CASSIE MINT

Seeing Double
 First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Cassie Mint

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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents
portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Cassie Mint asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this
work.

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-914242-17-5

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 Contents
1. Keep in touch with Cassie!

2. I. SWAPPED BRIDE

3. Garrett
4. Nora
5. Garrett
6. Nora
7. Garrett
8. Nora
9. Garrett
10. Nora
11. Garrett
12. Nora
13. Garrett

14. II. STOLEN BRIDE

15. Lily
16. Reuben
17. Lily
18. Reuben
19. Lily
20. Reuben
21. Lily
22. Reuben

23. III. FAKE MODEL

24. Coral
25. Archer
26. Coral
27. Archer
28. Coral
29. Archer
30. Coral
31. Archer
32. Coral

33. IV. FAKE MAID

34. Eli
35. Billie
36. Eli
37. Billie
38. Eli
39. Billie
40. Eli
41. Billie
42. Eli

43. Get a free instalove story!

44. About the Author
 Keep in touch with Cassie!
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www.authorcassiemint.com/newsletter :)
 I

Swapped Bride
 Garrett

The decision is simple. Mountford wronged me—he tried to humiliate me

and poach my suppliers; tried to swoop in on my territory. I know the man
is a sniveling wretch, but this is an insult I cannot allow.
I could bankrupt him, of course. Take his mansion; his staff; his
businesses. His offshore accounts and gaudy fleet of sports cars. If
anything, I’d be doing the man a favor—for an art dealer, he has terrible
taste.
But no. Those are just possessions, things. He’d make more money to
replace what I took; he’d lean on his shady partners to help him back up to
the top.
If I ruin him that way, it will be temporary. Unsatisfying. A sugar hit
followed by an inevitable slump.
And I want to ruin him. I want him gutted and hollow; I want him to
lay awake in his bed at night, sweating and trembling at the horror of what
I’ve done. I want him to know, down to his wretched bones, that he brought
it on himself.
That he roused me. He poked the beast. Angered the Fox.
And he paid the price.
Even now, the memory of his insolence makes my teeth clench. My
pulse hammers in my throat, violence raging in my chest. To an outside
observer, I would appear completely calm—bored, even.
Inside, I’m a maelstrom. And I will have my vengeance.
So if not his ugly sports cars, then what? It’s simple, really. There is
only one thing in this whole universe which Mountford prizes above all
else.
His daughter, Lily. The prize of the city. A famed beauty, and the muse
of fashion photographers everywhere. Oh, Mountford trots her out like a
pedigree poodle, grinning for the cameras. His smug face says it all: “You
like her, huh? She’s mine, mine, mine.”
 As if her famed beauty is from him, with his sunken eyes and thinning
silver hair. Pathetic old fool. Well, there’s nothing else for it. I lean back in
my desk chair, drumming my fingers on the mahogany wood, then gust out
a sigh and pound her name out on my keyboard. A few clicks, and there she
is: Lily Mountford.
Soon to become collateral damage.
I enlarge her photo, scrolling through the street fashion shots. She’s a
natural in front of the camera—all creamy skin and soft, caramel waves. I
twist my mouth, considering her, but…
Nothing. I feel nothing.
I get more aroused looking at the black market paintings in my private
gallery.
No matter. I’m not going to hurt her, after all. She will be my wife only
in name. A possession to dangle over her father’s head, lest he get ideas
above his station again. I scroll through Lily’s information, already bored,
and my eyes snag on one detail.
Siblings: Twin sister, deceased.
Mountford had twins? I’ve never heard of another daughter. She must
have died long ago. Before he started bothering me, jostling for dominance
in the art dealing world.
I look at Lily’s photos again, looking for signs of grief. Perhaps we
will have something in common after all. A shared darkness that we might
bond over. She may not move me physically, may not interest me sexually,
but if she is to be my wife, it would be preferable to get along.
Preferable, but not essential. If she’s as tiresome as her father—and she
surely must be, given the way he dotes on her—I’ll pack her off to Europe
to one of my empty homes. She can spend her days posing in vineyards, or
volunteering for homeless shelters, or whatever it is bored wives do.
I don’t need to want her. Hell, I don’t even need to like her.
Like I said. Collateral damage.
I lean closer to the screen, staring at her face in photo after photo. But
there are no shadows clinging below those emerald eyes; no strain around
her mouth. By all accounts, she is happy. Perfectly content with life, never
mind her dead twin.
What a brat. If I’d had someone to call family, someone to band
together with while growing up, nothing would shatter my loyalty. I’d be
ruined to find myself without them. Instead, I’d been alone, left to fend for
myself, forced into darkness—
I shut the thought down. I know from experience: it leads nowhere
useful.
“My apologies, Lily,” I murmur to myself, the words sounding empty
to my own ears. I’m not sorry. This must be done. Her father must learn the
consequences of his actions. I snatch my phone off the desk, dial without
looking, and press it to my ear.
My assistant answers on the first ring, his voice calm.
“Yes, Mr. Taylor?”
“Reach out to Mountford. Relay this message word-for-word.” I smirk
at my monitor, eyes still trained on Lily. It’s a pity, really, that her
appearance leaves me cold. “I’ve chosen my price for his indiscretions. He
can agree, or I’ll take every last cent he owns.”
“Very good, sir. What is the price?”
“His daughter, Lily.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “She will be my
bride.”
 Nora

I bound off the sofa in my private suite, arms pinwheeling as I remember

the wet nail polish on my toes a moment too late. My feet scrunch into the
rug, my arms flailing as I catch my balance, then I huff and bend down to
inspect the damage.
“Phew!” I straighten up, flipping my golden brown hair out of my face
with a smile. “They can still be saved.”
No one replies. I do this a lot—talk to myself in the silence. Apart
from Lily, no one ever comes up to my floor, tucked away as it is in the
tower.
You’d think my father built his mansion like this on purpose, just to
lock his daughter away in a turret.
Not Lily, though. Lily can go where she likes. She’s his pride and joy.
And I was too, back when we were little, our perfect faces bright and
unmarred.
It all changed after the accident. The ice skating lesson which ended
with a deep gash scored through my cheek. I was lucky to be alive, the
doctors said in the hospital—a few inches lower and the skate could have
slit my throat.
My father didn’t see it that way. All he saw was my scar, and what it
meant: spoiled goods.
“You’ll never make a name for yourself now,” he’d growled as he took
me home from the hospital. “What use are you to me?”
I was eight years old.
Eleven years later, and those words still sting. They echo in my mind
whenever I glance in the mirror and catch a glimpse of that angry scar.
Brushing my teeth is a minefield; getting dressed is an exercise in avoiding
my own gaze.
At least I don’t have to worry about looking presentable. Not like Lily
—she agonizes over her outfits, terrified that the press will rip her to shreds.
 “This is my way out,” she told me once. “If I can do this, if I can
become a model or an actress, I’ll be free. And I’ll take you with me,” she’d
added quickly, squeezing my arm. “We’ll be together.”
We linked pinkies, and I nodded.
“Together. Always.”
So that’s one benefit of being locked away, all because of a stupid scar.
No one scrutinizes my appearance, and thank God! My skin goes all hot
and flushed just thinking about it. I’m left here in peace, and though it may
be boring, I get to work on my designs.
Nail art. New color combinations. Ways of creating patterns and using
tiny jewels. I get better with every design I try, and the followers of my
secret social media accounts think so too.
Rapunzel Designs, I’ve called my little venture. Lily has her looks—
well, this is my way out.
My father can’t keep me locked up here forever. He just can’t.
“Lil?” I call out now, my painted toes saved. I could have sworn I
heard the door open.
Slow footsteps come down the hall, creaking over the floorboards,
then my sister stands in the doorway. I squeal, excited to see her, shuffling
forward with my arms outstretched, but something makes me stop.
She looks… not just sad. She looks ruined.
Lily is deathly pale, her beautiful features drawn. Her usually plump,
rosy lips are bloodless. She darts out her tongue to wet her lip, then clears
her throat to speak.
Silence rings through the tower.
My twin sister bursts into tears.
“Lil?” I ask, alarmed, forgetting my toes and running forward. She
falls into my arms, sobbing into my shoulder. I can barely catch what she’s
saying, she’s howling so much, but I hear a few words.
Father.
Sold.
Marriage.
No, that can’t be right. Our father loves Lily. After all, she’s the
beautiful one. She’s the one who brings him attention and prestige, who he
can dangle in front of potential business partners to distract them and strike
good deals.
 If he sold her somehow, he’d lose all of that. I shake my head hard, my
ears ringing.
“Lil. Stop. Tell me again, slowly.”
She hiccups loudly, burying her face in my neck. Then she straightens
up, her eyes hard but her lip wobbling, and scrubs her sleeve over her wet,
shining face.
“He’s given me away,” she says, voice hoarse. “Sold me like one of his
paintings. He’s making me marry the Fox, Nora.”
I shudder. Everyone’s heard of the Fox. The man is a legend in the art
world, famed for pulling off impossible heists and striking billion dollar
deals.
He’s cold. Brutal. Even worse than our father. I shake my head hard,
gathering Lily back into my arms.
“No. No, he can’t have you. They can’t sell you, Lily, you’re a human
being!”
“You know it’s not that simple,” she whispers, and my heart sinks like
a stone.
I do know. Our father is not a good man. He does business in the
shadows; there is blood on his hands. If he wants something from his
people, we make it happen, or heads roll. Literally.
Perhaps not us. But if not us, someone we care for. And for Lily…
I’m her weakness. I’m the reason she’s going through with this.
My heart breaks into a thousand pieces in my chest. The only person I
love, the only person who loves me—gone. Sold to a monster.
I’ll never see her again. And who knows what horrors await her with
the Fox?
I guide Lily over to the sofa, still sobbing in my arms, and sit her down
on the cushions. Her voice cracks as she cries, and every whimper feels like
a punch to my stomach.
“If I m-marry him, I’ll never… I’ll never be with…” Lily bursts into
tears again, burying her face in a cushion. I smooth a palm over her
trembling back, up and down between her shoulder blades, my brain
whirring a mile a minute.
Lily may be resigned to her fate, but I’m not. And the beginnings of a
plan swirl in my mind.
Lily does not want to marry the Fox.
And I do not want to stay here.
 Oh sure, an arranged marriage is not how I’d choose to leave, but
perhaps it’s a blessing. An opportunity.
I’ll play the role. Trick the Fox. And be swept out of this house with
him once and for all. Then, the second his guard is down, I’ll sneak away.
I’ll finally start my own life, not locked away in this tower.
It’s reckless. It’s crazy. There are a thousand things that could go
wrong. But my heart swells in excitement.
“Lily.” I nudge my crying twin. “Dry your eyes. I’ve got a plan.”
 Garrett

