meet her eye. I knew I should be sorry I met Quinn. But I wasn’t.

“I went with Suzie and Jo but they disappeared like, as soon as I walked in the door. Sebastian Blair—you know him?”

“Yes.” My brain felt numb after the opening sentence of her story.

“Anyway he showed up and said since I was wandering around alone maybe I’d like a drink. And you know his reputation as well as I did, but being alone in the middle of a crazy party sounded like a worse idea than having a drink with him. Oh! And I ran into Quinn on the way outside to the back deck.”

A sick feeling dropped into my stomach and roiled. “And?”

“He just…the way he looked at me like we had a connection stole my breath, you know? And everything that had ever been said about him started to fade away right then.” Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away. “So Sebastian and I drank for a while, and we were shooting Irish Car Bombs—”

“Did you say Irish Car Bombs?” My voice whispered out, true horror dampening my ability to form words.

“Yeah, why?”

“Let me guess—you spilled it and Quinn took you upstairs to change.”

Her cheeks grew red at the memory. I didn’t have to ask what happened after that.

“How did you guess that?”

Our gazes locked. Annette looked wrecked and embarrassed, used and discarded all over again. I imagined in my gaze she saw something like murderous intent. Betrayal. Indignation.

“Because it’s exactly what happened to me.”

***

My brain didn’t click back into coherence until I’d made it halfway to Quinn’s beach house.

That’s when I realized the next tennis major—the French Open—was still weeks away. I had no idea whether or not Quinn stayed at the house or on campus between massive bouts of debauchery. Confronting him probably wouldn’t accomplish anything—I hadn’t spoken to or seen him in weeks, so obviously I’d imagined everything between us. Or his desire to turn tail and run outstripped everything else.

I didn’t care. He deserved to know we knew his game. That he wasn’t getting away with it anymore. Maybe this would be the thing that finally let me get over him.

I yanked the wheel around and sped back toward campus, taking the turns as tight as my black Mercedes would let me, and slammed it into park in front of the Sigma Epsilon Alpha house. After almost two years at Whitman I knew my way around most of the frat houses, given that they took turns hosting after bar parties. This was where Toby and I had become friends.

The three-story house towered at the end of a long, winding drive, surrounded by a manicured lawn and trimmed landscaping trying to distract from the disgusting hovel created by a hundred guys living in one place. Tall trees shrouded the house from sight, at least from the road, but over a hill the Beta Kappa house sat within striking distance of a golf ball and a strong swing.

Which I happened to know from experience.

The bare floor inside stuck to the soles of my flats, making sucking noises as I crossed the empty front room. All of the furniture had been shoved to the edges to make room for more people and a makeshift dance floor. End tables and lamps piled atop couches and chairs in the dining room to my right, as well, but the place was dead.

Saint Patrick’s Day was tomorrow, which meant most of the guys were probably out getting an early start, but someone would be here.

And they would tell me where I could find Quinn.

I looked like a stalker but my anger had barely faded during the fifteen minutes it had taken me to get here. A setup. Meeting me, trying to sleep with me, had all been a setup.

How much of our interaction had been tainted by his falsehoods? Had everything he said, every glimpse into his so-called inner self, been a carefully manufactured lie intended to soften me up? How many of the guys were in on it?

Betrayal over Toby’s complicit involvement burned in my stomach. It eased only a little at the reminder that he cared enough to make sure I found out the truth, even if his invitation had set the entire thing in motion.

The SEA house had a game room toward the back, between the kitchen and a shared bathroom I’d rather die than use. Fifteen guys lounged on mismatched couches and cloth tailgate chairs, cradling beers, playing foosball, and watching March Madness basketball. Silence swept the room as one-by-one they noticed me standing in the doorway. They all just stared until Trent, a guy I recognized as a friend of Toby’s, stepped forward.

His dark eyes were hesitant. “Hey, it’s Emilie, right? Swanson?”

“Please. Cut the bullshit. I’m willing to bet you all know my name, along with plenty more details I’d rather you didn’t. Where’s Quinn?” My teeth ground together and my throat burned with the effort of not shouting.

Trent’s gaze flicked over his friends, then he licked his lips. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to him. You all helped me fuck him, the least you can do is help me talk to him for two minutes.”

The surprise on their faces had nothing to do with them not understanding my statement. It was that I had figured out whatever fucked-up game they were playing around here.

“I, um. Well…”

“Trent. I don’t give a shit about you little flunkies. Where. Is. Quinn. Rowland.”

Despite the fact that he was at least six feet tall and towered over me by six-plus inches, he took a step back from my advance. “Let me text him, okay? He doesn’t…no one goes in his room here.”

“Fine.”

Quinn stumbled into the doorway less than three minutes later, looking disheveled and heartbreakingly handsome. His sleep tired eyes cleared quickly at the sight of me, flicking through unease and wariness before landing on his trademark disinterest. “Emilie? What are you doing here?”

“I have a question to ask you.”

He crossed his arms in front of his threadbare Adidas t-shirt and stared down at his bare feet. It made me stare too, and I hated the jump in my pulse at the image of him curled up in bed.

“Well, ask.”

All of the sudden, talking about this in front of ten other people sounded like a bad idea. Heat rose in my face. I looked like a crazy person.

No. Quinn was the crazy person. But still.

“Can we go somewhere private?”

He smirked. “I thought I made it clear that I was done with that.”

My anger returned with the haughty statement, erasing any temporary embarrassment. I willed my heart to slow down. I wanted to match his too-cool ass point for point. “I had an interesting chat with Annette Davis today.”

“Oh?” The question emerged lazily but a flicker of apprehension appeared in his beautiful gaze.

“Yes, quite. And as we were comparing notes about your grossly exaggerated sexual performance,” I smirked back, “something else came up.”

The silence at my back had jaws and teeth, nipping at my bravado—my fury-heightened senses heard each member of our audience breathing separately. No one made a sound or went to leave. Quinn didn’t respond to my jab. The small smile playing on his lips said he knew good and well how much I’d enjoyed the few hours we’d spent on that couch.

“It was a setup. All of it. Her. Me. The parties at the beach.”

“What’s your point, Emilie?” The absolute void of emotion in his face chilled me.

“How many times have you done it? Was I the first one to say no?”

“No isn’t the word I recall you saying.”

Despite my best efforts, tears welled up in my eyes. He saw them and his jaw tightened. Anger lit his electric eyes on fire. “Nothing I do is any of your business. You had your fun, and so did Annette. Now, I think it would be best if you left. You look upset.”

My throat throbbed; sobs threatened to well up and over. My heart was breaking and my head was screaming at the rest of me for being so stupid.

The dumbest thing of all was the small voice insisting he was lying even now.

I stepped toward him, trying to erase the space between us so we couldn’t be overheard, but the warning in his face made me stop. “It was all part of some game? Sebastian gets me to drink too much, a conveniently timed bump spills a nasty smelling drink, Quinn the white knight appears to save the day?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“What about the rest of it? The beach and the party and the loft?”

Quinn re-crossed his muscled arms and leaned against the door jamb. “I told you the truth on the beach about never losing. And in this particular game, I don’t win until I fuck you.” His smiled mocked me. “You fell for it so easily. Poor, misunderstood Quinn Rowland.”

My hands curled into fists. “A game. I don’t believe you.”

And I didn’t. He was trying a little too hard to convince me and everyone else in this room that nothing that had transpired between us had been real. But I’d been there. I’d heard his voice and felt the gentle reverence in his touch, had woken up with him cradling me close. “You liked being with me, too.”

“It was all about winning the game, Emilie. Every word I said. Every smile. Every touch. Every last moment.” His hard, emotionless gaze found mine. It was like his soul had been sucked away, like he was the eye of a hurricane and the winds funneled away feelings. “You’re being pathetic.”

Every ounce of self-preservation begged me to run. I didn’t. I walked deliberately to the doorway and paused next to him, close enough to smell his sweet saltiness, and looked him straight in the eye. “No. You’re being pathetic.”

I left with as much dignity as I could muster. Once I was back in my car, I cried. All the way home.

Chapter Seventeen

Quinn

“I don’t understand what the problem is, Q.” Sebastian dropped a handful of ice into a tumbler and poured whiskey over it. “We cashed in with Emilie Swanson. And after that display at the frat house over Saint Patrick’s Day, everyone’s half convinced you’re losing your touch. People will bet against you this time and we’ll clean up.”

I frowned at his drink. “Why are you putting ice in your whiskey?”

“It’s morning.”

The answer was as ridiculous as my question, I supposed. “No problem. I’m just weary of this game. It’s too easy. I need a new challenge.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not good at anything other than bedding women.”

The comment rankled—he meant it to—but I merely smiled. Sebastian didn’t know I’d been going above and beyond with my multimedia project. My father and I had a meeting this afternoon and I planned to pitch him what I hoped would be my opportunity to build my own brand within Rowland Communications. Prove myself to him.

He might hate me but he was a businessman first. And I was an asset.

Those damned pictures meant I couldn’t get out from under Seb’s thumb, but I could try to convince him to change things up. My heart wasn’t in this anymore. I didn’t care what Alexandria did or how many tournaments she won. After I’d spent a week with alive, driven, good-hearted Emilie, Alexandria seemed like a paper doll. A pale copy of every other girl I’d met until last January, when the most unexpected one had walked into my house and woken me up.

I wanted to be better. I wanted to find a place in my father’s company. Maybe if I did that, some day I could prove that I was good enough for Emilie, too.

“I’m bored, Seb. There are plenty of ways to make money.” I gritted my teeth and played a wild card. “Plus, you’re not going to show my father those pictures. We both know it.”

“Our father. And of course I will.”

“No, you won’t. We both know he’ll never leave Rowland Comm to you. He probably isn’t going to leave it to me, either, but that’s your only shot. To ride my coattails and pull my strings from the shadows like a spider. You expose me now and he’ll leave it all to Rick.” My father’s CFO was as big a jackass as Teddy, but he was smart. He wanted the company as badly as either of us.

“So what if you’re right? You know I don’t really give a shit about running Rowland. I prefer to operate in the background. You’ll do what I say, or you’ll lose any scrap of a chance you have left as far as your father is concerned.” He threw back his drink and went for another. “And if he sees the pictures, Teddy could very well disinherit you all together. Who might benefit from that, I wonder?”

I shook my head when he offered me a glass. It would have settled my nerves but going to the meeting with booze on my breath would have been counterproductive. “You’re the boss, Seb.”

At least for now.

On the drive to my father’s, I brainstormed ways to escape Sebastian. It had never occurred to me before with any real urgency, because as long as I enjoyed helping him spin his webs and collect his cash it hadn’t mattered. It mattered to me now, though, and there had to be a way to manipulate my way out of this mess.

My half-brother slipped from my mind as I turned onto the long drive, waving at an unfamiliar security guard on my way past. The crunch of asphalt and gravel vibrated into my spine, pinging off the undercarriage and tweaking my nerves. Shadows danced off the trees like pixies intent on putting on a show, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken the time to appreciate the magnificence of the place I grew up.

The bricked front mansion with black accents rose in front of me like a mountain and I stepped out of my dark green Jag, straightening my jacket and tie before picking up the briefcase holding my presentation.

Angelica opened the door and took my jacket, smoothing the wrinkles on my shirt. “Mr. Rowland’s waiting in his office.”

“Thanks, Ang.” Anxiety tightened my stomach.

My idea was a good one. I’d pitched it to the Dean of the College of Communications and he’d thought it would be a great augmentation to Rowland’s Eastern European expansion. My father had to see reason, whether he hated me or not. I was better than Rick. I was family.

Teddy’s stood staring out the window, rolling a cigar between his fingers, but turned at the sound of my footsteps. “Ah, Quinn. Right on time.”

He motioned for me to sit, but I shook my head. “I’d like to go to the conference room, if you don’t mind. The presentation looks better on a big screen.”

“You don’t need bells and whistles if it’s a solid business plan.”

Heat grabbed the back of my neck. “Whatever you want.”

Teddy settled behind his desk, the sunlight catching the grays in his thick auburn hair that neither Sebastian nor I had inherited. With fingers steepled under his chin, Teddy gave me the go ahead eyebrow raise.

I took a deep breath and dove in, feeling unsettled and less prepared without my notes and organized visuals, knowing that’s exactly what he wanted. It wouldn’t throw me off.

“I know you and the board have been discussing the best way to expand our reach farther east, and it would be a mistake not to use the resource you have in me. I’ve traveled extensively and I speak several languages, not to mention I have a plethora of broadcasting contacts. More importantly, I grasp something about working east of Europe that many of our competitors can’t—that those audiences won’t be wooed the same way as Americans.”

Teddy remained silent, which felt like a good sign, so I kept going.

“Americans don’t love tennis—you delighted in reminding me of that fact over the years—they haven’t since Agassi, Evert, and Sampras retired. But the rest of the world loves tennis. They also love cricket, soccer, and a few other immensely popular sports that Americans have no time for because there isn’t blood and violence.”

“I hope that’s not your marketing plan.”

“Not exactly, no, although I think class would definitely be a hook we could use.”

“You want to start the expansion by buying sports rights that no other American communications business is interested in.” The tone of his voice betrayed interest.

It encouraged me. “Yes. And I think it could be the best opportunity for me to start a brand of my own, within Rowland Communications, to prove I have what it takes to innovate and learn. The board will appreciate that, when it comes time for me to take over.”

“Take over?”

“Yes. I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m your son. Rowland doesn’t belong with anyone else.”

“Sebastian is also my family, which means he will never want for a thing. But that sick little peckerwood won’t have a breath of control over the company I’ve built.” My father’s contemptuous gaze landed on me. “Your proposal is interesting. I may consider having Rick tweak it and take it to the board.”

I shot to my feet. My mouth felt dry, my hands shaking. “What? It’s my idea. I’m the one with the contacts and experience to pull it off right, not Rick. You can’t be serious.”