I never planned to take a wife. Women have been little more than
distractions to me—always scheming and wanting something. My riches,
my artworks, my prestige. A ticket to fortune and fame.
I don’t blame them. Hell, I respect them for it. But I’m no one’s mark.
It is tiresome, then, to find myself in a wedding tux. The fabric is dark
and soft, perfectly tailored, with a crisp, snowy white shirt underneath. As I
linger in a hallway, some brave or foolish soul tucks a flower into my
button hole.
I let it happen. Beautiful things are my kryptonite.
Speaking of beautiful things—there is no sign of my future wife. There
have been no communications beyond Mountford’s grudging acceptance.
He was blustery and casual about it, trying to pass it off in the gentleman’s
club as a mutual idea.
As if anyone would want me as a son in law. I’m twice his daughter’s
age, and lethal behind my bored smile. I’ve ended lives, stolen wonders.
Toppled kingpins.
So, fine. Mountford can laugh and pretend that this was all his doing.
That he’s tamed the beast, not fallen prey to its ire.
We both know the truth. Everyone else does, too. The man can’t even
sustain his own lie. For example: this wedding that is supposedly his idea,
this joining between his precious daughter and his new ‘ally’—there is no
reception planned. No well wishers invited. No gleeful paparazzi.
Only one each of our employees to act as witnesses, Mountford
himself, and the bride.
Please. He’s no worthy opponent.
If the roles had been reversed, I’d have covered my humiliation with a
grand party, the likes of which the city had never seen. I’d have buried any
doubts under a landslide of opulence, celebrating the ‘happy’ occasion.
Instead, Mountford is sulking. Short-sighted child.
 No matter. I would have skipped the reception anyway.
“Well?” I snap as my assistant James approaches. A young man in his
early twenties, James was an unlikely choice, but I favor competence over
empty experience. James is sharp and efficient, seemingly tireless in his
commitment, and has no family life to distract him from his work.
“She’s coming.” James comes to a halt at my side, his eyes darting
over my appearance. He may be committed to his work, but he won’t candy
his words. If I look a fool, he will tell me so.
Yes, he’s a valuable asset.
“The button hole’s a nice touch,” James murmurs as we watch the
priest duck through a nearby doorway. Out in the main chapel, string music
quavers to life. It’s unearthly and aching, the sound bouncing off the stone
walls, and I swallow hard.
Now is no time for sentiment.
“Will she go through with it?” I grit out. This is one fear that has kept
me awake at night. It’s no show of power if the pretty young thing publicly
rejects me. Yes, her father would pay the price, but have I set myself up for
a bruised ego?
A head pokes through the doorway, interrupting my clamoring
thoughts. It’s a middle-aged woman with neat blonde hair tied back in a bun
and pursed red lips. Mountford’s employee.
She clears her throat, boldly meeting my eye. I like her. Perhaps I’ll
offer her a better position with one of my companies.
“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Taylor. We’ll begin.”
I nod, my expression calm, even as my throat runs oddly dry. I stride
forward, my footsteps echoing off the flagstones, James hurrying behind.
As I duck through the chapel doorway, I almost stumble.
She’s here. She’s already at the altar.
Of course she is, I chide myself. There are no pews of onlookers to
walk between—no loved ones to show off her dress for.
And what a dress.
Even at the far end of the aisle, its craftsmanship is clear. Perhaps Lily
did not get the wedding of her dreams, but Mountford could not resist
spoiling her one last time.
I’m glad he did. Ivory silk tumbles down her slender body, pooling on
the stone floor. The back is cut low, flaunting her pale, delicate skin, the
nub of her shoulder blades shifting as she fiddles with her bouquet. If I
thought my mouth was dry in the hall, it’s nothing compared to now.
Those shiny caramel curls, pinned up in intricate braids. That soft,
floating veil edged with pearls.
There is a goddess waiting beside the altar. I want to fall to my knees
and beg her forgiveness right here. I want to gather the slippery fabric of
her gown and kiss the hem; I want to run my palms up those legs, over
those rounded hips.
My feet carry me up the aisle on autopilot. As I near her, I catch a
whiff of her scent. She smells like sugar and vanilla, a human cupcake, and
my heart seizes in my chest when I remember.
There is no cake. I did not order a cake. I assumed we’d want to be out
of each other’s company as soon as possible. Before seeing her, I’d thought
of our wedding with a sour taste in my mouth.
Now this angel is about to wed and has no cake to cut. No friends in
the pews to admire her dress. No bridesmaids to catch her bouquet.
My blackened heart rends in two.
“Excuse me,” I grind out and wheel away at the altar, marching to the
side of the chapel to make a call. I bark instructions into the phone, my eyes
fixed on the woman waiting for me. Her chin dips forward, her shoulders
slumping.
I’m already disappointing her. God, I want to die.
My hands tremble as I race back to the altar, wiping my palms on my
jacket. Her head twitches toward me, her face hidden by the veil, and the
priest begins in a halting monotone.
I don’t hear a word of it. Honor, accept, cherish, yada yada yada—this
woman is mine.
Of course I’ll cherish her. Honor her. Treat her like a treasure. I’m not
a goddamn monster.
Okay, maybe I have been monstrous a time or two in my life—but no
more.
She deserves better. She deserves everything.
My bride.
 Nora

Jeez, he won’t stop staring. He’s not even listening to the priest!
Can he tell I’m not Lily? We used special extra-thick foundation on my
cheek, and I have my veil, but the Fox’s eyes are fixed on me, brooding and
intense. A slight frown creases his forehead, like I’m a puzzle he can’t
figure out.
I’m annoying him already. Oh, God help me. Let me carry off this
facade just long enough to escape his clutches.
Although…
He is awfully handsome. Older than me, yes, but not gone to seed like
my father. The Fox—Mr. Taylor—has dark brown hair, only threaded with
hints of silver at his temples. He’s tall and broad shouldered, such a
commanding presence that I have to tilt my chin up to look at him.
Pale gray eyes stare back at me, burning into my soul.
I shiver, my skin flushing hot all over beneath my gown, and my
breasts grow heavy and tight.
Inside a house of God? Yeah, I’m definitely going to Hell.
It doesn’t matter how good he looks, I tell myself sternly. He’s the
reason I’ve been bought and sold in Lily’s place. This man is a brute, who
wants to steal my only sister away from me. Well, the joke’s on him.
I don’t feel so cocky when we say our parts out loud. My eyes flick to
my father as I recite my lines: “I, Lily Mountford…”
My father huffs beside me, his leather shoes squeaking against the tile,
but then it’s over and he hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t loudly declared that I’m
not Lily at all, that I’m a pretender who no one wants.
And he hasn’t tried to undo this awful thing, tried to save his favorite
daughter from this fate.
I turn my face and stare dry-eyed at the altar. My throat is tight, but
something hardens in my chest, and I suck in a deep breath.
This man is no true father.
 I refuse to look at him again, even when the Fox lifts my veil carefully
over my head and bares my face for the first time. My father grunts in
surprise, but we both ignore him. Me, I’m done with him, and the Fox is too
busy running his greedy gaze over my features.
He darts out his tongue to wet his bottom lip. His mouth is strong and
curved, his chin square with a cleft. I sway toward him in a trance.
“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest raises his hands in
celebration, though there are no crowds here to whoop and clap. I half
expected we’d skip this part—that the Fox would snub my father one last
time by refusing to kiss his prize.
How badly I’ve misjudged him. The words are barely out of the
priest’s mouth when the Fox gathers me into his arms. He crushes me
against his chest, surrounding me completely, so big and broad and strong.
He could snap me like a twig, and yet he lowers his face to mine and kisses
me so gently that my chest aches.
It’s soft. Careful. It sends heat rushing through my body, pooling low
between my legs. I sigh into his mouth, the priest and my father forgotten,
and bow against him, pressing closer.
The Fox growls, his mouth hungrier now, taking my head in his hands
and slanting our mouths to slide in his tongue. I gasp, head swimming, my
skin buzzing with want, but the priest clears his throat.
I untangle myself and step back, heart pounding.
That’s what I’ve been missing all these years in my tower? That’s what
kissing feels like? I want to run and whoop back down the aisle; I want to
burst into the paved courtyard and shout to the heavens.
But of course, everyone else already knows about kissing.
I’m the locked up fool.
The Fox—Mr. Taylor watches me again, his chest heaving under his
shirt. Is he affected by me too? Oh, I hope so. I squeeze my thighs together,
and his eyes darken.
“Let’s go,” he grits out, ignoring everyone else in the chapel and
offering me his arm. I start to glance back at my father, but I stop myself.
He’ll discover our ruse soon enough, if he hasn’t already.
He doesn’t deserve my goodbyes. So I nod and smile at the priest, and
trip forward to take my husband’s arm.
Not a true husband, a voice hisses in my head as he leads me through
the chapel corridors. He toys with my fingers as we walk in silence,
shortening his strides so that I don’t trip in my heels.
No. Our ‘marriage’ is a sham. He’s married to Lily, or so he thinks.
And since one sister’s name is on the certificate while another said the
words…
It’s all a lie. Every part of it. Even that kiss was meant for Lily. And
when I’m find out, he’ll be furious—he’ll hate me even more than my
father.
I let him lead me in silence, my mood plummeting as we walk, until
my lips turn down and my eyes brim with tears.
Oh, what have I gotten myself into?
And why does my heart feel like it’s bleeding?
 Garrett

Lily Mountford is nothing like her public persona. The press adores her,
but she’s always come across as flighty. Temperamental and a little wild.
This angel is the opposite. She bore the indignities of our sham
wedding with a raised chin and straight back. She’s an ocean of calm
compared to my maelstrom. Even walking beside her, I feel my pulse settle.
Something tickles at my brain, a sneaking suspicion, but I quash it.
The least I can do is give her my full attention.
Our car is ready and waiting at the back of the chapel, across a stone
courtyard. For the thousandth time since laying eyes on her, I want to flog
myself for not bothering with a proper wedding.
She is not the sort of woman you sneak out the back exit. She’s
someone to parade down the front steps, where everyone can see and
admire her. Where she can draw the praise she deserves, damn it.
I’ll fix this. I’ll make it better.
“This way,” I mutter, voice gruff from my tight throat. I tug her gently
through a doorway, into a courtyard that smells like flowers and damp
stone. Buttery sunlight spills between the chapel roofs, and it glints golden
in her hair.
I’m so hard I could bite through my own tongue.
Instead, I usher her to the passenger side door. I had planned on
depositing her in the back seat where we could try our best to ignore each
other.
Everything has changed. I want her in the front with me, where I can
touch her, look at her, listen to her husky voice.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, reaching for the door handle. I snatch her
hand and press her cool fingers to my lips. She watches me, a blush
creeping over her cheeks, her mouth parting slightly.
I can’t wait a second longer.
 I crowd her back against the car, sealing our bodies together, moaning
as our lips meet again. She kisses me back just as desperately, her hands
scrabbling at my shoulders as she tries to get closer, tries to climb me like a
monkey.
Her wish is my command. I scoop her up by the ass, a hand clenched
on each of her juicy thighs. This time, when I press her against the car, my
cock lines up with her core and we both suck in deep breaths.
“Beautiful girl.” I drop my forehead against hers, rocking my hard
length against her. I can’t help it—God knows she deserves better, but the
heat of her pussy is burning through her thin gown.
She wants me as badly as I want her. And by the dazed look on her
face, it’s her first time experiencing these things. That realization fills me
with savage pleasure, and I rut harder against her, scraping my teeth down
her throat.
“Mr…Taylor…” she grits out, her heels digging into the backs of my
thighs, urging me on.
“Lily,” I reply, and just like that, she wilts in my arms. Where she’d
been clutching to me, writhing against my chest, she drops back against the
car, arms loose. “No,” I growl, slinging her arm back around my neck. I nip
at her chin, my gut sinking. “No, don’t turn me away.”
“I’m not,” she whispers, even as she slips out of my hold. Her heels
scrape against the courtyard flagstones, and my blood roars in my ears.
Somehow, I force my limbs into action, opening the door for her and
guiding her inside. She murmurs in protest, but I buckle her in, double-
checking the seat belt.
I pause, ducked inside the car, and suck in a lungful of her scent.
Sugar.
Vanilla.
And the faint tinge of arousal.
My eyes slam closed, and I straighten back up before I do something I
regret. The cool air hits my cheeks, and I shake my head hard before
shutting the car door.
Get it together.
You swore to be a husband, not a slathering beast.
It’s hard, though, and gradually becomes an impossible task as my car
eats up the miles. We roar down endless streets and highways, heading out
of the city until the buildings drop away and the mountains rise up on all
sides. The sky dims, the first stars winking, and the horizon burns orange as
the sun sets.
She watches everything with her nose practically fixed to the glass, her
breath fogging her window. Every tiny detail seems to absorb her in equal
measure, from the office parks on the outskirts of the city to the soaring
mountains and the ocean in the distance.
“Have you come out here before?” I ask, breaking the silence.
She chokes out a laugh, then cuts herself off.
“No,” she says eventually. Her voice is so quiet, I have to strain to hear
it over the engine. “No, never.”
I hum, turning back to the road as it winds up into the mountains. I’m
surprised—Lily Mountford is a famed beauty and budding model, after all.
She must have been on plenty of shoots out in the picturesque wilds.The
fashion magazines lining store shelves often show off her perfect face.
Funny. Her picture never moved me before, but the woman beside me
in the car…
I’m ruined.
“I’m taking you home,” I tell her, and it almost sounds like a threat.
But she’s mine now, and my home, my artworks, my empire—it’s all for
her.
I want to see her reaction when she steps into her new home for the
first time.
Lily shrugs, turning to stare out of the window again. I swallow down
a shard of glass in my throat.
Soon. I’ll make her love me back soon.
It’s all I live for now.
 Nora