“Quinn, you should know that I’ve decided Rick will inherit control of Rowland Communications when I’m gone. Roger drew up the papers several weeks ago. “

Disbelief burned in my gut. He was going to steal my idea.

“Now, if you finish school and need a job, I have no plans to allow the appearance that my son is floundering. You’ll have a title at Rowland but we both know you don’t have the backbone or the cunning to run a Fortune 500 company. You’re embarrassing us both with these little exercises in futility.”

Silence lasted another minute while my voice tried to find the words. Any words. Nothing came. There wasn’t anything to say. He’d made up his mind, which was something Teddy Rowland never changed.

I should have known. Listening to Emilie was a mistake, and so was thinking I could ever be the kind of man she deserved. I would be what I knew I would become the day I announced my retirement from tennis.

A worthless rich boy surrounded by paper dolls. Because I was one, too.

“That will be all, Quinn.” My father sighed as though exhausted. “You can go.”

***

Something hot vibrated against my cheek.

My fucking head felt like jackhammers drilled into it and swallowing around dirty cottonmouth made me nauseous. The buzzing turned out to be the goddamn cell phone, which I thought had died days ago. I must have plugged it in at some point.

I got up to take a piss and make myself a Bloody Mary before flopping back into bed, peering at the phone through blurry eyes.

Snap the fuck out of it. French Open starts in less than a week.

I squinted one eye, and it still took me three tries to type a response.

Kiss my ass.

Sebastian wouldn’t appreciate the reply but it didn’t matter. What did I care if he showed pictures of me to the whole world now? My father all but disowned me professionally and he’d never wanted me privately. Not since the day my mother ran out of her hospital bed onto the nearest plane.

I tossed back two more drinks. The headache went away and my brain swam pleasantly again. The phone vibrated incessantly.

You have three days, then I’m coming to get you.

“Pfft. Come and get it, you sick fuck,” I muttered to the empty room.

Angelica hadn’t changed a thing about my little hideaway on the back of the property. The place had been meant for staff or a gardener, but their numbers were too big and my father built an extra wing on the house instead.

The wooden walls were bare, unadorned. A quilt that Ang swore my mother had made while she was pregnant covered the bed, its swirl of blues and creams a comfort even now.

I stumbled to the window and stuck my head outside, wanting to smell the coming summer. The tangle of hibiscus and plumeria always felt sexual to me, even as a boy, as though their scents seduced me on the breeze. Jose—the gardener—had an eye for color and the grove of flowers and trees around this cottage boasted more than one gulmohar tree. The bright red flowers brushed vibrant green fronds; they granted the wind passage with a quiet rustle.

I’d seen most of the world, and Florida wasn’t even close to my favorite place. But it was home, and in the spring it at least managed to compete.

Three large, brown-paper-wrapped packages caught my eye when I headed back to the bed. Someone had leaned them against the wall. The only person who would have dared come in was Ang. I tugged the paper off the largest, revealing Emilie’s painting.

The black and blue one, the one that so perfectly represented the few days we’d spent together. Struggle and acquiescence. The color of a bruise, which is how I’d felt since I’d pushed her away. The undeniable attraction of the two halves at the center, coming together in a spectacular way but unable to maintain contact.

It hurt like a fucking bitch so I turned it around, took two more shots, and got back in bed. I had no idea what those paintings were doing here, except that some asshat had delivered them to this house instead of the beach house like I’d instructed. Hopefully Ang had brought them out here before my father found them.

Thinking I was hung up on some girl would cement his decision as the right one.

The fact that I couldn’t hold my shit together, that my life was one reeking pile of failure, proved I’d done the right thing for Emilie. She might have felt hurt or used or embarrassed.

That was good. It meant I’d be easier to forget.

Chapter Eighteen

Emilie

Summer had returned to Florida and I couldn’t be happier. Ruby perched on the kitchen counter in the sorority house, sucking on an orange Popsicle, bare legs and feet banging against the cabinets. “So Toby said what?”

“That no one has seen Quinn for weeks. He’s drinking himself into a coma or something, dropped out of school.” I licked my chapped lips. I’d been chewing on them, which was a disgusting habit my mother had broken in middle school. “His dad named his CFO his successor last week. I saw it on the news.”

“So?”

“So that’s why. He really wanted to prove to his dad that he could handle the responsibility. Quinn was even working on some project to pitch Teddy as his potential entry into Rowland.” The memory of him telling me about it while his fingers traced circles on my bare back in the loft zipped shivers down my spine. “It was a good idea.”

Ruby’s sharp gaze pinned me until I wiggled. “It’s not your problem, Em.”

“I know. Except whose problem is it? Does Quinn even have any friends?”

“If he doesn’t it’s probably because he likes it that way. He certainly went out of his way to make sure you stayed clear.”

“You’re right. It’s stupid of me to worry about him when he doesn’t give a shit about me. I just…I’ve never been so sure about someone and so completely fucking wrong.”

In spite of my anger, tears swelled and dripped down my cheeks. I rubbed them away in irritation, sinking into one of the hard chairs around the cheap IKEA table. The expensive furniture was in the Chapter Room where judgy people could see. The kitchen at the DE house was actually comfortable, even if no one ever used it.

“You weren’t wrong.” Ruby’s blue gaze found mine, softer now. The Popsicle was gone, the stick discarded on the counter.

“What do you mean? I told you what he said to me that day at the SEA house.” I swallowed more tears at the memory. “You should have seen his face. He doesn’t care about me at all.”

“He cares about you, Em. A lot. That day when I picked up your keys at The Grind he told me so himself. He made me promise not to tell you.” Guilt edged the words, making them almost incomprehensible.

“What? Why would you keep a secret for him, Ruby? And these past couple months, you’ve known how hard I’ve been struggling with this—the fact that my instincts were so off. How could you let me think that?” It was hurt more than anger that poured through me, but they stung similarly.

I wanted to cry all over again.

“Because Quinn said he wasn’t good for you and I agreed. I thought you’d forget him and move on—it was only a fucking week, how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t shake it off? Or that he wouldn’t?” She paused, seeming unsure of whether or not to say more.

“You may as well spill it all now, Rubes.”

“He bought your paintings. He doesn’t just care about you, Em. I think he was totally falling in love with you.” She bit her lip. “Please don’t hate me. I thought I was doing to best thing for you. He’s got problems. Big ones.”

Quinn bought my paintings.

Shock numbed my limbs, making me feel weightless, like I was sitting in a tide pool. “Why would he do that?”

It should have made me feel like a loser. It meant none of my art had sold that night at all. But ever since an anonymous donor had funded an art scholarship that I’d been awarded, my future felt light, buoyed by possibilities. I could continue to study graphic design, which I’d decided I liked, and paint in my spare time.

“He said he saw you that night at the museum, and you were sad. He wanted you to be happy.”

We sat in silence for several minutes before I got up, nearly knocking the chair into the wall. Pleasure and lust, sweet love, swam through my blood. He cared about me. I cared about him, and he was in trouble.

He called you pathetic, a voice whispered. This changes nothing. He’ll do it again.

The voice gave me pause, but only for another couple of seconds. He made me feel—whether good or bad—with more intensity than anyone else in my entire life. If he didn’t want to be with me, I needed to know. If he cared, but had some ridiculous medieval conviction that he was doing the right thing by staying away, we could work it out.

“Where are you going?”

“To see Quinn.”

***

With the French Open—my favorite tennis major—looming, Quinn would probably be at the beach and not at the frat. Especially since, if what Toby relayed was true, he hadn’t been to class in weeks.

The gorgeous house on the beach felt empty, my sandals clicking on the hardwood floor when a servant let me in. The elderly man had excused himself when I’d asked for Quinn, leaving me in a formal living room.

Cream-colored couches, cleaner than they should be after the number of people who probably spilled heaven knew what on them for days at a time, rimmed the walls. A stunning Degas hung above the fireplace. It had to be an original, and though he’d never been my favorite—I preferred more abstract minds—it impressed me all the same. The entire house was tastefully decorated, if a little formal, which was exactly the kind of home I’d grown up in.

“Emilie.”

The voice was smooth like Quinn’s but not warm or playful. Sebastian smiled when I turned around, his grin reminding me again of a predator. An alligator. The Cheshire Cat.

“Sebastian.”

“Jeeves said you were here to see Quinn.”

“Your butler’s name is Jeeves?”

“No. I just like to call him that.” He winked at me. “Would you like a drink?”

I felt my lips purse in distaste but tried to twist it into a smile. “No, thank you.”

“Fine. Quinn isn’t here. Perhaps I can fill in for him.” His eyes roamed my body and I wished suddenly I’d worn something other than shorts and a tank top. “There are a great many parts of you I’d relish filling on his behalf.”

Disgust and a tinge of fear crept over my skin, cold and slimy, like getting caught in seaweed. He seemed to know his effect on me and enjoy it. Guys like him were a dime a dozen, especially among privileged white males, and I’d dealt with them on other occasions.

The trick was to act as though they’d merely commented on the weather.

“That won’t be necessary. I only want to talk to him, so if you could tell me where he is, I’ll be on my way.”

“I believe Quinn made his feelings on seeing you abundantly clear the last time you sought him out, did he not? But perhaps you’re the type of girl who enjoys a little abuse.” He licked his lips.

“Sebastian, I’d love to stay here and spar with you all day—”

“—would you, now?” He took a step toward me.

I swallowed hard, concentrating on not backing up. “Quinn’s in trouble. I’d like to talk to him. As a friend.”

“As a friend,” he echoed. “You’re holding rather tight to that delusion about his being broken, aren’t you? Let me clear something up. Quinn’s a bastard, and he’s good at it. He had a momentary slip where you’re concerned, but once I reminded him the game never changed once it had begun, he followed through.”

Quinn had wanted to change the game before we’d slept together?

“You must be a disappointment in the sack. Once he got between those pretty little thighs he seemed to be cured of your minimal magic.”

What. An. Ass.

“I don’t have any delusions where Quinn is concerned, Sebastian.”

“Yes, you do. Do yourself a favor and hear this, though. Quinn will never change. He’s never been loved so he has no idea how to love anyone, least of all himself. Which means while he may be broken, he isn’t sad. He is the perfect compliment to my particular brand of debauchery, and I’m not losing him to a barely average spic bitch who thinks her pussy’s sweeter than the rest.” He watched me like a hawk stalking a mouse scurrying through the grass.

The reaction he wanted boiled in my gut and clenched in my hands, which longed to smack the smug smile off his face. It wouldn’t get me to Quinn, though, and I couldn’t find him on my own. “You want Quinn back. I can help. He’s tired of listening to you, but if he has—had,” I corrected, “feelings for me, I could convince him to shape up. I did it once.”

Please, I begged silently. He needs a friend. No one cares.

Sebastian considered for several moments, smoothing imaginary out of place strands in his perfectly coiffed blond hair. The ice cracked and melted in his drink, and finally he shrugged. “I don’t think it will work. And just to be sure you lose those ideas in your head, let me show you how I can be so positive Quinn will never change.”

He left the room and I sank down on the couch on shaking legs. Even though I’d been spoken to that way before, and though I thought my outward reaction had been up to snuff, inside my organs never failed to liquefy. This was Quinn’s family. What if he thought the same way about me?

No. Ruby wouldn’t lie, and she wouldn’t have told me that Quinn had feelings for me unless she was convinced. Heaven forbid anyone judge me after meeting my family.

The thought of what Sebastian had gone to retrieve dropped dread into my stomach. When he returned with a computer and memory stick, the dread snaked lower.

“Just some pictures. No need to look so ill. I’m not going to make you watch him fucking other girls or anything.” He nudged me like we were best friends. “I mean, I have those, too. But they are less sensational.”

Nausea foamed acid up my throat. It hurt because it was Quinn, but I lived in the same world they did. I’d gone to one of the most prestigious preparatory schools on the Eastern seaboard and had seen more than one scandal go down due to sex pictures and drugs. My friends’ parents, girls at my school with poor decision-making skills, men who thought money and power meant they were above the law. Shit, some guy in my class had been caught with his mother’s best friend—on video.

So if Sebastian thought he’d shock the poor innocent rich girl, he had another thing coming. And he really didn’t understand the lives of rich people. Which was possible, considering I knew he hadn’t joined the Rowland family until high school.

Pictures popped up on the laptop. Quinn, passed out and disheveled, tie undone, shirt rolled to his sleeves. Needles hung out of his arms in some of them. In others, he was grinning but obviously incoherent, leaning down to snort glittering white powder off a bar or a coffee table. There were nude or scantily clad ladies in some of them, all older than us and looking considerably more experienced—I’d guess escorts of some kind, not street hookers. Their hands were all over him, their asses teasing his lap. I wanted to tear their hair out, paid or not.

I let all of the images fall into my heart. These blended with the Quinn I knew, attached themselves to him as another facet of the boy I’d somehow come to love. Sweet and flirtatious. Self-destructive. Wildly inappropriate. Mean. Sexy without trying. Careless with people. The boy that wanted to make me happy but not take the credit.

It was all part of what made him Quinn.

“Is that all?”

If my lack of surprise shocked Sebastian, he didn’t show it. Merely nodded. “This is Quinn. When you find him, he’ll be similarly fucked up. Good luck.”

He snapped the laptop closed, handed me a slip of paper with an address printed on it, and left the room. Once oxygen filled my body at a normal rate again I followed suit, stepping out into the twilight.

Chapter Nineteen

The drive to the secluded suburbs took about half an hour, but thanks to the magic of GPS there weren’t any wrong turns. The houses grew further and further apart, palm trees lining the sides and center of the road, until the rest of the houses disappeared as well.

When the digital voice told me to turn left I thought it was wrong. Then a wrought-iron gate peeked through the climbing ivy. A security booth sat to the left and I pulled up, rolling down my window.