“Wait here.”
The Fox is terribly severe. His face is as unyielding as the mountains
around us, his strong cheekbones carved in stone. When he pulls up a long
gravel driveway, the path lit on either side by old-fashioned lanterns, he
throws the car into park and barks at me to stay put.
I squeak out a reply, mouth dry, but he’s already gone. He throws
himself out of the car, his broad shoulders disappearing into the dark
evening sky, and slams the door shut.
I flinch. My fingers scrabble at my seat belt, but I’ve only just
unclipped it when my car door wrenches open.
“Lily.”
His voice is deep. Gruff. And when he says my sister’s name like that,
I want to rip his tongue out.
“Coming,” I breathe, swinging my legs out of the car, tugging the skirt
of my gown with them. It’s breezy up here in the mountains, and cool night
air washes around my legs. It catches in the light fabric, molding it to my
calves and thighs, and the Fox grunts before he drops to his knees in the
gravel.
“What are you—” I begin to ask, but he places a hand on each of my
knees. He glances up from beneath lowered brows, his pale eyes burning
straight through to my core. The breeze tugs at his hair, so dark it’s almost
black in the low light, and the glow from the nearby lantern pools golden
over his skin. His tux jacket is abandoned somewhere in the car, and his
shirt sleeves are rolled; his top buttons undone.
I suck in a shaky breath, my legs already trembling. My nipples pebble
against my gown, and I lie to myself that it’s because of the cold air.
“Are we going inside?” I whisper. For some reason, I can’t find my
voice.
 The Fox nods. “In a moment.” His thumbs skate over my knees
through the fabric. Back and forth. Back and forth. My breath builds in my
chest until I’m full to bursting, scratching at the car seats with my
fingernails. My chest heaves, my skin burning hot under his perusal, until I
can’t take it anymore.
“Please.”
His mouth twists, a savage kind of satisfaction playing over his face.
Then he’s pushing my knees apart, slow but firm, until the mountain breeze
drifts up my skirt and plays over my private parts.
I whimper, tipping my head back. I wriggle on the seat, looking for—
looking for something—
“Easy, baby girl.” A soothing palm slides up my thigh, scorching a
trail in its wake. I calm, resting my temple against the car door frame. I
watch him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Has anyone touched you here before?” he asks conversationally,
trailing a blunt fingertip up the inside of my thigh. Goosebumps ripple over
my skin, and I shake my head hard.
“Say it.” He grips my thigh hard. It’s rough and possessive, but it
doesn’t hurt—no. It sends a bolt of molten heat through my core.
“No,” I gasp, swaying forward. His grip loosens again, the swoop of
his thumb soothing. “No one has touched me there. Not… not even…”
He frowns at me, puzzled, then his eyebrows drift up his forehead. He
drops back onto his heels, his gaze fixed on my panties as he slides my skirt
higher.
“Not even you?” he asks quietly. I make sure to answer him this time.
“No.” I hiccup. “Not even me.”
The Fox likes that. Vicious satisfaction spreads over his face and he
kneads my thighs harder. He’s touching both legs now, creeping higher and
higher to where the breeze plays over my soaked panties.
“I’m going to touch you everywhere. Every inch of you. I’ll show you
how it all feels, angel.”
A flimsy strip of lace halts him. He glances at me, then smirks.
The Fox ducks his head beneath my gown before I can react, a
shocked cry bursting out of my mouth. I grasp his shoulder, bunching his
white shirt in my fist, but he sits back as quickly as he bent down.
Something dangles from his mouth. It’s a strip of white lace, clenched
between his teeth.
 My garter.
“Oh,” I murmur. I’m still clinging to his shoulder, tugging at him now.
A kitten might as well push a panther. He grins at me again, dark and feral,
and leans forward to nip at my lip. My garter flutters to the ground between
us, lost to the evening darkness.
“Lily,” he says, rubbing his nose over my cheeks. “I’m going to make
you howl, sweet girl.”
“Don’t call me that,” I gasp, my thoughts too muddled to remember
my own lie. When he frowns at me, I splutter out an excuse. “I don’t want
to be called Lily anymore. I like sweet girl. I like angel.”
He growls and lunges forward. His kiss is biting, punishing, but I take
every thrust of his tongue and nip of his teeth with eager groans. He leans
forward until my pebbled nipples brush against his chest, and I tug at his
shoulders.
I want him closer.
Closer.
This wasn’t the plan, I think distantly, but whatever this is between
us… it’s too powerful to deny. One look from this man makes my stomach
swoop. A whiff of his masculine scent makes my panties damp.
Maybe the plan isn’t doomed. I could still sneak away, and simply let
the Fox enjoy me before then…
Even the thought of walking away from this man makes my chest cave
in. When his arms are around me, when his gaze is on me, everything is
right. Righter than it’s ever been.
“I can’t wait,” he mutters, reaching beneath my gown and tearing my
ivory lace panties clean off. The delicate fabric rips, fluttering to the gravel,
then my legs are pushed wide again. I scrabble for the car roof, holding on
for dear life as the Fox leans down and licks a broad stripe up my pussy.
“Oh!” I bite my lip, the lights of the city below us blurring. He licks
me again and my hips twitch up.
“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” He bands an arm across my hips,
holding me down. And oh, that feeling of being pinned, of being restrained
by this man—I moan and rock against him.
His tongue is wet and warm, delving through my folds, exploring
every inch of me. He finds a tight bundle of nerves and bears down on it,
licking and sucking, and I can’t help it—I cry out, long and loud.
 “Yes,” he growls, shifting to slide the tip of one finger inside me. He
rubs at my entrance, circling, then dips just inside before retreating. I moan,
bucking up harder. “Call out for me, angel. Let the whole city know who
owns you now.”
“You do!” I sob, tremors wracking my thighs.
Below us, twenty feet from the driveway, car headlights pass along the
mountain road. The driveway is lit—someone need only glance up here and
they’d see it all. The Fox on his knees, his broad shoulders stretching his
white shirt, his head buried between my thighs. I stare at those passing
headlights, each groan dredged deeper from my body, and when the Fox
returns to that bundle of nerves and suckles on it, I explode. My chin tucks
to my chest, my muscles locking and spasming, and I can’t hear anything
except the rush of blood in my ears.
Gradually, I float back to earth. My feet drop to the gravel beside his
hips, and I look up at the Fox with wide eyes.
“What…” I’m still dizzy. I shake my throat and try again. “What was
that?”
He chuckles, smoky and dark.
“That was you coming on my tongue.” He chucks me under the chin
and stands up. “You’d better get used to it.”
 Garrett

For the first time in decades, I’m nervous. My new bride trips along the
driveway beside me, her heels catching in the gravel. I steady her elbow,
making a mental note to have the entire driveway repaved.
Her breath still saws in and out of her lungs as the flush of intimacy
fades from her cheeks. Her nipples prod through her thin gown like two
points, and I grit my jaw so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.
Restraint.
I need to give her space. Not rush her.
I already pushed my luck when I buried my face in her delicious pussy.
The front door swings open ahead of us, the doorman murmuring his
welcome as we pass into the lobby. My wife stares around with wide eyes,
her fingers plucking nervously at the beading on her gown.
I clear my throat. “Leave us.” The doorman vanishes without a word,
melting into the background. In the distance, there are the faint sounds of
food preparation, and Lily flinches at the crash of a pan.
I scrub a hand over my face. It would be… wrong, to stride into the
kitchens and put the fear of God into my staff.
Not right now, anyway. Maybe later, when my wife no longer vibrates
with tension. She stands ramrod straight in the center of the lobby, gazing in
turn at the oil paintings decorating the walls. There are famous
impressionist paintings; wild landscapes; intimate portraits which bring that
blush back to her cheeks.
“Do you like art?” I ask quietly, then hold my breath until she answers.
For once, she spins toward me, a bright smile stretching her cheeks.
“Oh, I love art. Especially—”
She breaks off, her eyes dropping to the marble floor. I want to grab
her shoulders and shake them; I want to roar and pound on my chest until
she finishes that damn sentence.
 “Especially what?” I croak. She blushes impossibly redder, and when
she answers it’s in a whisper.
“Nail art,” she tells me, face miserable. I snatch up her hand, flipping it
over to inspect her fingernails. Nothing. Only a pearly white sheen. Yanking
up a fistful of her gown, I check her toes next in her strappy heels, but
they’re matching white. She stumbles back, almost tripping over her own
feet, and I gather her against my chest. I tuck her there, her head under my
chin, as I tilt her fingers in the light from the chandelier.
“It’s stupid,” she mumbles.
“It’s not stupid,” I bark. “You will show me.”
“I don’t—I don’t have my things.”
Of course not. I stole her away here with nothing but the gown on her
back, too goddamn greedy to get my hands on her to think straight.
“You will. Order replacements, new supplies—whatever you want. But
you will show me, do you understand?”
She nods, sniffling against my chest. Can she hear my pounding
heartbeat? Surely, she must be able to. Hell, the neighbors must be
wondering what that racket is. My shocked, ill-used organ is flinging itself
against my rib cage, battling to get to her.
I’m fucking this up. Being so gruff with her; burying my tongue
between her legs before she’s ready. My sweet angel is trembling like a leaf
in my arms, and it takes the last ounce of my willpower to drop my arms
and step away. She blinks up at me, still half dazed, a glassy sheen to her
emerald eyes.
I made her cry. God fucking damn it. I want to get down on my knees
and slam my head against the marble.
Instead, I gesture across the lobby. She follows my hand, trepidation
creasing her brow. The mansion is not welcoming at first sight, cut into the
mountain and built from local rock. The decor is bold, all dark woods and
statement art pieces—sultry oil paintings and abstract, twisting sculptures.
Then there are the silent staff members, the distant sounds from the kitchen,
and the dark sky spilling through the huge glass windows.
It must be a lot to take in.
“Nothing to be afraid of here, sweet thing.” Nothing except me, and I
would rather tear out my own throat than harm a single hair on her head.
“Now why don’t you explore your new home?”
 Nora