An older black man tipped his hat at me. “Evening, Miss. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Quinn Rowland.”

“Mr. Rowland leaves strict instructions about letting ladies onto the property.”

“Ah. As in don’t let them on the property, I’m guessing.”

“That’s right.”

I put on my best smile. “What’s your name?”

“Ernie, Miss.”

“My name is Emilie Swanson.” He nodded, and I held his gaze. “How long have you worked for the Rowlands, Ernie?”

It was a shot in the dark but he looked at least seventy. I hoped he’d been here a long time.

“Going on thirty years.”

“So you’ve known Quinn a while?”

“Since he was a babe.”

Sadness clung to the corners of his eyes and mouth. It said I didn’t want to know how bad things had really been for little Quinn. I knew enough from his lack of ability to care about himself.

I lowered my voice, adopting a conspiratorial tone that my mother perfected with years of country club gossip. “Then I’m sure you know that sometimes he needs a little help. He’s in a bad way right now, Ernie, and he needs a friend. I swear that’s the only reason I’m here.”

Indecision creased into his wrinkles, but he must have seen my honest intention in my eyes because he opened the gate. Or he was more worried about Quinn’s health than his wrath at being disobeyed. “Cottage around back. Don’t park at the main house or Mr. Theodore Rowland will see your car. He’s not keen on Quinn having visitors of the female variety.”

I’m sure he wasn’t.

“Thank you, Ernie.”

“You take good care of that boy, Miss Swanson. He needs it.”

Tears clogged my throat. I waved and drove onto the winding path before Ernie could see me breakdown over a few kind words. The path, an expensive mixture of paving and gravel, led me past a main house that was a little larger than my father’s main home. I parked behind a huge extra garage, hoping it would hide my car for a few hours, then walked through clumps of trees until I spotted a small cottage.

The scents of the night-blooming flowers in the gardens took my breath away. The cottage was stucco and brick, big enough to have a couple of rooms and a bathroom, but nothing fancy. White eyelet curtains blew in the breeze, tumbling through the open windows on the front, set on either side of a plain wooden door. The moon began to rise, casting a glow on the scene and making it feel as though it could be the setting of a movie.

Trepidation replaced my wonder as I found the courage to knock. After those pictures I had no idea what kind of mess I was going to find on the other side of this door.

It’s still Quinn. You’ll help him.

I knocked again.

“Go the fuck away!”

The slurred growl gave me only a split-second pause. At least he was conscious. “Quinn, it’s Emilie. I’m not going the fuck away so let me in.”

Shuffled footsteps approached the door, which swung open a moment later.

“Jesus Christ, you’re stubborn as hell.”

“Full of surprises, remember?” I murmured.

He was naked from the waist up, and from the waist down he only wore a pair of mesh shorts that hid nothing. My eyes devoured his delicious skin, the muscles rippling across his stomach, and the tousled bed hair. The combination took my breath away. If I could paint desire it would be him, standing in front of me like this right now.

“I’m not sober enough to be noble, so you should probably stop looking at me like that,” Quinn said softly.

I shook myself from the trance, fastening my gaze to his. “Sorry. How are you?”

“Happy by myself.”

“Quinn.”

“Seriously, Emilie, can you not take a hint?” The muscles in his forearm tensed as he gripped the door. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to see you anymore? You show up at my father’s house like some kind of stalker…how’d you even get past the gate?”

I wanted to say something smart but didn’t want to get Ernie in trouble.

“Quinn, don’t be like this. I saw the news about your father, and you’ve been missing for weeks. I’m worried. Let me help.”

“Help? How are you supposed to do that, Emilie?” His eyes hardened into jewels, betraying the fact that he had to work hard to keep his emotions in check. “The way I see it, the distraction of the week it took me to get you into bed caused most of my problems. You’ve been trouble since the day you set foot in my house.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“How many ways do I have to say it? I don’t give a shit if I never see your face again. Ever.” He leaned forward, invading my space the way he had the night we met, and once again I wanted to like it less than I did. “I mean it. Figure out a way to believe it. This is your problem, not mine.”

His words sliced me open as surely as any knife. They beat my pride and my confidence with iron fists, knocked the wind out of me. Tears welled up and I let him see, because I was tired of hiding my feelings for him, tired of taking his abuse because he was too scared or fucked up to admit he had them, too.

Behind his anger lurked loathing. But not for me. For himself.

“I suppose you don’t have a problem.”

“Other than you? No.” He slammed the door in my face.

That pissed me off. His words scrolled through my head like a teleprompter. Calling me a stalker, insisting I was nothing more than every other girl he’d seduced effortlessly and kicked to the curb. If he wanted to wallow in his self-pity, then what did it matter to me?

I’d come here to make sure he was okay. He was drunk and meaner than a wet hornet but he wasn’t dead. He’d smelled only like booze and I hadn’t noticed any telltale signs of drug use—no needle marks or runny nose.

He could damn well deal with his issues on his own.

I started to stomp off when three wrapped packages caught my eye. They were propped against the front of the cottage, under the overhand and out of the elements. They looked like canvases. The paper was torn on the largest and I leaned it back to get a better look.

It was mine. The one I’d painted the day we’d slept together at the loft. I’d drank in the lust spinning through my body, the warmth at being able to sit in the silence with Quinn, and let all of the magic of those first feelings pour onto the canvas. I was proud of the piece, too. It was good.

The sight of these three paintings, the silent reminder that Quinn did care, made me stay. I sat on the stoop until I was sure he’d fallen asleep, then let myself inside.

***

It was the second time I watched him sleep.

The lines on his face, born of fury and loss, of the guilt and regret and self-loathing, smoothed away. It left behind the whispers of the boy he could have been and made me smile. A lock of thick black hair—not curly, not straight—fell over his eye and I resisted the urge to brush it away. It would be best if he slept off most of the booze, even if he felt like shit when he woke up.

I dozed, too, after the battery on my phone died and I didn’t have the internet or texts from Ruby to keep me company. He finally stirred, sending the scent of a rather sour-smelling Quinn toward me; he opened an eye, focusing after a struggle.

I put on my best smile. “Good morning, sunshine.”

A groan answered me. He had to feel like shit. If this was all that had been going on, then he’d been drunk for days. Weeks, maybe. I went into the bathroom and got him a glass of water and some ibuprofen, then perched on the edge of the bed.

“Here.”

He sat up, careful not to touch me, and downed my offering. “I’d rather have more booze.”

“I think you’ve had enough for now.”

His sleepy blue eyes, growing sharper by the moment, swept over me. “You’re still here. Why?”

It wasn’t mean anymore. He honestly had no idea why anyone would stay and it split my pounding heart down the middle. “You need a friend.”

We stared at each other for a long time. His eyes were unreadable, wavering between disbelief, wretched hope, and denial. Finally he shrugged and settled back into the pillows. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

Then wicked Quinn emerged. “Does this friendship come with any benefits?”

“Not as long as you smell like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a bum passed out in a fishmonger’s net.”

“Have you smelled a lot of fishmonger nets?” he asked, scooting forward until his face hovered inches from mine.

Being seduced hadn’t been on my mind coming here, but Quinn’s lips within kissing distance certainly put it there. I pulled back. “I wish to remain a mystery in the area of fishmongering. Please go take a shower. I’ll get you some food.”

“Just ring Ang. She’ll bring us whatever you want.”

“What do you want?”

His gaze fell lower. “Not food.”

“Quinn, for heaven’s sake. Following your moods is like watching a tennis match. Go away. Sleep with me. Go away. My head’s going to fall off.” I held up my hand before he could reply. “Shower. Breakfast. And talking.”

“I’m only listening because I do stink. Just so you know.”

“Noted.”

I pushed the intercom and introduced myself to Angelica. She knew what Quinn wanted for breakfast and I told her I’d take the same, and that we could also use some black coffee. It could have been the connection but her response sounded almost teary.

Maybe there were people that cared about Quinn. But his father paid their salary so they did what they could, when they could. It made me feel a little better to suppose the little boy that grew up in this house had not been totally alone.

He emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, missed water droplets clinging to the hair on his chest and rolling down his stomach. The desire to lick him dry overwhelmed me and I might have acted on it had Angelica not knocked on the door right then.

When I returned with the food he’d put on a clean pair of shorts but nothing else, I’m sure, to make it as hard as possible for me to breathe. It was working.

The waffles with blueberry syrup were delicious; I realized I hadn’t eaten since the Popsicle I’d shared with Ruby in the DE kitchen yesterday afternoon. Quinn perked up with the food and the coffee but fell silent, forgoing his teasing flirtation for quiet. It wasn’t angry or moody, though. It felt comfortable, like the morning we spent together in the loft.

I remembered what else we did in the loft that morning, but pushed it aside. “Thank you for buying my paintings. It kind of sucks that no one wanted them, but it means a lot that you tried to convince my father I wasn’t a failure.”

He jerked his head up, as though surprised I still shared his space. “I wanted them. And I didn’t do it for your father. I did it for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A sudden thought dawned on me. “You funded my scholarship, too. How did you know?”

“Ruby.” The admission was soft but also strong, daring me to give him a hard time for being my secret benefactor.

“Why, Quinn? Why go out of your way to do these beautiful things for me but refuse to speak to me or see me? Be horrible to me in front of your friends?” I knew the answer. I wanted him to say that he cared about me so badly it hurt.

I didn’t think I could be with him again, as much as I longed to, without hearing the words. A long pause told me they weren’t coming.

“I heard about your dad pulling your tuition and Ruby said you were leaving Whitman. I couldn’t…I can’t imagine being somewhere you’re not.” His eyes seared mine, filled with determination and passion.

The words swelled my veins with happiness; it was by far the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me. I needed more, though. Maybe I just needed the courage to go first.

“I feel the same way, Quinn. I went into this whole thing with my eyes wide open and knowing everything people said about you, but that first night in your room, when you got angry, I felt the honesty in that moment. Your pain.” I paused, remembering what he’d said in the game room at the SEA house all those weeks ago. “But maybe that’s how you do it. Get girls to feel for you.”

His hand covered mine. “No. I do not typically talk about my father or Alexandria. Ever.”

“Anyway, I figured that was it. But the sparks between us were all I could think about and I started to think maybe I could just have you and get it out of my system, you know?”

“I believe I do.” His toying smile said he’d thought the same thing.

“But the night on the beach and then at my studio, you opened up a little more. And I know now it was because I was forcing you to spend time with me before we had sex, but even so. It started to be about more than the sparks and the way my blood boils when I get within ten feet of you.” I looked up, expecting commentary, but found him watching me with big eyes. “There’s something between us that I’ve never felt before, Quinn. Ever. I want more of it. I want you. I fell for you the first day you came to my studio.”

“When you sent me away.”

“Yeah. I knew it was going to be bad. You were getting too close but you wouldn’t stay. I was scared.” I turned my hand over until our palms touched. “But you came back. I don’t even care why anymore. Whether it was because of Sebastian or some twisted game that made you feel like a man again after Alexandria. I only care that you came back. And that we’re here.”

He said nothing, his jaw tensing and loosening as he stared at me, the emotion in his gaze indecipherable. I moved from my chair and slid onto his lap, surprised and turned on by his immediate response pressed against my rear. With my arms around his neck I leaned in, pressing my lips to his.

It felt a little different—it still ignited a bonfire in my blood, but the urgent need to have him grew slower—but the taste of him still went straight to my head. He groaned into my mouth when I licked his bottom lip, his arms tightening around my waist.

I opened my eyes and he did, too. “I fell in love with you completely by accident, Quinn. But I can’t stop now.”

Chapter Twenty

Quinn

She waited, beautiful and glowing with the surety of her feelings, but the response she wanted choked off long before it reached my tongue.

The fact that Emilie had admitted her feelings—after everything I’d said or done—scared the shit out of me. It changed nothing, in that I had less to offer than ever before, and she deserved everything. But with her pliant little body on my lap, it grew harder to remember why she should go away.

The fact that she hadn’t last night confounded me. Her face when I woke up this morning, gorgeous and determined, had been my undoing.

She’d stayed. After everything.

Emilie’s expectant expression dropped away at my prolonged silence, disappointment quickly hidden. I hated myself more than ever, tried to get the words out again but couldn’t. They were stuck.

Maybe they weren’t there. I’d never spoken them aloud.

I cupped my hands against her cheeks and pulled her lips back to mine, devouring the taste of blueberries and toothpaste, coffee and sunshine, while the chemistry between us worked its magic. Her silky hair dripped between my fingers like water. I’d never wanted a girl the way I wanted her, my body aching with need after a simple kiss and the feel of her heat against me.

Her arms went around my neck, moving her head to allow me the freer access I desired, but when my hands went to tug her tank top over her head she pulled back.

“Quinn, I…” She bit her lip, flushed and battling her own desire.

“You started out as a player—a very beautiful and intriguing player—in Sebastian’s game, Emilie. But I lied at the house the other day. Everything that happened between us was true after the circumstances of our meeting.” Something occurred to me. “And Toby’s bailing on the theme party.”

She sucked in a breath. “You hurt him so you could take me to the party?”

“What? No!” Guilt refused to let me outright lie, though. Even if I couldn’t admit how I felt about her, I couldn’t leave half-truths in between us. “Well, Sebastian hurt him for interfering. I wanted to hurt him because he’s half in love with you.”

“And that bothers you why?”

In that moment I saw my out. I knew how to make her see that she only thought she wanted to hear that I loved her, too. “I tried to get you out of the game. That’s where I went after the party, when I said I had to get condoms.”

“I knew that was a lie. No way Quinn Rowland goes anywhere without condoms.”

“Guilty. But Sebastian refused to let you—or me—off the hook. Because he’s blackmailing me with some compromising photographs in order to stay close once my father turns Rowland over to me.” I watched her, waiting for the disgust and the inevitable exit.

“I know, I saw the pictures.”