I’m all jumbled up inside. Everything I expected the Fox to be—cold,

merciless, cruel—he’s the opposite. The way he treats me, you’d think we
were true newlyweds and I was the love of his life. It’s heady and jarring,
and it makes heat pulse between my legs. I’m aching for him again, so
awfully soon, and what will he think of me for that?
I try not to let on. I keep my eyes averted as he leads me through the
rooms of his mansion. His home is nothing like I’d expected, either. I’d
pictured minimal white box rooms and sparse furniture. Hard lines and
stark shades.
Instead, his home is comfortable. Cozy, in an opulent sort of way. The
rooms are filled with splashes of deep reds and blues, and the furniture is
sculpted from polished wood. All except the sofas—they look sinfully
comfortable, the perfect place to lie back and—
No. I cut myself off.
I can’t get attached. Not more than I already have. He thinks I’m Lily,
it’s my sister he truly wants, and I need to make my escape before he finds
out he’s been tricked.
My sore heart throbs in my chest.
I don’t want to go.
For a little while, I let myself play. I imagine that the hunger in his
eyes is really for me; that these rooms truly will be my home now. The
heavy curtains are soft as I trace my fingertips down the fabric, and my
heels sink into a Turkish rug.
I kick my heels off, forgetting my manners, but the Fox growls in
approval as I curl my toes in the rug.
“Yes. Get comfortable, angel. This is your kingdom, now.”
My tower back home feels like a thousand miles away. Back there, I
had three rooms: a tiny bedroom with a single bed, a cramped living space,
and a bathroom. When I wanted to exercise, I had to find videos online that
didn’t involve any sideways movement.
The Fox leads me from room to room, gazing avidly at my face,
watching my every reaction. And when my mouth falls open in shock at the
master bathroom, a smirk tugs on his lips.
It’s vast. Open to the mountains, with huge glass windows taking up
the walls. An enormous stone bathtub takes up the center of the room,
where the view stretches around on all sides.
“Would you like to bathe?” the Fox asks, his lips tickling my neck. I
suck in a deep breath and nod.
A bath. I haven’t had a bath since before my accident. Only cramped
showers in a shadowed stall. Reality crashes into me, and I clap my hand to
my cheek.
My scar.
My makeup.
I cannot bathe here.
I don’t have any more makeup to hide who I really am. The second I
slide into that water, the game is up. So I back away from the bathtub,
tugging on the Fox’s sleeve.
“Wait, no. I changed my mind. Let’s continue the tour.”
He frowns at me, suspicion etched on his forehead, and my mouth runs
dry. But he nods and strides out of the bathroom without argument, and I
hurry to follow after. We trail around the rest of the mansion, and it’s only
when we reach the dining room, our wedding feast laid out and ready, that I
realize he didn’t show me any bedrooms.
My heart sinks. Does he not want me like that? Was I…strange,
somehow, earlier in the car? Off-putting?
Or does he not trust me? He’s been scowling since the bathroom, a
muscle ticking in his jaw. I lower myself into the offered chair, my stomach
growling at the delicious aromas even as my insides churn.
It’s…
Wow. He spared no expense. In all truth, I hadn’t expected a fancy
dinner at all. We both know that he married me—well, ‘Lily’—to spite my
father. He needn’t have bothered with this.
The table is covered with a crisp white table cloth and set with silver
cutlery. Both of our napkins are folded into swans, and I poke at mine
before I catch him staring.
 There is a basket of warm rolls. A tureen of soup; a braised roast
displayed in the center of the table. Vegetables provide bright pops of color,
and a bottle of champagne sweats in an ice bucket.
The Fox glares at the food like it’s some kind of insult. He sits back
and huffs as a waiter in a cream jacket steps forward and pours us two
glasses of champagne.
I start to speak, but no words come out. I clear my throat and try again.
“Don’t you… don’t you like it?”
He jerks his head toward me. I flinch away from the full force of his
scowl, and his expression flickers.
He swallows. “No. It’s not worthy of you.”
I gaze around the food again, confused. It’s the most incredible meal
I’ve ever seen. Suddenly, I want so badly to tell him that. To explain that
I’ve spent the last eleven years eating cold, congealed leftovers on a tray.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper instead. A large, white shape catches my eye
over his shoulder, and I brighten. “There’s cake, too!”
Just like that, his scowl crumbles. His eyes crease as he smiles at me,
reaching over to drag my chair closer. I squeak, carried across the
floorboards, but when our sides bump together something settles in my
chest.
“Allow me.” He plucks a warm bread roll from the basket, tearing off
a small piece. I open my mouth automatically, gazing up at him with wide
eyes, and his expression heats. The bread is fluffy and delicious on my
tongue.
We eat like that for hours. The Fox barely bothers to eat at all, instead
feeding me mouthfuls of every dish on the table. Occasionally, he calls out
to the chef and insists another side is made. Another dessert prepared.
I sip from my champagne between mouthfuls, the zingy bubbles
bursting over my tongue. Technically speaking, I’m too young to drink, but
he knows that, doesn’t he?
And besides… this man is not overly troubled by the law. His dealings
on the black market are notorious.
He feeds me the cake last. We cut it together, his chest warm and hard
at my back. His hand engulfs mine as I clutch the knife, and he guides it
gently through the icing.
I barely notice. His cock is pressed against the base of my spine, rigid
and insistent. I bite my lip, a shiver traveling over my skin, and he drags his
nose up the side of my throat.
“Do you feel that?” he murmurs, inhaling the scent of my hair. I give a
wobbly nod. “That’s what you do to me, princess. You drive me out of my
goddamn mind. You make me an animal.”
A shudder rolls through me, all the way to my core, and I spin in his
arms, the knife clattering to the floor behind me. He smirks down at me,
lifting a finger coated in icing, then presses it between my lips.
I open for him easily, moaning around his thick finger. I slurp and suck
all the icing off, until the sugary taste is gone and I’m still sliding my lips
up and down his knuckles. He stands still as a statue, letting me drive
myself wild, his body vibrating with tension.
I swirl my tongue around the tip of his finger.
He snaps.
“Out!” he bellows, spinning to yell toward the kitchen. “Everyone
out!” When he turns back to me, his eyes are burning. “I know you like an
audience, don’t you darling? You loved hearing those cars pass by earlier.
But no one will see when I pop your cherry. That sight is only for me.”
I nod in a daze as waiters and kitchen staff rush past, heads down as
they hurry for the lobby. When the last footsteps echo across the marble and
the door slams closed, the Fox rakes his eyes over me.
He nods. “Let’s begin.”
 Garrett

My new bride is a needy thing. She’s been glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked

since the driveway, squeezing her thighs together when she thinks I’m not
looking. Tendrils of her hair have escaped her elaborate updo, hanging
down to tickle her bare shoulders, and her breath keeps catching at the
sensation.
Poor angel. She’s so desperate for it, she’s climbing out of her skin.
I might find it amusing, but the humbling fact is that I’m just as bad.
My skin is hot and oversensitive. I feel every brush of my clothes, every
breeze floating through an open window. She made me like this, with those
bee-stung lips and her heaving chest.
I’ve got her. I’ll make these feelings go away.
Part of me wants to grab her tiny waist and lift her onto the table. To
let the remains of our dinner stain her white gown, painting our passions
over the fabric.
I won’t do that. Perhaps it’s foolish, perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but I
want her to look back on our wedding with fondness. This dress will be a
keepsake, and I want her to treasure it, not stain it with gravy.
That doesn’t mean I won’t rip it.
That’s what seamstresses are for.
“Come.” I grasp her slender wrist, tugging her out of the dining room.
More than anything, I want to take her to the master bathroom and watch
her bathe, surrounded by moonlit mountains. But she cowed away from that
—clearly, she doesn’t want to bathe when I’m near. She doesn’t trust me.
Yet. If it’s my life’s work, I will earn this angel’s trust.
I take her to our bedroom instead, pulling her through the doorway. I
avoided it on the tour, not trusting myself, but I’m glad now when I see her
round eyes. The four poster bed stands in the center of the room,
surrounded by plush, hand-woven rugs, and the balcony door is open.
Delicate white drapes flutter in the breeze, and the room smells of pine. A
fire crackles in the hearth.
She wets her lips, stepping toward the bed. Her bare toes poke out
from under her hem, and I can’t stand it anymore.
I’ve waited long enough.
And she makes a beast out of me.
I growl, scooping her up from behind and tossing her down on the
mattress. She bounces on it, limbs flying, her small breasts bobbing beneath
her gown.
I stand at the foot of the bed, flicking my shirt buttons open one by
one. She watches my chest get bared with hungry eyes. Her small hands
grip the covers, twisting them in her grip.
“Do you know what a husband and wife do, sweet thing?”
She bites her lip. Lifts one shoulder.
“Answer me.”
“M-maybe,” she gasps out. “I’ve read, um. Read some books.”
I quirk an eyebrow, sliding the shirt off my shoulders.
“What kind of books?”
She shrugs again, squirming on the bed as I step closer. I move faster
than a cobra, yanking her by the ankle. She’s face down with the gown
flipped over her back, her ass bared to the air before she can take a breath.
My palm cracks down on her ass cheek, sharp and firm. She moans,
wriggling on the mattress.
“I told you to answer me,” I say casually, rubbing the blushing pink
patch of skin. “Are you trying to make me angry?”
“Maybe,” she hisses into the bed covers, and I can’t help my savage
grin.
Yes. My sweet angel and I like the same games. She doesn’t even fully
know it yet; she’s acting purely on her instincts. But she’s bold, too, never
mind how shy she seems—pushing her ass higher and wiggling it from side
to side.
Crack.
I smack the other cheek, rubbing it after again. She moans brokenly,
shaking her head and burrowing her face into the covers.
Well. That won’t do.
I won’t let her hide away and pretend this isn’t real. I flip her over
easily, smirking at her red cheeks and disheveled hair.
 “What books?” I ask again.
She blinks at me hazily. “Um. Novels from my sister. Naughty books.”
I freeze, ice sliding through my veins, but I force my hands to keep
rubbing over her legs.
From her sister?
I knew something was off.
This isn’t Lily Mountford.
There’s a liar in my bed. A beautiful liar. She and her father have made
a fool out of me. Violence and rage surge in my chest, and I grind my teeth
together. But my hands on her stay steady. Smooth and gentle.
I won’t hurt her, however badly she’s hurt me.
Surely she knows this ruse can’t last? I flip her over again while I
think, letting my horror and confusion play over my face. I spank her ass a
few more times, but there’s no heat in it. I tug her skirt back down and
crawl over her, kneading her shoulders instead.
There are knots in her slender muscles. I tease them out, listening to
her breathy moans as my world crumbles down around me.
She knows her trick won’t last.
She never planned to stay.
My beautiful liar plans to run.
My thoughts spin wildly, my heart racing so fast I’m surprised it
doesn’t burst clean out of my chest. By the time I’ve worked the last knot
from her shoulders, I know what I must do.
She’ll hate me for it.
I’ll do it anyway.
She cannot leave.
Some lonely, hopeful part of me still thinks there’s a chance. That I
could make her love me. Could make her want to stay.
It’s foolish, but I indulge that hope. I duck my head and bite the nape
of her neck.
“Oh, please!”
She writhes beneath me, bucking her hips up, seeking friction. What
was Lily’s twin sister called again?
There was no name. Only that lie. ‘Deceased’.
“Do you want me, baby?” I ask, desperation making my voice rough.
“Please, please, please,” she sobs. “I need you inside me, F-Fox.”
 “It’s Garrett,” I snap. Are we both to be nameless? I tear her gown
open, buttons be damned. Our wedding is no perfect memory. “Names are
important, aren’t they, Lily?”
She falters under me, and I lick a stripe up the length of her spine. Her
back muscles twitch as I go, and she begins to move again.
“Call me angel instead. Please, Garrett.”
God, I should end this charade. Call her out on her lies. But hearing
my name in her husky voice…
I cannot deny this woman anything. Not even when it breaks my heart.
My teeth scrape over her shoulder.
“Angel. My angel.” She moans again, bucking against me. I won’t—I
can’t—deny her any longer. I bunch her skirt around her waist and squeeze
her ass cheeks in my hands.
I’ve been picturing this moment all day, and in every vision, we were
face to face.
Not now. She’ll know her game is up the second she looks in my eyes.
So I squeeze her ass cheeks, prying them apart and smacking them in turn.
Her flesh is already slick and quivering when I trace a fingertip over
her slit. I circle her clit, smirking at her strangled moan, then drift back to
her pussy.
I slide one knuckle deep. Two knuckles. Her pussy is so fucking wet
and tight, constricting around me. If it strangles my finger like this—
I blow out a breath and stroke her walls.
I won’t go any deeper. I won’t risk taking her cherry with anything but
my cock. And I barely need to stroke her at all before she’s ready for me,
hoarse-voiced and begging.
“Please, Garrett. Please, don’t tease, please, please, I’m yours. Take
me, take me, take me…”
She trails off, face buried in the bed covers. I kneel up behind her,
yanking my belt loose. I draw my cock out and give it two rough strokes.
She gasps as I gather her wrists and hold them at the small of her back.
They’re dwarfed in one of my hands, the other winding in her hair and
pulling her head back with a tug.
“Show me what you can do, baby.” I push into her opening, groaning
at the stretch. Her pussy clutches me, drawing me deeper, deeper, and I
slide forward inch by inch. “Still with me, baby?” I grit out. She nods, her
head swaying drowsily in my grip.
 “Uh-huh.”
“Does it feel good? Do you like my cock in your pussy?”
“Feels so good,” she whispers. “I want more.”
I snap my hips, thrusting deeper, and break past her barrier. God, her
moans wreck me. She’s loud and unselfconscious, no shame tingeing her
pleasure. She begs for every inch of me, and when we’re sealed flush
together, she sighs and rolls her head on her neck.
She glances back at me, a glint in those emerald eyes.
“What are you waiting for? Show my pussy it’s yours.”
I growl, lunging forward, pounding her into the mattress. I’m being
rough, way too rough, but she loves it, the little hellcat. She scrabbles at the
bed covers, her limbs thrashing, urging me on with every moan from her
pretty mouth. She cries out like she’s in heat, begging for more and more,
sighing happily with every crack of my palm on her ass.
“Do you like the pain, sweet thing?”
“Yes.”
I lift her hips higher, holding her above the bed. I thrust into her at a
punishing angle, rivulets of sweat trickling down my chest. Her torn gown
is bunched and twisted on the bed; her braids are in ruins. I fist her hair
tighter, yanking her head back, and her mouth drops open as she groans at
the ceiling.
“You. Are. Mine.”
I punctuate every word with a hard thrust of my cock. The breath
leaves her body with each of my thrusts, and the enormous bed itself
scrapes over the floor.
“I’m yours,” she babbles, her head lolling as the spasms begin in her
core. I feel her orgasm coming long before it hits, the tremors flickering
through her muscles. Then her pussy clamps down, clenching on my cock,
pleasure shuddering through her in waves. She cries out, her throat torn, and
I knead her ass cheek, riding her as she comes.
When she collapses forward, I follow her down, plastering myself to
her damp back. I lick at the moisture on her skin as I thrust three more times
before burying myself deep and bursting inside her.
“Fuck.” Even now, she’s twitching around my cock. I come and come
like a fire hose, painting her inner walls. A thought flashes across my mind
—that she might get pregnant with my child—and I thrust impossibly
deeper, filling her to the brim.
 Let her be pregnant, I pray silently. Selfishly. Let her be tied to me
forever. My beautiful liar.
At last, I pull out and roll off her, gathering her into my arms. Her
makeup is smeared and her hair is wild. She looks like she’s been dragged
backwards through a hedge.
She’s gorgeous.
“Don’t leave me,” I mutter, rubbing her back as she falls asleep against
my chest. “Don’t you dare leave me, angel.”
Her soft breaths are the only reply.
God. I’m fucking ruined.
 Nora

I wait until the Fox—until Garrett—falls asleep, his deep breaths tickling
the hairs on my neck. Only then do I peek out from under an eyelid,
checking his face.
Crap. He’s so handsome. Even now, in sleep, a scowl is etched on his
forehead. I fight the urge to smooth it with my fingertip, wriggling gently
out from under his arm.
His breath hitches. I freeze, halfway out the bed. Then he rolls over
and lets out a sigh.
Good. This is good. I try to tell myself so, even as tears slide down my
cheeks. I shouldn’t feel like my heart is breaking in my chest over a man I
only met today.
He doesn’t even know who I am.
He doesn’t want me. He wants Lily.
And I can’t be here when he realizes. I couldn’t bear to watch him turn
me away. It would break me forever.
Better to get ahead of this. To slip out when I can, and stick with the
plan: freedom. Life. Adventure.
Never mind the ache in my chest.
Never mind my churning stomach.
My wedding dress is ruined—not that it would be much use for
running away. I tiptoe to another door in the bedroom, and pry open
Garrett’s walk-in closet.
I dress quickly, picking clothes for practicalities’ sake. A pair of his
jeans, belted at my waist and rolled at the ankles. Two thick pairs of socks,
since there’s no way his shoes will fit me and I’m not wearing heels through
the mountains.
A long-sleeved t-shirt. A black sweater and an overcoat.
A glance in the mirror shows that I look freaking insane.
 With my smudged makeup, wild hair and oversized clothes, I look like
a little girl playing dress up in Daddy’s closet.
The thought makes me shiver, but I tuck it away.
It’s no use. I have to leave.
I pick my way across the bedroom, forcing myself to keep walking and
not look at the man on the bed. If I look, I’ll crumble. I’ll confess
everything and beg to stay.
I can’t do that. It will hurt too much when he says no. When he looks
at me with disgust in his eyes.
The bedroom door swings open easily, and I pad silently down the hall
in my thick socks. I glance up and down, wracking my tired brain, trying to
remember my way through this house.
Left, I think. Left and a little way along the corridor, then down the
big, sweeping stairs.
My chest lightens a fraction when I find my way. I’m not so useless,
then. Not like my father used to say. If I can just find my way out, get into
the mountains and start working my way toward the city…
Then what?
I have no money. Nothing to sell. My eyes flutter closed, and I breathe
through a sharp pain in my chest.
I hate this. I hate doing this to him, but it’s my only hope. I pluck one
of Garrett’s sculptures off a mantelpiece in the lobby. It’s likely worth
thousands at least—enough for me to start my new life.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, reaching for the door. “I’m so sorry.”
“I should hope so.”
I gasp and whirl around. Garrett leans against the wall in the shadows.
He’s watching me, scowling at the statue gripped in my hands.
There’s no way out of this. No lie he’d ever believe.
I crept out when he was sleeping, dressed in his clothes and stole his
artwork, his precious art—
“Garrett.” I open and close my mouth, searching for words, but they
don’t come. His expression darkens. I squeak, spinning back to the door,
but the statue slips from my numb fingertips. It shatters against the marble
floor, shards flying in all directions. Garrett yells something, but I’m
already running.
My heel feels hot as I fly down the gravel driveway. The lanterns
lining the path stretch and warp my shadow, so that a fun house version of
me flees on either side. Behind me, Garrett bellows from the house, but I
sprint into the night.
My heel is burning. The gravel digs into my feet, makes me wince and
gasp, but my heel is beginning to throb. Suddenly, pain lances hot through
my foot and I cry out, staggering to the side.
Strong arms catch me, steady me, and I’m lifted into the air. I half
expect Garrett to throttle me, but he cradles me against his chest. He
dressed in gray sweatpants and a dark t-shirt to follow me down to the
lobby, but his feet are bare against the gravel.
“Angel!” He yells, trying to stop me struggling. “Fucking hell, stop it!
You’ve hurt yourself.”
I go limp in his arms, panting from exhaustion.
“I’m not your angel,” I mutter. He stiffens around me. I screw my eyes
shut and force myself to keep speaking. There’s nothing else for it now.
“I’m not who you think I am. I’m not Lily Mountford.”
Garrett huffs, turning around and striding back up his driveway.
“No shit. You already told me.”
“I did?” Am I going insane? Surely I’d remember a conversation about
that.
“Yeah.” He smirks at me, the shadows cast by the lanterns dancing
across his face. “When you were out-of-your-mind needy for my cock.”
I blink, heat rushing to my cheeks. God, how humiliating. But—
“If you already know, why are you taking me back inside?”
Garrett rolls his eyes.
“You hurt your foot. Stepped on a shard from that statue.”
I glance down at my dangling foot, and sure enough, crimson blood is
blooming over the heel. It’s soaked through two thick socks already, and
another wave of pain lances through me at the thought.
I whimper, clutching at Garrett’s t-shirt. He shifts me in his arms,
cradling me closer.
“Hush, baby. We’ll take a look. I’ll fix it for you, I promise.”
Baby? Hope blooms in my chest. Wild, impossible hope.
I wet my lips, my arms tightening around his neck.
“I’m sorry for running,” I whisper. “I didn’t think you’d still want me.”
There’s so much more to tell him—about my father, about being locked
away—but his face already softens. He gazes down at me, eyes burning,
and his voice shakes when he speaks.
 “I’ll always want you, angel. You’re mine.”
Joy breaks over my face, stretching my lips into a wide smile. I squeal
and snuggle into him closer.
“It’s Nora,” I tell him, nipping at his earlobe.
He snorts, cracking his palm against my ass.
“Makes sense. Naughty Nora.”
He carries me inside. Lays me gently on the sofa. Fetches the first aid
kit and patches my cut. Garrett fusses over me like a priceless treasure. Like
he’s a teddy bear, not an internationally-renowned art dealer.
I watch him, and I must have cartoon hearts in my eyes, because every
time he glances up, he smiles. His eyes crease at the corners, warmth
spreading over his cold features, and my chest aches at the sight.
“Do you really still want me?”
He grips my ankle, glaring from his knees. “Always.”
I sigh and collapse back on the cushions, tossing my arms over my
head. This can’t be real, this must be some sort of dream, no one can be this
lucky.
“Garrett?” I ask. His palms slide up my thighs. He reaches my waist
and tugs at the belt. “Why do people call you the Fox?”
He huffs a laugh, flicking the button open on his jeans and dragging
them down my legs. I lift my hips to help, warmth already pooling in my
core, my bandaged wound long forgotten.
“Because I made my fortune squeezing into tight spaces.” He traces a
line up my inner thigh, then cups my pussy in a strong, possessive grip.
“Shall I show you?”
I nod so fast my teeth chatter, and his dark, smoky laugh thrills
through my veins as he spreads my legs wide. He tests me with a finger, but
I’m ready for him. Wet and aching.
This time, when he pushes his big cock inside me, we’re face to face.
His forehead drops onto mine, and he rocks his head back and forth as he
pushes deeper, inch by inch. I prop myself up on my elbows and we watch
together as the thick length of him vanishes inside me.
“See that, pretty girl?” Garrett fists my hair and tugs. “Your pussy was
made to swallow my cock.”
I nod, still watching hypnotized as he slides in and out of me. My
juices shine on the flushed skin of his cock, and I reach down to rub a
fingertip over his shaft.
 Garrett hisses, grabbing my knees and folding my legs up and back,
pounding into me so hard my teeth rattle. I moan and scrabble at his hips,
his shoulders, pulling him closer, harder, and all the while he stares at me,
his eyes dark.
“You will never leave me.” The way he says it, it sounds like a
promise.
Good thing I never want to.
I shake my head, biting my lip as he smacks my ass. Garrett likes me
to reply out loud.
“Never,” I gasp. “Never. I love you.”
The words just slip out, and his hips falter. Heat flushes my cheeks,
and I duck my head, so embarrassed, but he tips my chin back up.
“I love you.” His eyes bore into mine. All the way into my soul. “I
love you so fucking much, I can hardly stand it, Nora. You’re mine.
Fucking mine. And tomorrow…” he leans forward, tugging my bottom lip
between his teeth. He speaks against my mouth. “Tomorrow, I’m going to
find that fucking priest and marry you properly. The right names this time,
huh, sweetheart?”
I nod and smile through my tears.
Yes. I want that. I want that so badly. I tip my head back and moan as
he thrusts again, his cock plunging inside me.
I want everything he has to give me. His huge, hard cock. The crack of
his palm. The obsessive light burning in his eyes.
His surname and his home.
A baby one day.
I’m his?
He’s also mine.
 Garrett

Five years later

I slam my car door shut, striding up the paved driveway toward the
mansion.
Our mansion. My wife’s. My family’s.
How did I ever get so fucking lucky?
The early evening light casts a warm glow over the mountains. The
huge glass windows sparkle, and the lobby is cool as I step inside.
I used to come home from business trips to silence. Perhaps a single
staff member. Now, when I listen, I hear the whoops of our children playing
in their room. The nanny’s soft voice murmurs to them, calms them a little,
and I smile.
That means I have my wife to myself.
It doesn’t take me long to find her. She’s in her favorite place in the
mansion—the room she goes to when she wants to relax. I push the master
bathroom door open, savoring the steady reveal of her bare arms draped
along the stone bathtub.
I close the door behind me. Spin the lock. Only then does she glance
back, her face brightening. Her scar shifts with the motion, but she doesn’t
cringe in embarrassment any more.
She knows she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“You’re home!” She moves to stand up, but I hold up a palm.
“Wait.” She settles back into the bubbly water, biting her lip. My Nora
loves when I boss her around. It makes her so fucking wet. “Sit back,” I tell
her. “Wash your arms.”
She does it slowly, putting on a show. I stroll around the side of the
tub, glancing out at the mountains.
Anyone could walk past. Could glance up from their car.
Yes, my wife is a naughty girl.
 “Your legs next,” I rasp, my hungry gaze raking over her bare, soapy
skin. She wriggles her toes against the rim of the bathtub, showing off her
latest design. Marbled swirls of pale pink over cream.
My wife is an artist. An extraordinary talent. With a little investment,
her nail art design company has become famous around the world.
It’s all her. I just put in a little money. All the talent, all the vision—it’s
all Nora.
“Have you been a good girl?”
She nods, biting her lip. When I growl, a faint smile tugs at her lips.
She likes to tease me like this. Make me spank the answers out of her. I
stroll across the bathroom, hands in my pockets.
“Did you miss me, angel?”
She nods again, cheeks flushing. Yes, I know very well how badly she
missed me. She tortured me with photos of her in tiny scraps of lace; she
called me every night, pleading for me to get her off.
I did my best. I had her coming every night, clenching my jaw at her
gasps down the phone.
I didn’t come, though. I saved it all for her.
This is my revenge.
“Undo my belt.” Her soapy fingers scrabble at my clothes. She gets
my cock out before I can even ask, wrapping both hands around it.
“What do I do next?” she asks, feigning innocence. I smirk down at
her, tugging her chin down. When I tap the head of my cock against her
tongue, a shudder rolls through her.
Always so responsive, my wife. So needy.
She moans as I thrust between her lips.
I cradle her head in my hands, fingers playing in her caramel hair. She
gazes up at me so lovingly as I fuck her mouth.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, sweetheart?” She moans in
agreement, her tongue flicking over my cock. “You wanted my come
poured down your pretty throat.”
Her eyelids drift closed, one hand dropping back beneath the water.
The frenzied movement of her arm disturbs the water; makes it slosh onto
the tiles.
I don’t stop. Neither does she. We’re lost in our own world, me
fucking her mouth and her fucking her own fingers.
 I’ll give her my cock later. Over and over again. Enough to make up
for all the days apart. But for now, I thrust into that pretty little mouth,
claiming her the way she craves.
Rough. Primal. Desperate.
All the things she makes me feel.
“Angel,” I groan, emptying myself into her mouth. She sucks my come
down greedily, slurping just for show. As soon as I’m finished, I yank her
up by the elbow, bending her over to grip the rim of the bathtub.
My tongue plunges between her folds, and I eat her pussy in a frenzy,
grinding my whole face between her legs. By the time she comes, she’s all
over me, and I nip at her quivering ass cheek.
“Good girl,” I huff, catching my breath. I trace an idle circle over her
clit. “Good girl.”
Upstairs, our children are laughing. Playing. The mountains stretch
around us on all sides, painted golden.
My wife sits back down in the bathwater, giggling as she wipes at my
face.
Yeah.
I’m the luckiest fucking bastard in the world.
 II

Stolen Bride
 Lily

I lean out of Nora’s tower window, watching the row of cars pull out of the
driveway. I wave as big as I can even though there’s no way my sister can
see me, my eyes wet and my heart lodged tight in my throat.
She’s doing this for me. Heading out into the big wide world, letting
our father trade her away to his business rival in a sham of a marriage. It
was her idea to take my place—she begged me to let her do it, saying it was
her only chance of escape—but guilt and shame still slosh in my stomach.
We spent hours this morning perfecting our ruse, painting her scar with
make-up and curling her hair just like mine, and my heart sank another inch
for every minute of it. Right now, watching the line of shiny black cars
carry my twin sister away, the poor, battered organ is somewhere near my
belly button.
“Don’t be scared,” Nora had whispered as I brushed mascara into her
lashes, my chin wobbling with unshed tears. “It’s all a trick. One quick kiss
at the altar, and I’ll slip away before the Fox knows it.” She took my hands
in hers, squeezing. “I want this, Lily. This is it. He might not know it, but
the Fox is my chance to be free.”
The Fox. I think of the man who was meant to be my husband, and a
shudder passes through me. He’s notorious. Driven and severe.
God, I hope Nora is okay. I suppose after spending the last eleven
years locked away in this tower, anything must seem like a better option.
Even marrying a complete stranger.
At least the Fox is handsome. Famously so. He’s one of the city’s most
sought after bachelors, with his clean-cut features, elegant taste, and
bottomless bank accounts. Plenty of girls would have killed to be in my
position, promised to the mysterious art dealer.
Not me. There’s only one man I want, and he is standing six feet
behind me with his arms crossed, blocking Nora’s bedroom door.
My bodyguard.
 Reuben.
The man I cry out for in my sleep.
Of course, to Reuben I’m just an annoying kid. His employer’s spoiled
daughter. He watches over me, guards me closely, but in the three long
years he’s known me, he’s never really seen me.
You know, as more than an object.
As a woman.
“Be careful,” he grumbles now as I lean further out the open window. I
ignore him, pushing up on my toes to watch the line of cars as they pull out
of the driveway—
Reuben huffs, stomping across the bedroom. He catches me by the
arm, tugging me back inside and shoving the window closed with a thud.
“Do you want your father to see you?” he snaps, crowding me back
into the center of the room. “Your little trick will be over before it’s begun.”
I scoff, crossing my arms just like he always does.
“Why do you care? You should want me to get caught. My father’s
going to kill you for not warning him, you know.”
Reuben shrugs, supremely unconcerned.
“I’m a bodyguard. Not a babysitter.”
“Oh? Is that the only reason?” I raise my eyebrows, watching him
closely. When Reuben went along with our twin swap, sneaking me into
Nora’s tower at dawn, I could hardly believe it. He could get fired for this,
or so much worse. Our father is a cruel man.
But a part of me, just a tiny part, got to thinking… got to hoping…
Maybe Reuben didn’t want me to marry the Fox, either.
Maybe he thinks there’s someone better for me, too.
I hold my breath as I wait for him to answer. He glowers down at me,
his rough features creased into a scowl, and I swear his eyes heat as they
skate quickly over my body. I’m in Nora’s yoga pants and vest top, just like
she’s now wearing my wedding gown. My skin flushes under his gaze, a
knot twisting in my abdomen, and I sway an inch toward him in a trance.
“Yes,” Reuben clips out, stepping back. I fall back on my heels,
disappointment sour in my mouth. “That’s all it is. Don’t get a big head.”
Hurt ripples through my chest. Is it so big-headed to think my gruff
bodyguard might want me too? Is it so damn unlikely? I pluck at Nora’s
yoga pants, glaring at the floor between us.
“Got it,” I mutter. “Message received.”
 “Lily—”
He reaches for me, frowning, but it’s my turn to dance out of reach. I
turn on my heel and stride out of the bedroom, back to Nora’s cramped
living room with her tiny sofa and scuffed coffee table.
It’s nothing like my palatial suite. My twin sister’s life has been the
opposite of mine, and all because of a stupid scar marring her beauty. I
throw myself down onto the sofa, chewing on my thumbnail in a way that
would make Nora cringe.
I have no right to complain. Not really. Not when my sister’s had it so
much worse; not when she’s going out there right now to take my place.
But I can’t help the pain and longing that swirl in my chest, making
my heart throb the way it always does around Reuben.
I keep my face blank. Stare at the wall and count my breaths. Focus on
Nora, and on the storm heading my way as soon as my father discovers our
trick.
Not Reuben. Not the way my hairs stand on end in his presence, and
blood pumps hot and throbbing between my legs. Not his clean, masculine
scent, or the creak of the floorboards beneath his big, manly form. Not the
way my breath catches every time I feel his gaze on me.
He clears his throat. I throw Reuben a perfect, staged smile.
It’s fine. I know he could never want me.