Horror squeezed my lungs. Telling her about them in order to scare her away was one thing, but thinking about her seeing me like that made me want to disappear.

“How?” I wheezed out.

“Sebastian. I went to him yesterday, looking for you. He was very forthcoming about all of his…feelings.”

Shame turned to protective fury in a split second and my fingers gripped her hips. “What did he do to you?”

“Do? Nothing. He made some rather graphic remarks about the particular taste and smell of my nether regions, tossed around some racial slurs, and showed me what he’s using to keep you in line.” She smiled and shrugged. “I’m not as innocent as you seem to think, Quinn. It was nothing I hadn’t seen before.”

I looked away, too ashamed to meet the love in her dark eyes, but her soft hands on my cheeks forced me. “It hurt seeing you that way. Not because it was shocking. Because I could feel your pain.”

My arms tugged her tight against me. With my nose in her neck I breathed deep, memorizing the summery perfume and the way her pulse pounded against my skin. She knew it all and she’d come, anyway. I’d pushed her away, humiliated her on purpose, yet she’d stayed.

She’d stayed.

We held each other for several minutes before she squirmed loose and stood, straightening her shorts when I all wanted to do was slide them off of her, take my time this go around, maybe spend the next year naked in bed.

“Did you really love her? Alexandria? Is that how this whole thing started—as some kind of twisted way to get over her?”

“It started as a way to get back at her. We had an understanding more than a relationship—that our stars would rise faster if they were linked, and that two people as compatible on paper as the two of us should make it happen—but I didn’t love her. The fact that she didn’t love me, either, burned my pride more than anything.” My eyes raked up Emilie’s body, enjoying the view and the quickening of her breath, the desire I could smell from two feet away. I locked on her gaze. “I’ve never loved anyone.”

It was the truth. Until now. Then again, how could I know that what I felt for Emilie was love if I’d never felt it? Maybe it was only an extreme attraction coupled with a girl who refused to give up and walk away no matter what.

“The question is, what are we going to do about your father?”

“What do you mean? It’s over. He’s giving Rowland to Rick.” Saying it aloud squeezed my gut all over again, dragged down my uplifted mood.

“Quinn. I watched you play tennis from the time you entered your first junior tournament at fourteen. Do you know what I loved about watching you?”

“Besides the changeovers when I took off my shirt?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, besides that. You never gave up. You could be down two sets to love, serving like shit, and out of your league. But goddamn it, those fans were going to get the match they came to see. No rolling over. No feeling sorry for yourself.” Emilie crossed her arms in front of her chest, pushing up her boobs and distracting me briefly from her words. “So why should your post-tennis life be any different?”

“What are you saying?” I shook my head, trying to focus. I never dreamed a girl could make me want her so badly without touching me.

“I’m saying if you want your father’s company, then it’s not too late. The match isn’t over until he’s in his grave, which means you’ve got years to convince him you’re an asset. Figure out how to do it.”

“Come here.” I reached out for her and indecision flickered in her gaze.

Emilie had confessed her love but now she stood, hesitant. I knew in my bones it was my inability to return her sentiments. That her suspecting how I felt and my saying it were two different things. My fear would make me lose her.

“Quinn, I just threw myself at you. Told you I love you. You didn’t say anything back and maybe you’re not ready, but…I can’t put myself out there without hearing it from you. And I want to.” Her eyes fell to my mouth and breath caught in my chest. “I don’t think there’s any doubt that I want you, but it can’t be all there is. Not for me.”

“I understand.” The pause that grew like a mushroom in the spring grass infected the warmth between us. She waited for my confession. It wouldn’t come. “Do you have any brilliant ideas about how I could win my father’s approval?”

“We can come up with something.”

The determined set to her jaw made me want to kiss her all over until it melted away. Emilie shouldn’t worry about any of this. “And what should we do in the meantime, I wonder?”

“Quinn, you have a one-track mind.”

“It’s a new development.”

The smile that lit her face made the small admission, ripped loose from the inside of my heart, worth it.

“I have an idea.”

“About wasting time or my father?”

“How long has it been since you’ve been out of this cottage?”

“That depends. What day is it?”

“It disturbs me that you’re not kidding. It’s May twenty-third.”

Oops. The French Open started in three days. No wonder Sebastian’s texts were getting increasingly threatening. “Then it’s been…a long time.”

“I assume you have a tennis court or seven on the grounds?”

The sparkle in her eyes brought an immediate smile to my face. “You assume correctly. Except it’s only four.”

“How about you teach me a thing or two?”

The flirtatious challenge was too much to resist. I stood up and grabbed Emilie’s face with both hands, pulling her against me and crushing her sweet mouth under mine. Her lips parted without prodding, her willing tongue exploring my lips and tangling with mine until I couldn’t breathe.

Our bodies pressed together, her hands found my hair and gave it a gentle yank. I think I growled a little and pushed harder against her hips, my tongue plundering her mouth and wishing it could be everywhere inside her at once.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew we should stop. Emilie had opened her heart to me and I hadn’t had the courage to respond. I didn’t deserve to have her body and her heart and give her so little in return. Then her hands moved lower, sliding down my chest with gentle pressure and dipping lower until she held my hard length in her palm. I forgot everything but making the most of every moment we had left.

The bed was ten feet away but that was too far. I’d thought minutes ago that I wanted to take her slow the next time, relish every single bit of her for as long as possible, but now I didn’t. I just wanted her.

An impatient groan escaped and she dropped to her knees, tugging my shorts down as she went. Her lips went around me, tongue sliding and teasing until my knees buckled. “Jesus.”

I braced myself on the table, shoving plates and glasses crashing to the floor in the process. The feeling of her mouth went beyond anything I’d felt in a long while—it wasn’t something girls offered, usually, and I usually didn’t care enough to ask for it.

Before I could get totally lost, I reached down with shaking arms and cupped her chin, brushing hairs away from her face. She slid up the length of me at my insistence, until I greedily captured her lips again.

It felt like this would be the last time we were together like this.

We swung around until her back was pressed against the table instead of mine, and I slipped the tank top over her head. Emilie’s purple lace bra went next and I took my time, tasting each new exposed section of skin and taking great pleasure in driving her as mad as she’d just driven me. I let her feel my mouth and tongue on her with rampant attention until her head was thrown back, her arms leveraging me for support.

“Quinn, I want you. Please.”

“I’m teaching you a thing or two, Emilie Swanson. Don’t rush me.”

The trembling intake of breath encouraged me. The lust pooling in her dark gaze drove me to the edge of my control, and when her hand wandered down again I almost lost it completely.

She forgot about me when my own fingers explored south, unbuttoning her white shorts and dropping them to the floor. The matching panties went next, deliciously soaked with her need, her center hot and tight around my fingers. I laid her back on the table with my free hand, letting it roam over her boobs until she wriggled underneath my fingers. The sensation of her skin puckering against my touch stood every nerve on end, made me hyper-aware of our joint desire.

Then I got down to my knees and returned the maddening favor she’d doled out for me, tasting her while whimpers and the sound of my name in her throat pounded so hard in my heart I thought I’d explode.

Emilie surprised me so many times since we’d met, but her willing desire turned me on more than anything else. The girl knew what she wanted and wasn’t embarrassed by her hunger, which drove me fucking wild. We were quite a match in that way. There were a hundred different places I could imagine having her like this, and I wanted to try every one of them.

She came against my lips, knees squeezing the sides of my head, spine arched off the table. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

I stood her up on shaking legs, holding her sweaty, trembling body against mine. The ache in my groin hadn’t abated, had only grown, but there was a problem. “I really don’t have any condoms.”

“I do.”

My eyebrows shot up and I watched her naked body move smoothly to the table by the door. She grabbed a foil package out of the front pocket of her purse.

“Why, Emilie Swanson. Did you come here hoping to seduce me?”

She took my hand and it felt good, her fingers threaded possessively through mine, and when we reached the bed she shoved me backward onto it. The foil packet fell in my lap. When I looked up at her, the sight of her swollen skin making me hot again.

“Where you’re concerned, it never hurts to be prepared.”

I slid the condom on and she crawled next to me, and for a while we touched one another while our lips and tongues drank like we’d crossed a desert. I eased between her legs slowly, taking my time pushing deep just to watch her eyes roll back in her head. The same explosion of intense pleasure I’d felt the other night crashed around me, blacking the edges of my vision.

We moved together, slowly at first but building quickly. I memorized the way she looked pressed into the blue and white pillows, her inky hair tumbling around her shoulders and onto the sheets, creamy skin glowing sweat. Her pitch-black eyes held onto mine. In them, the love she’d confessed earlier swam through the lust controlling us at the moment and poured so many emotions through me that every last nerve ending ached.

This girl bewitched me. Made me feel alive just by being beside me. My insides thrummed with conflict; the desire to stay buried inside her for the rest of my life warred with the knee-jerk response to get far away from the painful wrench of feeling.

Her fingernails dug into my back as her legs wrapped around my sides. The movement tipped her hips up off the bed, sliding me deeper. I forgot about feelings and love and whether or not I would lose her, choosing to disappear into the slippery heat of our movements. We finished together this time, our foreheads pressed tight and gasped breath mingling between our panting mouths.

I moved, which was the last thing I wanted, and her whimper of regret at the separation of our bodies shot straight to my groin. With my head propped on my hand, I stared down into her sated smile.

“How is it so good?” The question emerged a little wondrously, her voice scratchy and sexy as hell from all the gasps and screams.

“Emilie, I have no idea, but I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Surprise shot into her gaze. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe it would keep her here.

“Why?”

“You’re beautiful. You’re smart and driven and talented. You don’t fall down my rabbit hole of innuendo unless you want to tumble with me.” I traced a finger from her neck down to her waist, teasing where it pleased me most to see her reaction. “This little body responds to mine like someone built it for me. You know all of my secrets but you’re still here.”

She leaned up and kissed me, her tongue paying me back for teasing her. “Wow.”

It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted it all. To hear my deepest desires and the feelings ripping me to shreds. She deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” It was a question she knew the answer to. I knew she knew.

“It’s not fair of me to withhold my expertise in all arenas. Plus if you don’t get dressed we’re never going to leave this bed for the rest of our lives, and your evil plan to thwart my father will be dead in the water.”

I watched the hope and light fall out of her face. When she hid it with that reluctant smile I felt like the biggest asshole ever born.

Chapter Twenty-One

The exercise helped clear my head.

Emilie’s tennis was above average and we had more than a few good volleys. Sweat dripped off me by the time my knee started to ache, and we sat cross-legged at the back of the court with bottles of water.

“You’re not bad.”

“You were taking it easy on me,” she panted, wiping her forehead with a wristband.

The tennis clothes Ang brought to the cottage had included a teeny tiny white Lacoste skirt that displayed Emilie’s perfect legs in a way that thoroughly distracted me. The way it flipped up and showed her ass didn’t help, either. But I had taken it a little easy on her.

“I wasn’t looking for a brawl. It felt good to be out on the court.”

“When was the last time you played?”

“The last day of Wimbledon almost a year ago.”

I gave her a smile in an attempt to hide the pain, but as usual she saw right through it. She handled it with as much grace as she did everything else, reaching out and squeezing my hand, then tossing her empty bottle into our bag.

“What do you miss the most?”

“About tennis?”

“Duh.”

I had to think about it because there were so many things I loved. The travel. The friends, the smell of the balls, the way racket strings sounded when I pummeled a perfect serve. Crowds cheering a good point. A night match under the lights. The parties, the free clothes, the fresh air.

One thing most of all. “The competition. Nothing feels better than stepping out onto that court ready to go to battle. It’s all fresh at the beginning. No points on the scoreboard, no flubbed volleys or shanked serves. A blank canvas to be painted.”

“You loved winning.”

“No, not necessarily winning. I mean, I always wanted to win but it was more the feeling of possibility. Every new match was a wrapped gift waiting to have the ribbons yanked off. You could stink it up but manage a win because the other guy pulled a hammy. Or play the best game of your life and still not be able to find a way to win.”

The last part was the truest, and it didn’t just apply to tennis. It was the same with my father, and maybe with Emilie, too. I could step onto the court but it didn’t mean I would win. I could tell her I loved her, too, and still watch her walk away eventually.

With a game, it invigorated me. When it came to real life, it scared me shitless.

“How can you always be so brave?” I asked.

This sexy pixie of a girl had stood brave in the face of my insults, the truth about who I am, to her father so she could live the life she wanted. She’d watched her little sister die. I wanted to understand.

Everything I’d tried since stepping off a tennis court terrified me.

“I’m scared all the time, Quinn.” Emilie’s bottomless eyes found mine, drew me under. “I promised Anabel—my sister—that I wouldn’t regret anything, not ever. She wanted to do so many things she’ll never get to do. Kiss a boy. Fall in love. Have the kind of mind-blowing sex we just had in that cottage. Grow up to do what she loves. I don’t know. If you think I’m brave, it’s only because the idea of being fifty years old and miserable about all the things I’d wished I done scares me more than taking a chance now.”

It made sense. She was afraid of regrets. I was nothing but a bundle of them. In that moment I knew, without a doubt, that Emilie would be one of mine. “How do you know you won’t regret telling me how you feel?”

“I’d have regretted it my entire life if I hadn’t.”

In the pause that followed I heard all the things I should say—I knew she was right, that I would regret letting this moment pass me by, but the fear of putting myself out there and having her decide one day that she didn’t care after all still made me sick.

Emilie’s presence in my life had helped me start to gather the pieces inside of me that should have been a whole. It’s as though my heart had spent the first twenty years of my life scattered in chunks, and every minute we spent together helped me find one more and paste it back in place.

I wasn’t sure if being put back together hurt more or less than being ripped apart again, but I didn’t want to find out. I was an asshole who let her give while I took, and maybe in the process I’d figure out how to become a human being. But I wouldn’t let her destroy me.