***

Perhaps in another life, I might have stood a chance with Reuben. If we’d
met when I was legally an adult, instead of sixteen. If I could have charmed
him in a cafe somewhere, instead of being handed over like some kind of
troublesome puppy by my father.
I could have flirted. Brushed a casual palm over his shoulder. Seen his
eyes darken with promise.
I’d have let him take me home—back to wherever Reuben goes when
he’s not here.
He knows every single thing about me. I don’t even know where he
lives, and the thought of his mystery home is the most agonizing riddle. Is
he neat? What color are his walls? Does he have a garden; bookshelves; a
fancy kitchen?
“Do you like cooking?”
My question breaks the silence. Reuben glances over from his station
by the door, his hands clasped behind his back. His white shirt stretches
over his broad chest, the buttons straining, and I desperately want them to
give up the battle.
I bet he has chest hair. My mouth waters just thinking about it. He’s
got this thick, manly scruff around his jaw, and I just know that it’s dusted
over his body, too.
I want to rake my nails over it. I want to lick him from hip to
collarbone.
“What? Cooking? Why do you ask?”
I roll my eyes. “To gather blackmail material. Because I’m interested,
you doofus.”
“Doofus?” Reuben’s mouth twitches. “I haven’t been called that
before.”
“I bet you’ve been called a lot worse.”
He chuckles, the sound smoky. “You bet right.”
Oh god. I squeeze my thighs together on the sofa. Oh god, oh god. I
spend most of my waking hours around this man—I have done for the last
three years. Surely at some point I should have gotten used to him? Should
have been inoculated to his presence?
“You didn’t answer the question.” I sound hoarse. Reuben cocks his
head, regarding me. His gaze rakes over my features, dropping down my
body then back up.
“Yeah,” he says eventually. “I like cooking. When I get the chance.”
“Right.” I screw up my face. “I’m kind of a time suck, huh?” He’s here
every morning before I wake up, and stays long after I’m tucked away in
bed again. Every day of the week, for three years straight.
Reuben lifts one shoulder. “I don’t mind.”
It’s the closest thing he’s ever said to a compliment. I stifle a smile,
turning back to the bare wall. I don’t know how Nora spent eleven straight
years in this room without going insane. I’ve been here for two hours and I
want to chew on the coffee table.
The sound of car engines rumbling down the driveway make me shoot
to my feet. I suck in shallow breaths, suddenly panicked, but a warm hand
steadies my elbow.
“Lily.” Reuben ducks his head. Makes me meet his eyes. “It’s going to
be okay.” The pad of his thumb swoops back and forth over my bare arm.
Back and forth. It anchors me.
I swallow and nod, even though Reuben can’t know that. My father is
capable of terrible things. And he’ll see this as the worst kind of betrayal—
I’ve set my sister free and shamed him to his business rival, all in one go.
Reuben gives me a little shake. I stare into his hazel eyes and settle
down. My breaths come slower. Calmer.
“Nothing bad will happen to you,” he murmurs. “I promise.”
 Reuben

If I had my way, Lily wouldn’t even be here right now. We’d have skipped
out the second her father left the mansion, and we’d be heading out of state
with new names.
It can’t be that way, though. Lily… she trusts me to protect her. To
keep her safe.
And if I had her all to myself, out there in the big wide world… I don’t
know how long I could keep my hands to myself.
Just the thought of it sickens me. My weakness. My shame. The way
I’ve wanted this sweet, perfect girl since only weeks after she turned
eighteen. Before that, I longed for her too, but not in the same way. I
wanted to care for her. Cherish her and make her smile.
Now I want to do other things to her.
Filthy things.
It doesn’t take a genius to see how wrong that is. Lily is young.
Inexperienced. She’s practically a princess, and I’m a big fucking brute
almost twice her age. I don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her as it is,
but if I put my hands on her?
I’d rather die than break her trust that way.
Even if it’s killing me day by day. Even if I beat my cock to thoughts
of her every night until it’s raw.
Residual lust still coils in my belly as I stride through the halls to meet
her father. She has that effect on me. She doesn’t even have to try. Just
being near her lights a fire in my blood.
Just get this over with, I tell myself as I pass rows of priceless
paintings in ornate frames. If it were possible, I think Mountford would
frame his daughter and hang her up on that wall, too.
An object. That’s how he sees her. A possession to flaunt and trade.
If Lily and Nora didn’t come up with their twin swap, the wedding
would still not have happened. I may have sworn to keep my hands off Lily,
but I would tear the limbs off another man before I watch him marry my
girl.
This is better. Poor Nora gets out, Lily stays safe from men, and she
gets to keep her lifestyle. All the riches and opportunities that her father can
give her. One day, she’ll make her own way, but until then…
Well. Mountford’s a prick, but at least she wants for nothing.
That’s more than I can offer her.
My boots sink into the long, plush rug as I near Mountford’s office.
Something crashes against the wall, the sound of breaking glass echoing
down the hallway.
I roll my eyes, shoulders relaxed. A tantrum, then. Mountford is a
child. And sure enough, when I stand in his office doorway, he snarls and
throws a paperweight at my head.
I catch it easily. No power behind the throw. And when I raise my
eyebrow, Mountford shrinks back.
“You should have told me,” he mutters, flinging himself into his desk
chair. “The Fox will ruin me for this. He won’t want damaged goods.”
“Perhaps he’ll see Nora’s true value.” I stroll into the room, hands in
my pockets. Mountford squints at me, trying to find the insult.
There is none. While Nora has never stirred the same feelings in me as
Lily, I pity the girl. And I admire her strength.
I’m glad she found a way out, even if it costs me now. Even if she
weren’t saving Lily, I wouldn’t have stood in her way.
“Is there something you want to say to me?” I give Mountford a fair
chance. I wait with my face blank and shoulders relaxed. He’d be within his
rights to fire me, to rant at me, but he doesn’t.
Coward.
No, he’d rather blame his girls. The two people he has true power over.
“This won’t stand,” Mountford mutters, half to himself and half to me,
stabbing a letter opener into his desk. “If she won’t marry the Fox, she’ll
learn. There are plenty more who’d have her.”
I stiffen, muscles tensing.
“You mean to marry Lily off? For the sake of it?” I say, voice low.
It takes every ounce of control not to lunge forward and choke the life
from this weasel. Mountford smirks at me, like I’ll enjoy this too. His
wedding tux is creased, sagging from his shoulders, and sweat shines on his
forehead. With his thinning dark hair, threaded with gray, and his down-
turned lips, it’s a wonder he fathered such beauties.
“What can I say?” He grins at me with sickly enjoyment. “Lily clearly
needs a firm hand. And I’ve had offers before…” He trails off and licks his
lips.
My stomach lurches, my skin flushing hot.
“What offers?”
Mountford leans over his desk, his chair creaking. His eyes are bright
and fevered, his cheeks flushed with excitement and rage.
“Art isn’t the only thing bought and sold on the black market.”
I hum and nod, murmuring vague responses, but a roaring sound fills
my ears. It takes all my military training to keep myself in check. To fake
agreement. To play along.
This way, I’m in the loop. I’m part of his plans. He trusts me with his
sick intentions for his daughter.
Mountford is blind as well as cruel. I’d tear his heart out and eat it
before I let him sell Lily.

***

Her shoulder is delicate under my palm. I shake her gently, keeping my

gaze fixed on her sleeping face. Her caramel hair fans out across the pillow,
and her chest rises and falls with each breath. Her limbs are tangled in the
bed sheets, one bare ankle peeking through the covers, but I don’t let myself
look. Not for more than a second, anyway.
I shake her harder, growling.
“Lily. Wake up, princess. It’s time to go.”
“Hm?”
She’s adorably sleepy. She wrinkles her nose, huffing at being woken
in the middle of the night. When she props herself up on one elbow,
squinting at my shape in the darkness, there’s no hint of fear in the set of
her shoulders. Her body is pliant, warm from sleep, and her night shirt is
slipping off one arm. It’s one of those old fashioned satin ones with the
collar and the little row of buttons.
 My cock swells in my black pants, pressing against my zipper.
“Reuben?” she mumbles, rubbing the heel of her palm in her eye. My
breath rasps in and out of my chest, and I swear the steady thump of my
heart is so loud it must echo down the hall.
I’ve never come to Lily like this, in the dark depths of her bedroom,
when the rest of the mansion is asleep. An owl hoots outside her window
and she glances outside, the moonlight dancing over the planes of her face.
When she looks back at me, she’s frowning. I can just make out the
little shadow on her forehead in the dark.
“This is a dream,” she murmurs. “You’re not really here.”
I swallow hard. “It’s not a dream. Come on, princess. Time to get up.”
“Nope.” She stifles a yawn. “That doesn’t make sense. You normally
sleep at home, wherever that is.” She rolls her head, like her neck is stiff,
and sits all the way upright. Before I have time to react, her arms slide
around my neck and her hot mouth nibbles at my earlobe.
“I’ve had this dream before,” she breathes, pressing a kiss to my
throat. “It’s one of my favorites.”
I should move. Push her away. But I stay frozen, my mind bright white
and empty as she scoots closer, pressing her body against mine. Her nipples
pebble under her thin nightshirt, and I feel them drag over my chest. Her
mouth is hot on my skin, her little tongue darting out to taste the hollow of
my collarbone.
A shudder runs through me, all the way down to my boots.
“Lily,” I snap, grabbing her shoulders and jerking her back. She blinks
up at me, eyes wide, the sleepiness clearing from her face in the moonlight.
Embarrassment and bitterness take its place, and she shoves away from me
with a gasp. She crowds all the way back against her headboard, like she
can’t get far enough away.
I straighten up, gut clenching. She’s awake. No need to loom over her
like a fucking creep. Not when she’s clearly half out of her mind.
“Get up. We need to go.”
Lily chokes out a laugh, twisting the covers in her hands.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Impatience rushes through me and makes me clench my jaw. There’s
no damn time for this, not tonight. Lily can be a handful on a good day, and
god knows I love that about her. But if we’re going to slip away, get out of
this messed up house before her father wakes, she needs to listen for once.
 Listen, and obey.
“Up.” My voice is low and quiet, but the command snaps through the
still night air. Lily sucks in a gasp, and her legs squeeze together beneath
her bed sheets.
Yeah. I figured she might be like that.
She opens her mouth to argue again, but I hold up a palm. She freezes,
lips parted and chest heaving.
“You’re coming with me,” I tell her quietly. “Whether you like it or
not. I don’t have time to explain, so you just have to do as you’re told. Can
you do that?”
Her breaths are coming in quick pants, and she’s practically squirming
on the mattress. I’d bet a year’s salary that when she stands up, there will be
a wet spot on the sheets.
Turns out bratty Lily likes to be bossed around.
Fuck.
I adjust my pants, holding her gaze.
Lily wets her lip, her eyes dropping to my belt then back up again.
Then she slams her mouth closed and shakes her head, fire sparking in her
eyes.
“Lily,” I growl. She clenches fistfuls of the bed sheet, watching me
with held breath. “I won’t tell you again. Up.”
She throws off her covers, swinging her legs out of the bed, and lunges
towards the bedroom door. I catch her up easily, slinging her over my
shoulder, not batting an eye as she pounds at my back with her fists.
“Put me down!” she hisses, pummeling my ass. I snort, and that makes
her even madder. “Reuben! I swear to god. I will scream.”
That stops me chuckling. If she wakes up the house, her father’s
security will come running. And if they take me out, there’s no one left
standing between Lily and her father’s sick plans.
I drop her back on her feet, the sound muffled by the rug. She stumbles
to the side, confused, and I grip her by the elbow.
“Listen to me.” Fuck. I sound way too harsh. The arousal coursing
through my blood is making me gruffer than usual. Mean and rough. “This
isn’t a game, Lily. You’re not safe here. So shut the fuck up and let’s go.”
She yanks her arm free, backing up a step. The hurt from a few
minutes is still there, flinty in her green eyes, and I wish I hadn’t been so
harsh pushing her away.
 It wasn’t her I was disgusted with, but she doesn’t know that. And the
humiliation is thick in her voice.
“Who says I’m safe with you?”
I snarl. What a fucking joke.
“I’m the only one you’re safe with. I’d die for you, Lily.”
She huffs. “Because it’s your job.” She shakes her head, staring out the
window again. In the silvery moonlight, she looks exhausted. “It’s not real
if it’s bought and paid for. Please, Reuben.” Her shoulders slump. “Leave
me alone. I don’t want to go with you. Whatever my father’s punishment is,
I’ll deal with it.”
No. No, no, no.
Maybe—maybe—I could accept that if she weren’t in danger. But
there are sick fucks out there bidding on her virtue. Who want to own her,
use her, hurt her. I don’t give a shit what she wants in this moment. She
doesn’t understand.
Lily is mine. Mine to protect. Mine to die for.
And mine to beat my cock over. She’s no one else’s.
“You’d really scream?”
She raises her chin and nods. So fucking brave.
“Fine.” I reach up and slide my tie out of its knot, tugging the strip of
fabric out from beneath my collar. She watches me, eyes big as saucers. “I
didn’t want to do this, princess.”
Lie. A dirty lie.
I spin her quickly before she can react, gagging her with the tie. Lily
jerks back to herself, fighting and scrabbling, her shouts muffled by the
fabric, but it’s too late. I catch her wrists easily, casting around before
snatching the belt of her bathrobe out of its loops.
I tie her wrists behind her back gently but firmly, hating myself for the
way my cock swells even harder in my pants.
It’s for her. To keep her safe. I’ll explain everything, just as soon as
we’re beyond her father’s reach. I tell her so too, my words hushed and hot,
and she shivers when my lips brush the shell of her ear.
This should have gone differently. How did I get this so wrong? She
was supposed to have time to pack some things; she was supposed to slip
away willingly, with her little hand tucked in mine.
Instead, Lily fights me every step across the bedroom, until I give up
and sling her over my shoulder again. She kicks and headbutts me as I
stride through the mansion, keeping to the shadows. And when we slip out
of the house into the night, her muffled cries are ragged behind my tie.
“You’ll understand soon, princess,” I croak. God, how many times
have I dreamed of stealing her away like this?
Is this even truly for her?
Or am I acting out my own darkest fantasies?
No. I force myself to remember Mountford’s words in his study. His
plans for selling Lily to the highest bidder like some kind of exotic pet.
Perhaps I am a monster. A savage beast of a man, who has no business
lusting over sweet young girls.
But unlike those bastards, I won’t touch her. No matter how much my
instincts roar for me to take her, to bend her over and sink my cock into her
tight, wet heat.
Lily will be safe with me. I made her a promise, and I mean to keep it.
Even if it means taking her to a new home, then getting myself far, far
away.
 Lily