“I have an idea.” Her throaty voice, playful but also tinged with sadness, broke the rustling sounds of the night coming to life.

The air smelled like jasmine and honeysuckle. When I looked up in response to her statement, ready to ravish her in the bushes if she gave me a nod, the bright tennis court lights hit her like a spotlight and I wanted to remember this perfect moment for the rest of my life.

“Oh?” I winked, covering my response to her.

“Stop. I didn’t mean it like that. I assume you have money from tennis? And a trust fund of some kind from your father?”

If anyone else had asked such prying questions I would have laughed in their face. “Yes and yes. It’s enough to keep me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed.”

“You’re not a high-priced hooker, Quinn. Unless you want to be.”

“Just tell me what your plans are for all of my hard-earned cash.”

It was a lot of money for most people. Not by Rowland family standards, and probably not be the Swanson ones, either. About ten million altogether.

“What if you used your own cash to start up the business you pitched to your father? Once it’s built and succeeds, you can always sell to him, be absorbed into Rowland.” She paused, suddenly unsure of herself if the pink cheeks were any indication. “Is it dumb?”

“No.” It sank in over the next several seconds and became not only dumb, but potentially brilliant. I leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth. “It’s perfect. It’s the way to show my father that I’m my own man, to prove I’m good enough to make it on my own. It might finally make him respect me, even if he doesn’t care about me. It won’t matter. It will be business, not family.”

“I’m sure your father loves you, Quinn.”

“He doesn’t.” Her brow furrowed and I frowned. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me now, mi sopresita. I’m used to it.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “He blames me for my mother leaving before I was a day old. She never wanted kids, I guess.”

Her small hand covered mine, the heat and gritty dirt from the racket spreading familiarity and comfort through my blood. “It’s not your fault, Quinn. You don’t deserve to pay for her mistakes.”

I smiled to reassure her, but it never worked on me. My mother looked at my face the first time I took a breath and knew I wasn’t worth loving. How could anyone feel any differently when the woman who had given birth to me had seen nothing worthwhile in her infant?

Emilie would realize her feelings were nothing more than lust and take a hike, too.

My stomach tightened at the thought and I pulled my hand out from under hers. “It won’t matter. If I start my own business and try to prove my independence and initiative to my father, I’ll still be under Sebastian’s thumb. He’s got me either way. If I don’t do what he asks he’ll splash the pictures all over the internet, sell them to the highest trash-television-show bidder. It will ruin my chances to inherit Rowland—”

“And no one else will work with some kid with a history of drug abuse.” She bit her lip. “There has to be a way to make him see reason, Quinn. Your father will take care of him. It’s not like he needs the money.”

“He doesn’t do it for the money. He loves causing pain and wreaking havoc, toying with lives like people were puppets. To quote my father, he’s a sick little peckerwood. But he’s my brother.”

“You can’t let him control your life. We can figure out a way to deal with him, too.”

“Sebastian’s the only family I’ve got that wants anything to do with me, and he just wants his part of the pie. I guess I don’t mind bringing him along for the ride.”

Anger burned in her black eyes and she crossed her arms under her boobs, glaring at me.

“Or maybe you like it,” she snapped.

“Like what?”

“All of it. The games, the control, the fucking a different girl every time you turn around. The idea that you can prove you’re strong by exposing the weaknesses in others. Maybe the real reason you don’t care about getting rid of Sebastian is because without him you don’t have an excuse.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

But what if she wasn’t? Disgust burned in the back of my throat, acidic and sour.

Maybe I did like the game a little too much. Maybe I didn’t know who I was without it anymore. The truth was I didn’t give two shits about Sebastian; the guy was a menace. Why was I standing up for him? Did I really not want out from under his blackmail because it meant I would no longer have an excuse to hide from my life?

“Am I? Sebastian’s your excuse to give up, to keep everyone at arm’s length. But sooner or later you’re actually going to turn into the Quinn Rowland you pretend to be to seduce women—sad and broken beyond repair.” She reached for my hand again but I moved it out of the way.

This was it. My chance to save her from herself once and for all.

“You can believe whatever you’d like, but Sebastian’s my brother. You and I barely know each other. I’m not going to sit here and cook up schemes with you about how to toss him out of my life for good, leave him with no one.” I gave her my best cocky smile while my insides shriveled. “If you don’t like it, feel free to leave.”

Tears filled her eyes. Every one that slipped down her cheeks tore holes in my heart but I didn’t move. We stared at one another and whatever she glimpsed in my face pushed her to her feet.

“I am going to leave, Quinn. Not because I don’t care. Because I care too much to stand around and watch you self-destruct.” She paused. “You know, I never saw you retire during a match. Never. Not when you were really hurt and you probably should have. Not once.”

I never had. Not even when it hurt. And look where it had gotten me.

Emilie and her tennis skirt disappeared down the path to the cottage, but I stayed under the hot lights until the timer doused them hours later. Dried sweat left salty deposits my skin and chilled me in the late night air. The smell of my workout and the scent of Emilie’s body rose around me like a cloud and I breathed deep, pulling all of the good memories deep inside, burying them where they wouldn’t rise up to haunt me.

It was time to get over my father’s latest rejection and rejoin life. Sebastian was waiting and in a few days, a new top seed would be, too.

The French Open

Chapter Twenty-Two

Emilie

Ruby leapt on my bed, causing the mattress to squeak and my side to bang against her knees. My muscles were sore, inside and out, from the romp with Quinn, and every movement brought his face to memory.

Confusion dominated my emotions. He cared about me. Together we were amazing. But he let fear control his life—fear of failure, fear of…love? Of not being loved? I hadn’t quite figured it out but the truth was, it would kill me to be with him and watch every day as catering to Sebastian’s whims turned him into a shell of the charming, driven guy I’d fallen for.

“Look what I’ve got,” Ruby teased in a singsong voice.

I cracked open an eye to see her wide grin, her thick blonde hair mashed into a messy bun atop her head that didn’t come close to containing the pieces that curled around her face and down her neck. The sports bra and shorts, not to mention the sweaty reek, said she’d gone on a run without me.

“What?”

Her arms were behind her back and she moved them slowly. An envelope dangled in front of my nose, and I finally made out the return address. New York Foundation for the Arts.

The sight of it sat me straight up in bed, all thoughts of Quinn and his problems replaced by the opportunity that could make or break my future. When I went to take it from her, Ruby snatched it away.

“Nope. Not until you turn off the Taylor Swift.”

“It’s Adele.”

“Potato, Potahtoe. Whiny breakup music. Makes me want to vom.”

She had a point. Not about the vomiting, but about my maudlin mood. I reached over and hit pause on my iPod then held out my hand.

I’d applied for the summer fellowship after my paintings had sold at the museum opening. My father refused to accept my passion and promised to pull his financial support next semester, but I was determined to make my own way. I’d applied for four fellowships, but this was the big one. If I got it, it pretty much guaranteed that after graduation I’d be working with some of the most important up-and-coming artists, buyers, and critics roaming the world at present.

The envelope tore easily and I pulled out the single page with shaking hands. Tears pricked my eyes and my heart raced. “I got in.”

Ruby whooped and threw her arms around my neck in a hug, crushing the breath out of my throat. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered. The connections I made in a month could lead to a job as soon as I graduated. My father would never disinherit me; one day our family would heal. In the meantime, I could live the dream.

Like Anabel wanted. Like I wanted.

A quick flash of Quinn’s devastating eyes, trying and failing to hide hurt and pain and regret behind cruelty and indifference, hung in my mind. I pushed it aside. I cared about him, felt more strongly attracted to him than I might feel about anyone else in my entire life, but not more than I cared about me. I couldn’t stay and hope he could find the courage to admit he loved me back.

It would kill me to leave. Kill me to stay.

He had broken my heart like I’d always known he would. Silly me had assumed it would be a clean break, one I could get over and move on, but I’d lost some pieces along the way. It wouldn’t be easy, but what I’d told him three days ago remained true. I loved him too much to watch him throw his life away.

“Something else came in the mail,” Ruby said, crossing her legs and fixing me with a serious stare.

“Get off my pillow. You stink.” I wrinkled my nose.

In response, Ruby pulled the pillow out from under her butt and snuggled it in her armpits.

“Lovely.”

“Okay but seriously, I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Nothing can ruin my mood right now.”

“Not even Quinn Rowland?”

My heart stopped at the sound of his name hanging in the air between us. I swallowed and shrugged, but Ruby’s keen blue eyes said she wasn’t fooled. “What about him?”

“Green envelope. Addressed to you. No plus-one.”

The French Open started tonight. Or I suppose the matches were starting this morning, since Paris was seven hours ahead. I wondered if Alexandria would win another major. Or if Quinn would have been ranked number one if he were still playing.

“I’m not going to his party. He made it perfectly clear that while he’s certainly interested in rolling around naked with me, he’s not willing to admit any feelings, and he’s not interested in changing his life. I can’t keep going back.” The words sounded strangled. The lump in my throat burned.

“He does have feelings for you. He told me.”

“So what? Who cares how many people he tells if he doesn’t tell me, Rubes? And what about his not even trying to fight Sebastian’s blackmail?”

“You can’t expect him to change overnight. And you want him, too. I’ve never seen you like this—half the time you don’t even notice the guys panting after you at parties and in bars. I’m just saying maybe he’s not ready yet. Are you willing to give up on the possibility that one day he will be?” She kicked her armpit pillow onto the floor, avoiding my gaze.

“What are you saying? You like him?”

Ruby snorted. “Hell, no. But I love you. And this could really be it—the once in a lifetime chance to find the person who loves you and challenges you and makes you want to spend every spare moment in bed all wrapped up in one guy. What are the odds you’ll find that again?”

“When did you become a romantic? Are you a pod person? Are the aliens here?”

I tried to tease her out of her serious mood, but she was right. I’d never met anyone who made me feel every single emotion, every slide of a gaze or flick of a finger against my skin the way Quinn did. I knew that. I didn’t know if my heart could take another rejection. “What if he can never admit it, Rubes? What then? I keep waiting around like a kicked puppy?”

“No. No, Em. I’m saying he invited you to the party so he must want to see you. Maybe the idea of losing you for real changed his mind about everything. Give him another chance. One more.” She covered my hand with hers. “And then you walk away knowing you did absolutely everything you could, and that if anyone is going to feel regret in twenty years it’s going to fucking be him.”

The party invitation seemed like a peace offering. “That makes sense. Even if it is only to say goodbye.”

She smacked my hand. “Hey. Get that goofy-ass look off your face. You are not going to have sex with him again, do you understand me? It distracts you. No more Emilie vagina for Quinn Rowland until he breaks. Feelings or no lovin’.”

Breaking Quinn’s emotional barriers would be harder than breaking his service game. Which was saying something; ask any guy on the tour.

I laughed, rubbing my hand. “I’ll do my best, but you haven’t had that boy kiss you senseless. It’s not so easy to remember your name, never mind anything more complicated.”

“I’ve seen him. I can imagine.”

“Take whatever you’re thinking and multiply it by a thousand.”

“See what I mean? You’re never going to be able to forget him if you feel like you held something back or didn’t try your hardest. Go to the party tonight. Look sexy. Don’t sleep with him, unless he stares into your eyes and tells you he loves you. Then fuck his brains out.” Ruby nodded, slapping me one more time before getting off the bed.

She strolled over to the walk-in closet and started yanking dresses off hangers. “Now, let’s find you something to wear.”

I sat and watched her, a little unsure whether or not this was the right decision. Even if Quinn could admit he had feelings for me, would that change anything as far as Sebastian was concerned? I didn’t know. The way he talked on the tennis court the other night, it didn’t seem like either was a possibility, but he had sent the invitation. Why would he want me at the party if not to square things between us?

I guess I could cross the bridges as the came up. Feelings first. If we never got across that one then what he chose to do with Sebastian was none of my business.

***

Most of my certainty had fled by the time I made it to the overflowing beach house. It was late; I’d changed my clothes fifty times and dawdled for an hour in the bathroom. The results were not bad, if I did say so myself, and the proof was in the way every guy’s head turned when I passed through the front door.

At least, I told myself they were staring because of my short purple dress and silver heels, and not because they couldn’t believe the girl Quinn had dumped so publicly had the balls to walk back into his house.

I took a deep breath, intent on finding Quinn and dragging him down to the beach for a quiet conversation before the unwanted attention made me bolt. It helped that I felt sexy and desirable. The plum-colored chiffon dress swirled against my bare thighs and the plunging neckline showed off my breasts—which I knew Quinn loved even though he’d never said so aloud. I’d pinned my hair up to showcase the equal dip on the back of the dress, too, although the stray curls tickling my skin said at least a few had escaped.

Quinn was nowhere to be seen—thankfully, neither was Sebastian—and I decided a drink might help calm my trembling nerves. At the bar in the living room I asked for a mojito. The fresh coolness of the soda and mint quenched the nervous flush heating my cheeks. Better yet, it didn’t taste at all like Quinn’s lips.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite DE.”

I turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. It was a boy I’d seen around, though it took me a moment to pinpoint where. It came to me finally and I smiled. “Hunter, right?”

“You look damn beautiful tonight, Emilie Swanson. Though I am surprised to see you here.” He smiled, white teeth flashing, and leaned across me to grab a drink.

The smell of cologne or body wash of some kind wrinkled my nose. Hunter was an actor—we’d met when I helped do the set design for the theatre department’s production of The Boys Next Door—but I hadn’t realized he was an SEA.

His gray eyes, smoky like the remnants of a bonfire against the night, were keen and sharp. He was smart, I remembered that much, along with handsome and not a bad actor. We’d flirted a bit but he struck me as a bit too aggressive and I’d kept it friendly.

“Thank you.”

“What are you drinking, can I get you another?”

“Sure. Mojito.”

I trailed off as I glimpsed Sebastian’s short blond head out on the porch. He faced me, talking to a tall blonde. Her hair spilled down her back in wild ringlets, and she had impossibly long legs. From the back she could be Quinn’s ex, Alexandria Ikanova.

It wasn’t her, of course. She was in Paris. Still, a pit of worry landed in my stomach and sprouted roots. Hunter pressed another cold drink into my palm, his fingers caressing mine suggestively as he let go, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the deck bar.

He followed my gaze, grunting when he caught sight of the scene through the sparkling clean glass. “You might not want to watch.”

I ignored him. It was like an accident on the highway or the part of a horror movie you know is going to be über-gory but you can’t look away. I sucked the mojito dry and asked for another, with an extra shot of rum this time.

Jack, Marla’s stupid ex-boyfriend, rammed into the curly-haired blonde from behind and her shriek penetrated the soundproof glass. He disappeared into the crowd before she turned, but when she did I saw the black and tan result of a spilled Irish Car Bomb leaking across her white dress. Which meant a minute later we were all looking at her naked from the waist up.

Quinn waltzed up, cool as a cucumber and looking beautiful in tan shorts, deck shoes, and a loose blue button-up rolled to his elbows. The tanned muscles in his forearms flexed as he reached out and shook the girl’s hand. I could hear him in my mind, apologizing for the accident and offering to take her upstairs to change.

When they moved away from Sebastian together, toward the stairs at the front of the house, I looked away. Tears burned the back of my eyes and my limbs were cold. Anguish pushed through me like ice water in my veins, pooling in my stomach and turning me numb. Quinn was carrying on like nothing had happened.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want to change.

Quinn had brought me here tonight to shove it in my face just how much my walking out of his life didn’t matter. I’d witnessed it full-on, unable to look away, and the pain in my chest made it clear this was over. He’d never be able to go upstairs with that girl if he’d fallen for me.

I slammed the third mojito and took a shot glass from Hunter’s waiting hand. His gray eyes watched me carefully but not without hunger, and I wanted to forget everything I just saw.

Maybe I could get back at Quinn. I could make him miserable, too. So I took another shot and hooked my arm through Hunter’s, then looked up to where Quinn was disappearing with his Alexandria clone.

Our eyes met. His widened, almost as though he hadn’t expected me to be here, then traveled down to where my arm and Hunter’s intersected. The electric blue hardened to sapphires. The reaction told me that whatever he was telling himself about the two of us in order to sleep with that girl, it wasn’t because he never cared.

Lightning flashed in his gaze and every muscle looked ready to spring, like a wild animal intent on killing for the sheer pleasure of it. When he tore his gaze back to my face I shot him a sardonic smile and slid my hand into Hunter’s, tugging him toward the hallway, where I assumed there would be bedrooms.

I was going to be done with Quinn Rowland when I left this party tonight, no fucking two ways about it. If that meant having my first one-night-stand, then maybe I could drink enough to pretend it didn’t matter.

All I knew was that moving on with the lingering feeling of Quinn between my legs, in my heart, filling my mouth, would never work. He couldn’t be the last person there, or he’d be the last guy there for the rest of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The third room we came to was unoccupied and Hunter entered behind me, squeezing my ass.

“I always knew the two of us were going to end up in bed, you naughty little thing.” He spun me around, clutching me to his chest, and closed his eyes.

Vomit rose in my throat. I swallowed, putting some space between us. “I…do you think you could go grab a bottle of…something? Tequila?”

“Playing the nervous virgin, Emilie? You don’t have to pretend. Quinn doesn’t go for that and neither do I.”

“That’s not it, I just want a drink, that’s all.”

“Later.”

Hunter wrapped his hands around my upper arms, holding me still, and there was nowhere to go. This was what I wanted. A guy that would erase the feeling of Quinn’s body against mine but wouldn’t be there in the morning. I was leaving for New York. I didn’t want a boyfriend, I only wanted to forget.

I forced my body to relax, one muscle at a time. Hunter was perfect for tonight. His brown curls tickled my fingertips as I slid my arm behind his neck.

“Good girl.”

He lowered his face again and this time I didn’t pull away. Hungry, prying lips grabbed mine. They tasted sour, like limes and old tobacco, and he shoved his tongue in my mouth. It was rough, unlike my experiences with Quinn, which had been intense but not forceful.

Memories of kissing Quinn, of being with him, surfaced. I felt sick to my stomach at the sensation of someone else’s hands and tears pushed down my cheeks. Hunter either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

His rough hands squeezed my boobs, dealing a rough pinch and twisting until I cried out against his lips. The sound of my reaction apparently excited him; his erection pushed against my abdomen. That was the moment I wanted out.

I couldn’t go through with it. It would take longer and hurt more to get over Quinn on my own, but jumping into bed with someone like Hunter was only going to make a bad situation worse.

“Wait. Stop.”

“You’re a funny little thing,” he breathed, picking me up swiftly off the floor and throwing me onto the bed.

My head banged the headboard and for a second I saw stars. Then his mouth was all over me, leaving sickening slime in its wake. One hand pinned my arms above my head and the other shoved my bare legs apart, making room for his hips. Panic made my vision swim, but at the last moment my wits stumbled past the combination of grief and rum, and I jerked my knee up into his balls.

“Bitch,” he gasped, rolling off to the side. “You little fucking tease.”

I sat up, breathing hard and tugging my dress back into place while I got off the bed. Tears still streamed down my face, only partly brought on by fear. The rest was a soul-deep, wrenching loss as I thought about Quinn upstairs doing what I hadn’t been able to, his hands roaming the perfect blonde’s body. A sob tore loose. I had to get out of here.

I threw open the bedroom door and smacked into Quinn.

***

His hands went around my face, tilting it up so he could look into my eyes. Nothing but white-hot fury flashed in his bright blue gaze as he took in my tear-streaked face and mussed hair. Those murderous eyes traveled to the bed, where Hunter still held his crotch and whimpered.

“Are you okay?” He asked the question through clenched teeth, eyes not leaving his injured frat brother.

“I’m fine,” I replied quietly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, I can see that. Ever the little surprise.” He let me go and stalked to the edge of the bed, staring down at Hunter with undisguised hatred.

“I thought you were done with the bitch, Quinn, I swear. And she’s got such a sweet little body and she fucking wanted it too, man, practically dragged me back here to fuck, but then she freaked out, she just…froze up.” The words tumbled out in rush, naked fear in Hunter’s eyes as he begged Quinn to understand.

“If I were you I would stop fucking talking.”

“C’mon, man, share a little pussy with the rest of us. She was a stupid bet and you won. Does that mean no one else gets inside that?”

Quinn leaned down slowly, pressing a hand against Hunter’s throat until the words choked off. Hunter’s eyes went wide, sweat sticking his brown curls to his forehead as he wriggled desperately under Quinn’s grasp. “I said shut. The fuck. Up.”

A chill zipped across my skin at the cold fury surrounding Quinn. The height of his anger displayed with absolute calm; it terrified me and thrilled me at the same time.

Hunter’s face turned red in the thick silence. The room throbbed with malice as his face turned purple.

“Um, Quinn,” I said softly.

“I’m not going to kill him,” he replied, leaning down until his face was close enough to Hunter’s to kiss. “I’m not going to kill you. But there are a couple of things you should know, while I have your attention. First of all, no one makes any girl do something she doesn’t want to do in my house. Any girl. If I ever hear that you’ve forced your tiny little pecker on someone without her explicit, sober consent, I will cut your fucking balls off.”

Quinn’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Hunter, but in that moment fierce protectiveness leapt off him and surrounded me like a force field. It sucked the air from my lungs. No one had ever made me feel completely cared for from across a room. Like as long as he loved me—if he did—nothing could ever hurt.

“And if you ever touch this particular girl again—or think about her inappropriately or look at her sideways in passing—I will end your goddamn miserable life. Are we clear?”

Hunter managed to nod. When Quinn released him Hunter rubbed his throat with one hand and kept the other around his nuts. I thought that was it, but then Quinn’s fist smashed downward in a blur of movement, turning Hunter’s nose into a sickening crunch and wash of blood.

“Christ, man, I said okay! What the fuck was that for?” Hunter didn’t have enough hands to cover all his injured body parts, but I didn’t feel sorry for him at all.

“That was for your disgusting, invasive, sexist remarks. You’re lucky it’s not worse.”

Quinn’s hand slid around mine, grasping harder than necessary. He dragged me down the dark hallway so fast my shorter legs broke into a trot to keep up, then into the garage and out a side door that dumped us onto the beach.

The warm, sticky summer night surrounded us. A gentle breeze kissed my overheated cheeks as he propelled me toward the water until we were out of hearing distance and bathed in shadows. As private as a couple could get at one of these massive parties.

“I do not want to know any details about what happened in that room, because if I hear them I will go back in there and renege on not killing him.” Quinn picked up my other hand, squeezing hard and searching my face for answers. “But are you all right? Really? Did he hurt you, Emilie?”

His voice broke over my name and tears welled back up in my eyes. I nodded. Now that the whole situation was over, the fear that my adrenaline had held at bay crashed over me. I let go of Quinn’s hands and grabbed onto his waist. Strong arms encircled me, held me tight in silence for several minutes. His fingers worked the pins loose from my hair until it tumbled down over my shoulders. It felt good, like an extra layer of protection and warmth. I pulled away when the tide of belated fright finally receded.

“Here.” He offered me the untucked bottom of his shirt. When I didn’t move he raised the cloth to my face and dried the rivers of tears.

His eyes landed on my lips and lingered so I took a step back, remembering Ruby’s words. No sex. And kissing was a gateway drug the way Quinn did it.

“I had it under control in there,” I clung to indignation because it was easier to handle than the memory of Quinn playing Sebastian’s game with the nameless blonde.

“I know.”

The pride in his voice warmed me. The veil dropping back over his gaze sliced painfully, though, and the push and pull of being with Quinn made me want to drop into the sand and sleep.

“What are you doing here?”

“You sent me an invitation. Stupid of me, really, but I assumed that meant you wanted to see me. That you’d changed your mind.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “I didn’t invite you.”

“Then who…Sebastian?” I looked to Quinn for confirmation.

He gave me a tight nod, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He’s not convinced things are over between us, must have figured being here would fix that. He doesn’t like you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

I watched as rigidity flowed out of his muscles. His eyes roamed my body but not in a sexual way—this was protective, the way he looked at me back in the room. Still checking for bumps and bruises. But aside from my abused boobs, the only pain was inside.

And Hunter hadn’t inflicted it. Quinn did it himself.

“You look beautiful.” The compliment emerged in a hoarse voice. “I saw…when I saw you take off with Hunter something snapped inside me. He’s got a reputation for enjoying things a little…rough. I couldn’t stand the thought of him putting his hands on you at all, never mind hurting you in the process.”

Quinn’s words made my head swim. He wanted me to be safe. He didn’t want anyone to touch me besides him. A thrill of desire shot through me, heating my skin.

He stepped forward, settling a hand on my waist. “The idea that anyone would mar your gorgeous body made me frantic. I want it just the way it is.”

Breath caught in my chest as he pressed his lips to mine. It was sweet and gentle, possessive as he deepened it slowly. His tongue stroked mine while his hands held me loosely against him with a reverence that could only be born of love.

He wanted me to be his, and I was. There was no denying it.

Then a picture of the laughing blonde in her see-through dress, holding Quinn’s hand on the way up the spiral staircase, shoved into my mind. Cold horror sped through me. Desire flickered out and I pushed him gently away, needing space from the musky scent of his need. “What would have happened tonight if I hadn’t come to the party?”

Shame flooded his blue eyes but he hid it quickly with a smirk. “What always happens at my parties.”

“So you would have taken Bambi up to your room and let her pick out some clothes, then convinced her you weren’t the bad boy everyone makes you out to be, and seduced her.”

“Her name is Alison. One ‘l’.”

“Do you seriously think I want to know what her name is right now?” He didn’t respond. “Why is it okay for you to screw whoever you want—or whoever Sebastian tells you to—but I’m only for you? Why is that fair?”

He sighed. It sounded defeated and tired. Like he’d played a six-hour, five-set match with twenty deuces a game. “It’s not. Fair.”

“You’re damn right, Quinn.” I took a deep breath, terrified to put myself out there again, but it was what I came here to do. “I love you. I want to be with you. You. No one else. This thing between us is not going away. But it’s not going to work like this. You’re in, or I’m out.”

The sound of the ocean swishing against the beach was my only response.

Tears clogged my throat. I stepped forward, deciding to try one more tactic—to play this game Quinn’s way. My hand slid up his chest until it settled over his heart. I kissed his neck until his pulse pounded under my lips and when I pulled back, desire and love—I knew it was love—shone in his vibrant cobalt gaze.

I pushed up on my tiptoes until our lips were a few centimeters from touching. “I know you love me, too. You told Ruby. You said enough to scare Sebastian, so he knows, too. Tell me. We can figure out the rest.”

We stayed that way for endless moments, lips trembling with the effort of not connecting, breath mingling with the salt of the ocean and the stickiness of the night. His electric eyes stared down into my black ones and we became my painting. The one inspired by the undeniable magnetism that alternately drew Quinn to my side and pushed him away.

After a while, his hands slid up my arms and gently set me away. The resignation in his face draped over his entire body, fell into my heart and cracked it into pieces. Tears flowed unchecked, and this time Quinn didn’t dry them. He looked ill, so pale he might be sick onto the sand any moment, and took another step back.

I was losing him. Again, he was choosing his fear over me.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, Emilie.”

“It does to me.” I hated the sobs climbing past my lips with the words, but it couldn’t be helped. I felt as though I was watching the scene unfold, that it happened to someone else.

“It doesn’t matter because you deserve better. Better than a man whose life is in shambles. A washed up pro athlete with such a horrible self-esteem problem he couldn’t handle being dumped by a girl he didn’t even care about.” He looked away, out to sea, and I felt him slip farther away with the tide.

When his gaze returned to mine the pain and regret squeezed the remnants of my heart into dust. I wanted to turn away but I couldn’t.

“I’m going to tell my father about Sebastian’s blackmail. You’re right—living like this is no kind of life, and even if it means giving up the chance of convincing my father to take me on, I can’t live knowing that you think I’m a coward. I’ll never be good enough for you, but you make me want to get my head out of my ass and be better.”

The admission danced on the wind. It threaded through my hair and wound into my blood. Pride that he would move on from this mess with Sebastian warred with spiking irritation, but eventually the latter won out.

“It’s my choice who I love, Quinn. You don’t get to decide for both of us how this ends.”

“Yes, I do. You have nothing to regret. When you look back on tonight, I promise one day you’ll be relieved to be rid of a guy like me.”

He stepped forward and brushed a kiss over my cheekbone, his lips pressing against tears that I feared would never stop.

“You’ve been drinking. My car will take you home whenever you’re ready.”

Quinn Rowland turned and went back up the path to the house. He left me alone and devastated, torn apart and rejected. It made it worse to know he loved me too, to know how close we stood to something beautiful only to have him toss it—me—aside like trash. For all his pretty words it was still how he made me feel. Discarded.

I sat in the sand and cried. Every time I thought I was done, more sorrow bubbled up and spilled over, throbbing in my throat. The memory of every touch, every look, every argument and moment of ecstasy paraded in my mind. I would never have it again. Not with Quinn. Maybe not with anyone else, either.

My sobs settled into hitched gasps and finally a few hiccups. The remnants blurred my vision and drove exhaustion into my brain, dragging my eyelids toward my cheeks. Right before I gave in and lay right down on the beach to sleep the pain away, an idea popped into my mind.

If Quinn didn’t want to be with me because of some damn noble desire to be good enough, maybe I could help him. Sebastian was the obstacle—him and those stupid photographs. If they didn’t exist, then Quinn wouldn’t have to play any more games, and he could go about proving his worth to his father or shareholders of his own without any secrets ready to pop out of the closet.

Maybe if I got rid of Sebastian, the last roadblock between Quinn and his ability to share his feelings with me without fear would be removed forever.

It took a while to convince myself that I could do what I intended, to work out the logistics in my mind. By that time the tears had disappeared, replaced once again by a hope that turned out to be less fragile than I thought.

I wiped my face with the hem of my dress and made myself a promise. I would not tell Quinn how I felt again. Whatever happened with Sebastian, it would be for Quinn. So he could be happy, with or without me. For the next couple of hours, I would be his friend.

What he decided to do with the results was up to him.

Once I felt presentable and back in control, my feet steered me toward the house. Hours had passed and the party had died down. Plenty of students milled about on the deck and were sprawled on the furniture in the living room, and I’m sure more had taken to the bedrooms. But the music thrummed quieter and the conversations were soft as people drifted toward sleep.

Sebastian sat alone at the deck bar, talking to the bartender and sipping a drink. I slid onto the stool next to him and gave him a smile. “I’ll have a whiskey.”

He obliged, then quirked an eyebrow in my direction. “I see you received my invitation.”

“Obviously.”

“I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“I was down by the water, thinking. I saw Quinn go upstairs with that girl—the blonde. It hurt but after a while I realized it was time to get over him.”

“Oh? And how do you propose to do that?”

“Well, he’s upstairs getting over me with Alison, one ‘l.’ And I thought to myself, if I were to go upstairs with Sebastian, I bet he could help do the same for me.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Quinn

Loss tore deeper through me with every step away from Emilie. Pain scraped a hundred nerve endings, making each movement and breath a searing awareness of the fact that she wouldn’t be mine. The memory of every moment we’d ever spent together tormented my mind, ripped off the good parts of me that had begun to grow, and set them on fire.

As hard as I’d tried to convince myself that not admitting my feelings protected my heart, it was all a lie. All of those pieces her soft touch and belief had helped me gather these past weeks were obliterated with the wrenching, tearing sting of walking away for good.

Agony tried to knock me to my knees in the mess of crabgrass and sand, sucked my stomach up into my throat. She was beautiful and strong and she loved me.

And God help me, I loved her back.

Everything about her. The way she smelled, the way she tasted. The way her body arched into mine. How she stood up to her father and the way she bared her soul on a canvas.

That she looked past the insults and jackassery I’d dumped on her since the moment we’d met and seen something better—something worth saving. Worth loving.

The only way I knew to pay her back was to walk away.

I had thought up a million ways to beat Sebastian over the past couple of days but none of them would work. He’d never let me near those photos.

The hours and days and weeks and years that I’d spent practicing, training, conditioning, and playing tennis matches had been some of the best of my life. They’d taught me that discipline and hard work, endurance and passion could all come together to form a dogged courage that lifted me to the heights of the sport.

I didn’t know when I’d forgotten that guy. Emilie remembered him; she’d tried to remind me, too, of the way I never let anything stand in my way on a court. I had shrunk my epic matches down to something easily won—girls who didn’t matter, who cared less for me than I did for them—and lost my will to fight.

Maybe my tennis days were over, but it was stupid to limit my world to such trivialities. My life, from here on, would be the tournament. The first step was to make an appointment to see my father. He wouldn’t forgive my allowing Sebastian to have that kind of control over me, and he would never allow me to be an integral part of the company when they could emerge and ruin us at any moment.

It was fine. I would start over without Sebastian’s threats. Use the money I’d earned from tennis and from being Teddy Rowland’s son and start my own empire, even if I had to hide my name behind a shell company to get people to work with me. I would live the rest of my life striving to be the kind of man who could have swept Emilie off her feet and deserved to keep her.

An ache opened up like a river, coursing a strange mixture of love and grief through my blood. It whispered over rocks and shared the hope deepest inside me—that perhaps if I could prove myself one day, Emilie would still have me.

I’d never, ever ask her to wait. It wasn’t fair, just like it wasn’t fair to barge in on her and Hunter tonight. The sight of her leaving with him, headed for a bedroom and to be handled however he saw fit, had ignited a raving protectiveness I’d never guessed existed before tonight.

If I’d walked in a minute earlier and seen him pinning her down, touching her while she struggled, I think I would have killed him. In that one moment of brief, bright clarity I could no longer deny that I had fallen for her, and hard.

It was the first time I’d ever been in love and I didn’t have the courage to tell her. No matter how many times I told myself it was the best thing for her, it didn’t quite sit right.

The party pulsed and expanded, the sounds of loud voices and high-pitched laughter grated my raw nerve endings. All of these people having a great time, never guessing that I was dying inside with every step toward the stairs and solitude. It numbed me.

“Q, where have you been? I think you lost something.”

Sebastian snagged my arm at the living room bar. Alison stood at his side in the black dress she’d changed into, her boobs pushed almost out the top, a sweaty fruit drink of some sort sweating in her hand.

“I got lonely upstairs,” she pouted.

Jesus, this one wasn’t even a challenge. A cake second serve. I couldn’t let Sebastian know my plans to discuss this debacle with my father, though, and take the chance he’d leak the pictures before I could confess. So I smiled at her. “I’m sorry. There was a situation with one of my guests that demanded my attention.”

“What?” Suspicion clouded Sebastian’s always-perceptive gaze.

“Hunter Nance. I don’t want him anywhere near this house again, and if we can find a way to get him out of SEA then we’d all be better off. We don’t need burgeoning rapists in our midst.” Alison sucked in a quick breath. “I took care of it, Seb, and I’m sure he’s gone.”

My half brother nodded. “Well, you two have a good time.”

He wandered out to the deck and I took Alison’s arm. I dropped it as we stepped onto the staircase and once we reached my bedroom, I told her the truth. “You’re a beautiful girl, Alison, and a month ago I would have been jumping at the chance to get to know you better.”

“But…”

“But I have to take care of a few things that can’t wait. I need you to either stay here tonight or let me put you in a car without Sebastian knowing you left.”

Indecision crisscrossed her features, wrinkling her nose. “I’m pretty tired. If you don’t mind, maybe I’ll just crash.”

“It’s perfectly fine. There’s toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, whatever you need in the bathroom and the closet’s yours. I’m going out on the balcony to make a quick phone call.”

Alison was already asleep by the time I got off the phone with Veronica. I was scheduled to see my father on Tuesday, which meant keeping Sebastian off the scent for three days. The emotional toll of tonight’s multiple confrontations—with Hunter, with Emilie, with myself—burrowed exhaustion in every bone.

I took off my shirt and shoes, then stretched out on the far side of the king-sized bed. The gentle light of the moon, the soft swish of the waves, and the deep sound of her breathing put me to sleep.

***

A rapping on the door startled me awake.

My dreams had been endless voids born of my fatigue and it was hard to remember where I was or figure out how long I’d been out. Alison stirred, mumbling, and I pressed a hand to her shoulder.

“I’ll get it. Go back to sleep.”

I padded to the double doors and cracked one open. Toby’s now-crooked nose and worried brown eyes greeted me.

“This had better be important.”

“It is.”

He took a deep breath, summoning courage. After the last time we chatted it made sense, but my impatience rose. “Spit it out, Toby. No one’s going to hit you.”

Probably. It depended on what he had to say.

“A bunch of the pledges fucked up the car keys at the valet station and I’ve been outside for a while helping.”

“I don’t need a blow-by-blow of your night.”

“Okay. Sorry. When I came in some of the guys were whispering, and they didn’t want to tell me what it was about but finally they did. Emilie’s still here and Sebastian took her up to his room.”

Fear grabbed my heart and squeezed. “What do you mean, took her?”

“I mean…” He licked his lips. “They said she wanted to go. She went with him upstairs.”

After everything that had happened with Hunter and everything Emilie knew about my half-brother’s inclinations, I didn’t see why she would go to his room. If she felt anything like I did, as though a motorcycle brigade had run her over—there was no way revenge sex was still on her mind.

Apprehension spilled through me, waking me up fully, and my mind raced. She could be in big trouble. Sebastian didn’t care about anyone but himself, but if he thought taking Emilie to bed would hurt me he would do it—and he would be right. None of my actions since Emilie had forced my return from the brink of a permanent alcohol coma had convinced my brother that she was out of my system for good.

He would figure out how to remove her if he had the chance.

“How long ago?” I asked Toby, pulling the bedroom door shut behind me.

The air in the corridor stood the hairs up on my bare chest and I crossed my arms.

“About thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes? Fuck.”

“We have to get her out of there, Quinn. I know you don’t care about her but she’s sweet. Sebastian will break her into pieces and use them as olives for his morning Bloody Mary.”

“I care about her, Toby. I fucking love that girl and Sebastian isn’t breaking anyone.”

Unless he already had.

Toby’s mouth fell open. I shoved him to the side and took off down the hall, making two turns before landing at Sebastian’s door. It was unlocked so I shoved it open, trying to prepare myself for what I’d find, knowing that if it was bad, it would haunt me for the rest of my days.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Emilie stood next to the desk, her grape-colored dress hanging around her waist. The bra underneath was lacy and black. A growl emerged from my lips at the sight of the fingerprint bruises on her right boob, and my eyes swept the room for Sebastian.

He was on the bed in his boxer briefs, sporting a noticeable boner for the gorgeous girl who’d stolen my heart, and his arms were tied to the wooden headboard. In spite of his arousal he glared at both Emilie and me, his gaze sweeping between the two of us.

“You tricked me. You were in on it,” he spat my direction.

“What in the hell is going on?” I asked no one in particular.

“Don’t be mad, Quinn.” Emilie answered, stepping lightly to my side.

I reached out and tugged the straps of her dress back up on her shoulders. “What are you doing up here with him?”

“She’s being a stupid fucking bitch, is what she’s doing. Probably learned it from her whore mother.”

Emilie put a hand on my arm and my tensed muscles relaxed. She turned to my vicious half-brother, cool as can be in the face of his horrible insults. “Now, Sebastian, if you don’t talk nice, I’m going to have to gag you. We’ve discussed this.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m looking for your pictures.” She ignored Seb and moved back to the desk, rummaging in drawers. “I already smashed the shit out of his laptop and iPad. If you want to help, you can get on the Cloud through his phone and make sure they’re not stored there. I know he has a memory stick, too, that’s what I’m checking for now.”

Awe dropped my jaw, and I knew I looked as dazed and stupid as Toby had in the hallway but I didn’t care. “You brought him up here thinking you’d seduce him and tied him up, then ransacked the place?”

I definitely did not want to know what took place in order for her dress to be half off and for Seb to agree to let her tie him to the bed. Definitely. Aside from that, I wanted to kiss her until we both passed out from lack of oxygen.

Instead I grabbed her arm, yanked her against me, and kissed her hard on the mouth. “You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Mi sopresito, indeed.”

“Yes, well, I love a good caper. There are still plenty of things you don’t know about me, Quinn Rowland. Like what a good friend I can be in a pinch.”

She pushed away and something about the way she said the word friend got under my skin. Like she’d made some kind of decision. But I reminded myself this was what I wanted. Her to move on. Me to find a way to make my own way, stand on my own two feet.

“Where’s his phone?”

Emilie tossed it to me and I checked Sebastian’s Cloud. The photos weren’t there. I pawed through his closet until I found the three copies of the print versions and reduced them to confetti and flushed them down his toilet.

“Found it!”

The black memory stick clutched in Emilie’s fingers was the final remnant of my misdeeds a year ago. I took it from her fingers and stared. It had controlled me for months.

I turned to Sebastian. “Is this the only one?”

“I guess you’ll never know.”

I walked to the edge of the bed, staring down at him with more pity than anything. “Sebastian, listen to me. Tell me the truth and we’ll forget this ever happened. You inherit your trust fund, which is more than enough money to keep you in champagne and whores for the rest of your life. Choose to be an asshole, and I’m keeping this little memory stick and pressing charges. I have plenty of witnesses.”

Emilie’s intake of breath shook me as it hit my back. I had done the right thing.

Sebastian glared at me in silence for a few minutes before the inevitable cave. He couldn’t live the life of regular people, going to work and paying taxes, and we both knew it. “There’s another memory stick in the sneakers in the closet.”

It figured. Sebastian had never worn sneakers a day in his life.

Emilie handed that one over and I smashed them with a paperweight before flushing the pieces of those, too. And I was free.

***

I walked Emilie into the library and poured her a glass of whiskey, which she took and threw back with trembling hands. She stayed on her feet near the door.

“He could have really hurt you. Don’t ever take a chance like that again. Not for me.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Quinn Rowland. I’ll take chances on whoever I want.” She smiled to soften her words. “And friends pick you up when you’re down. You needed help dealing with Sebastian and I knew my particular charms could give it to you.”

“Your particular charms left you half-naked in a room with a raving psychopath, you do realize that.”

“I was not half-naked, for heaven’s sake. And he was tied up.”

I dropped the subject, unwilling to fight with her again, not after such a huge weight had been lifted off of me. Nothing had changed, really, from the beach earlier tonight. My life was in less of a shambles, but it still needed to be rebuilt. But my heart was too full, she was too lovely, to not say anything. “The moment I saw you walk off with Hunter tonight I knew I never wanted you to be with anyone else. Ever. And I didn’t want to, either.”

Her eyes found mine, wide and hopeful. I shook my head, trying to communicate that what she hoped for wasn’t coming. “I would do anything for you. I called my father’s secretary and set up and appointment to tell him everything.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve a good man, Emilie Swanson. And I’m a floundering boy who only just realized how much he has to lose. I know you’re right about this thing between us not going away. But I can’t ask you to be mine unless I’m worthy.” Sorrow tightened my throat. “I know that means I lose you. But this is how it has to be.”

There was nothing I wanted more than for her to stay. She’d called us friends—friends stayed. Maybe I could see her and talk to her while I sorted everything out.

“I think you’re worthy, Quinn.” Her husky voice stood my hormones at attention, the now familiar ache she pulled from my center resurfacing in the blink of an eye.

“Then stay. No one has ever stayed.”

I wanted to be horrified about the tears gathering in my eyes, but the love shining back from her eased the shame. She crossed the room and brushed them away, then kissed me lightly on the mouth. The taste of her summery lips made me hungry for more but she stepped away before I could act.

“I can’t stay, Quinn. It hurts too much to be near you and not have you. I hear what you’re saying, and if that’s what you need then I can give you the space.”

“But you said we were friends.”

“I am your friend, Quinn. But I can’t be your friend.” She paused in the doorway, not turning around. Her midnight hair spilled down her back, hiding the skin bared by her dress. “You know where to find me.”

She left. And I let her go.

I thought I’d won the match when she’d fallen into my arms, heart and all. The truth was, she’d beaten me. Snatched my soul and shattered all the lies I’d built around me to keep the pain of connecting at bay. In tennis, losing your service game was called being broken. If you lost your service without scoring a single point, you were broken at love.

Emilie had done that to me. While I assumed an easy match, like all the others, she’d broken me at love.

Wimbledon

Chapter Twenty-Six

Emilie

It turned out that New York City and I got along well.

It was the last day of my fellowship and it made me sad to think of going home, even if I did miss the Florida beaches and the fact that the streets didn’t sometimes reek like a sewer. The energy surrounding the city like a force field, the endless wonders waiting to be discovered, and the act of brushing elbows with so many people every day, more than made up for the downsides.

My technique had grown by leaps and bounds while my eye for critiquing others had improved as well. I’d made countless connections with the New York art world and knew I’d have no problems getting a job in graphic design after school. That is if my new plan to become a museum curator didn’t work out instead.

The five weeks had been a whirlwind, packed with creating and networking, parties, dresses, and immersing myself in that amazing city. It didn’t make me forget Quinn—nothing could do that—but it did give me something else to focus on and it felt good to watch my future solidifying in front of my eyes.

Quinn was doing well, based on what I’d seen on the news and heard through various friends. He’d started his own sports media company and had slowly been collecting overseas clients by focusing on non-American-centric sports. I was proud of him, and I was proud of me.

It was getting harder to believe every day that there would ever be an us, though.

There had been guys who asked me out during happy hours or classes, but I hadn’t gone. I wasn’t waiting for Quinn. Not really. The idea of moving on scared me, and the thought of anyone else’s hands or mouth or eyes or smile didn’t seem like reality.

Maybe I just needed more time.

The rest of my life seemed to be falling in place, and I was grateful. My parents were waiting to spend the next month with me before I had to be back at Whitman for rush, and hopefully they would see how well things were going and decide to be happy for me.

My cell phone erupted somewhere in the apartment. Things were a mess because I’d been packing—a few boxes to be shipped and my luggage, plus an overnight bag to take as a carry on. By the time I tracked my cell down it had stopped ringing, but I called Ruby back with a smile.

I’d missed her. She was playing Rosalind in a Shakespeare in the Park production of As You Like It in Tampa so we’d both been busy, but I planned to catch her last performance over the Fourth of July.

“Hey, what, are you screening my calls now?”

“Never. How’s it going down there? Any real-life romance between you and the guy playing Duke? What was his name again?” I remembered, but Ruby rarely had crushes and I was enjoying being able to tease her mercilessly.

“Liam.”

“Oh, right.” I grinned into the phone, folding a shirt and lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Is it Liam Hemsworth? You can tell me; I’m a vault. Miley will never know.”

“Very funny. I wasn’t calling to talk about my unrequited adoration, as it happens.”

“Make it quick, my car’s going to be here any minute.”

“I called to say I promise to forgive you for not coming to see me play Rosalind if you promise to forgive me.”

“Of course I’m coming. And forgive you for what?”

“Gotta go. Love you!” Ruby made kissing noises into the phone and the call disconnected.

Suspicion twisted my lips. Whatever it was, if Ruby felt the need to apologize in advance then I probably wasn’t going to like it. But by the time I’d finished packing and called the bellhop to take all of my bags downstairs, I’d forgotten about it completely.

Until I stepped out into the warm Upper East Side summer and saw the bright sun land on Quinn’s black head of hair. His eyes drank me in like a man who had been a week without water, then he broke into a beautiful smile that took my breath away.

I smiled back more hesitantly. It was too much to hope, that he’d come here finally ready to admit his feelings and that he wanted a life with me. I had promised myself in these weeks away from the intoxicating nearness of him that I wouldn’t settle for less.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had a layover at JFK and Ruby gave me your address.”

A layover. He’d come to torture me for a few hours, no big deal.

“Where are you headed?”

“Wimbledon. I have some business to take care of, and I thought it was time I stopped avoiding my old friends. I’ve missed them.” He stepped within touching distance but didn’t reach out. “And you. I’ve missed you, Emilie.”

The admission shot straight into my heart. It swelled around the hope I’d so carefully kept in check. “I heard things are going well with the new company.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been impressing everyone you’ve come in contact with up here, too. Not that I’m surprised.”

“You’ve been checking up on me? How?” For some reason, I wanted to cry.

“I prefer not to reveal my sources. And no, it’s not Ruby. You wouldn’t believe what I had to promise to get her to cough up your address.” The smile dropped from his lips. “I had to see you.”

“Why?”

“I thought I could stay away. That for once in my life I could do the noble thing, the selfless thing that no one has ever done for me and let you live your life. But I can’t stop thinking about you. All I do is work and dream about all of the things I want us to do.” He chuckled. “It turns out I’m not that noble.”

Quinn shifted even closer but I put out a hand, pressing it to his chest. It was hard enough to breathe the way it was, and the feeling of his heart beating under my palm, the salty sweet smell of him wrapping around me, made holding my ground an agonizing venture.

“I want to believe you, Quinn. But after everything, after all of the times I put my feelings on the table and you swept them onto the floor, I don’t know if I can.”

“How about this? Come to England with me. I have two tickets and I called ahead to make sure I had plus ones at all the events I’m planning to attend. I want you there.”

A smile crept onto my lips at the earnestness in his face. He looked like a little boy waiting to hear if he’d be allowed to go ride bikes with his friends. I wondered if young Quinn had ever been innocent enough to have a moment like that; the fact that he probably hadn’t ever been young made my soul ache.

“Why do you want me there?” I asked, still keeping my distance but feeling more confident.

Quinn shuffled his feet, then met my eye. I saw confidence there battling with fear; behind them both was the same cautious hope that existed inside me. That if two people were meant to be together they would find their way to a place where they could make it happen.

“I want you to know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll probably still fuck up. There’s never been anyone, not in my whole life…” He sucked a deep breath. “I love you. I fell in love with you the day you threw me out of your studio and I’ve been drowning ever since.”

Joy burst through me, exploding like fireworks at the edges of my vision. My smile ached in my cheeks and my heart pounded so loud it sounded like pounding hooves in my ears. Quinn reached out, his arms circling my waist, and pulled my body to his.

Pleasure at touching him again after all this time lit my skin on fire and I tilted my head up to look into his eyes. They were happy, that electric blue clear and dancing, and when he crushed his lips against mine I wanted to live in this one perfect moment for the rest of my life.

As good as he tasted, I pulled back after a few quick seconds.

“What?” Concern edged his thrill.

“I just…could you tell me again?” I asked, feeling silly but not enough to stay quiet.

“I love you, Emilie Swanson.”

It sounded amazing on his tongue, the way it landed on my ears in his silky deep voice. I kissed him again, opened my lips and body and heart to this man who had stolen all three. We lost track of time on the street for long enough that my body flushed with heat.

He eased away, looking forlorn that he couldn’t ravage me here and now. The expression shot an intense shudder down my spine.

“Our flight leaves in an hour. We should go.” He looked at my luggage. “Do you want to go upstairs and repack for England?”

“Who says I’m coming?” I asked, teasing him.

“Oh, you’re coming.”

I leaned in, nipping his lower lip between my teeth. “That had better be a promise, Quinn Rowland.”

Lust darkened his eyes to a dusky blue. “It is. In fact, we’ll be taking a private jet to London, and I intend to fulfill it as soon as we take off.”

My stomach tightened and the rest of my body responded in the blink of an eye. I cleared my throat. “I had an overnight bag packed. It should be fine. I’ll grab anything else I need once we get there.”

Quinn handed my overnight bag to his driver, then spoke quietly to the doorman of my building. “They’re going to ship your things back to your parents.”

I slid into the backseat of Quinn’s limo, marveling at how fast this had all happened. And yet, it seemed to have taken forever for the two of us to get this far. He sat next to me and closed the door, then nodded to the driver that we were ready to leave.

He twisted to face me, wonder shining in his eyes, and pressed his hands to my cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve dreamed about this every night since you left. I hope…I think I’m on the way to being good enough to deserve you but I’ll never stop trying. I promise.”

I reached around his hard body, pressing the button to raise the privacy window, then straddled his lap. His desire pressed against mine, and the thrill I got from knowing how amazingly we fit together sped my heart into a gallop.

“What kind of plans did you have for once we get to Wimbledon?” I asked, running my fingers through his thick hair.

“Mmm. I don’t have a meeting until the day after tomorrow but we can go to any of the matches you want. Alexandria’s playing first thing tomorrow, and so is my friend Sam.”

“I was thinking your friends are going to have to wait.”

His eyebrows rose lazily and his hands slipped under the hem of my sundress. “Oh?”

“Yes.” The sensation of his rough fingers kneading their way up my back, across my rib case, teasing my breasts, made it hard to form words. “In fact, I don’t think I’m going to be content with airplane sex. You owe me a lot of satisfaction after all of this waiting and celibacy.”

“So you’re thinking limousine sex would be the best way to seal our undying love?” He murmured against my lips.

“For a start. Then the airplane, of course, and at least twenty-four hours of uninterrupted hotel sex before we emerge and greet the public.”

“I’m going to have to amend that request, mi sopresita.”

“Oh? Well, I love a good negotiation.”

“We’re going to need at least forty-eight hours at the hotel. And I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

Quinn captured my lips, our tongues tangling as I let myself taste him without worry. I drank in the sweet whiskey, the salty ocean, the feeling of my skin responding to his hands. Every part of me was opened to him and I was happy.

I had never felt this way—now that I’d fallen for Quinn, I knew I hadn’t loved anyone before, period—and if it never ended it would be too soon.

“I love you, too, Quinn Rowland. For always.”

Acknowledgements

This story could not have come to fruition without a ton of assistance. I’d like to thank my very first readers, Denise Grover Swank and Alessandra Thomas, who said it was worth revising and showing to more people. To my beta readers—Andy Newman, Leigh Ann Kopans, Kristi Belcamino, and Angi Black—your feedback was priceless.

I have a fantastic copy editor for this project; Jim Thomsen, thank you so much for fixing all of my grammar and structure faux pas and for making me look as good as humanly possible. My proofreaders are the reason you’re not bombarded by extra space and missing words, and without them the reading experience would be less enjoyable—thanks Leigh Caroline and Adelicia Morris.

Last, I’d like to thank the writers who opened the doors to this new category of New Adult. You went first and blazed a trail that I’m thrilled and excited to be on. And as always, to the people who read my stories—you’re the best part.

About the Author

I’ve long had a love of stories. A few years ago decided to put them down on the page, and even though I have a degree in film and television, novels were the creative outlet where I found a home. I’ve published Young Adult under a different name, but when I got the idea for Broken at Love (my first New Adult title), I couldn’t wait to try something new – and I’m hooked. In my spare time I watch a ton of tennis (no surprise, there), play a ton of tennis, and dedicate a good portion of brain power to dreaming up the next fictitious bad boy we’d all love to meet in real life.

Contents

Title page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Table of Contents

Title page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Acknowledgements

About the Author