What. The hell. Is happening?

Reuben carries me easily, his breath not even coming harder at having
a whole squirming body slung over one shoulder. I gnaw at the tie pulled
between my teeth, shaking my head and yelling into the fabric, but it’s no
use. He’s trussed me up good.
Part of me is so freaking excited. I can feel the ridges of his hard
muscles beneath my body; can feel the sturdiness of his limbs as I kick and
thrash. I’m helpless, completely at my bodyguard’s mercy, and how many
times have I had this fantasy?
Too many to count.
He opens the rear door to his car, parked in the shadows at the end of
the driveway. I’m tossed unceremoniously onto the backseat, bouncing
against the leather with splayed limbs and an indignant squawk. Reuben
ducks his big head, squeezing his shoulders into the car and crowding in
after me.
I still as his fingers find the gag, smoothing around to the knot in the
tie. His chest is level with my face, his pecs heaving up and down, and
more than anything I want that body pressing forward onto mine.
“Will you be quiet?” he asks, voice low. A shiver rolls through me and
I nod, eyes fixed on his. Their hazel looks darker in the moonlight.
His big fingers are deft, untying the knot easily and sliding the tie out
of my tangled hair. I suck in a deep breath to scream the whole mansion
down, but Reuben curses and claps his hand over my mouth.
“Lily,” he grits out. “Princess. Stop it. I told you, this isn’t a game.”
Isn’t it?
Because ever since I turned eighteen, Reuben and I have been circling
each other like cats.
We push each other, teasing and taunting. We nudge each other toward
breaking point, each holding our breath to see if the other will snap. I take
showers and ‘forget’ to close the bathroom door, meeting Reuben’s dark
eyes in the fogged up mirror. He pulls me around like a rag doll, tugging
cardigans onto my cold shoulders and smirking at the way my pupils dilate.
This has been a long time coming. Hasn’t it?
The memory of Reuben’s expression in the bedroom as he pushed me
away drifts across my mind. I still, my ragged breaths damp against his
massive palm. Just the thought of that moment—his curled lip, the irritation
and disgust flashing through his eyes—makes a hole yawn open in my
chest.
So maybe it’s not a game after all. Maybe this is real, somehow.
I slump back against the car window. Reuben watches me closely, then
removes his hand. He reaches around me and unties my wrists as he talks,
his fingers so gentle.
“I’ll explain everything, princess. I promise. But we need to get away
from here first, alright?”
I nod, miserable. I can’t speak. For a wild, aching moment, I’d thought
I had everything. I thought my bodyguard was as desperate for me as I am
for him, and we were finally going to give in to our dark, primal love.
Instead, I’m running away under cover of darkness. Away from the
only home I’ve ever known. For Reuben to really do this, the danger must
be terrible.
He’ll lose everything. His job, his good name. His safety.
My father will hunt him across the country for this. Surely he knows
that?
I wet my lip, still transfixed by his gaze. When I speak, my voice is
hoarse from screaming.
“I’ll go. I understand now. But you can’t come with me, Reuben.”
He rears back, anger and possessiveness rippling across his face.
“Like fuck. I’m not sending you out there unprotected.” His grip finds
my bare ankle, his thumb rubbing at the bone like a worry bead. “You’re
mine.”
He doesn’t mean that the way I want him to. Reuben is possessive as
hell, and guarding me is a point of pride. Somehow, knowing that is worse
than if he never said those words at all. I want to stuff them back into his
mouth, so that they won’t play on a loop in my head when I can’t sleep.
“Whatever punishment my father has planned—”
 “It won’t happen.” Reuben’s voice is thick with the promise of
violence. “I’ll burn his home, his world, his whole damn empire down
first.”
“What did he—”
“It doesn’t matter.” I can hear Reuben’s teeth grinding, and that more
than anything clues me in. Whatever this is, it’s bad. Unthinkable.
Worse than an arranged marriage to the Fox.
A new, depraved low.
I shiver, pressing back against the cold car window. Hurt and nausea
roil in my stomach. I know that my father can be cruel, can be thoughtless,
but he’s always loved me. Treasured me. Called me his little girl.
I guess that’s over. And all because I helped my twin sister escape;
because I didn’t want to marry a strange man.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware that I only have a thin
nightshirt to protect me from the cool air. Reuben grunts, his eyes dropping
to my hard nipples pushing against the fabric. Then he’s gone, ducking out
of the car, his boots crunching on the gravel.
The trunk slams, and a blanket lands on my legs. It’s rough and
scratchy, smelling like mothballs. Reuben shuts the passenger door with a
thud, and I tug the blanket up my body.
The car rocks under his weight. He meets my eyes in the rear view
mirror.
“Lily. Seat belt.”
I clip it in place, mouth dry, and only then does he begin to drive. I
crane my neck, peering out of the rear window as the mansion disappears
from view.
The only home, the only family I’ve ever known.
I tug the blanket over my head and muffle my sobs.

***

We drive for what feels like an eternity, the car rocking with dips in the
road. After I’ve cried myself hoarse, when I’m dried out and exhausted, I
pull the blanket back off my head.
 Reuben watches me in the mirror, his face unreadable. I huff and stare
out of the window instead, watching the ocean crash against the cliffs below
the road. Seabirds wheel overhead in the pink tinge of dawn, and the water
is steel gray in the morning light.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want Reuben’s eyes on me. The
reminder is too painful right now.
He’s the only good thing left in my universe. There’s Nora, of course,
but god knows when I’ll see my twin sister again.
Reuben is my rock. He has been since the day we met. He’s the center
of my galaxy; the point that I orbit around.
And he’s risking everything for me out of a sense of duty. It’s so
hollow and pointless, I could scream.
When my stomach growls loud enough to hear over the engine,
Reuben pulls off the coast road into the parking lot for a diner. It’s small
and modest, but the blue painted walls are clean and the windows sparkle.
Reuben opens my car door and I nearly topple out, his hands catching me
easily.
He crouches and frowns at my rumpled nightshirt. With my rat’s nest
hair, I must look like I escaped from an asylum.
“We should have packed you some clothes.”
I snort. “Yeah, no shit.”
He grins at me, eyes twinkling as the sea breeze tugs his hair. A plain
back sweater hugs his chest, and his dark jeans are faded at the knee. He
looks so freaking handsome when he smiles, my heart flips over in my
chest.
“I guess I got carried away,” he murmurs, and it’s the closest sign I’ve
had that he enjoyed it too.
Stealing me away. Tying me up and throwing me over his shoulder.
How can I make that happen again?
I reach out to his face—I just want to scratch my nails over his beard
—but he’s already standing and striding away round the car. He comes back
immediately, dropping a gym bag on the bare stone of the parking lot.
“It’s all clean.” He scrubs the back of his head, embarrassed. “It won’t
fit, but it’ll cover you up, at least.”
“What needs covering?” I toss the blanket off my legs and stretch them
out in the cool air. He jerks his head around, face thunderous, but we’re all
alone. His eyes turn back to me, hungry and dark.
 I wish.
This is the problem: Reuben plays along with me, but he doesn’t really
want me. Not truly.
Not outside of our games. Not the way I want him.
He crouches and tugs the gym bag’s zipper open. A worn gray
sweatshirt lands on my lap, along with a pair of black sweatpants and thick
white socks. I tug the sweatpants on and over my hips, my hands pausing
over the hem of my nightshirt before I yank it over my head.
“Jesus,” I hear Reuben mutter as salt air washes over my bare nipples.
I smirk at my lap and tug his sweatshirt on, taking my sweet time.
Gentle hands roll the socks onto my feet. I close my eyes and savor his
touch. All too soon, it’s over, and he stands again, frowning at my feet.
“I don’t have shoes for you.”
I shrug, hopping out of the car. The stone of the parking lot is cold
through my socks.
“That’s okay.”
He sweeps me up into his arms before the words are out of my mouth.
I yelp, winding my arms around his neck, and Reuben looks way too smug
as he locks up the car.
“Come on, princess. Let’s get you some food.”
I’m hungry for something, alright, but we won’t find it in this diner.

***

If there were such a thing as a Lily Mountford theme park, this would be it.
Sitting in a diner booth by the side of the coast road, sealed up against
Reuben’s side. His arm clamps around me, crushing me close, and I love it.
I melt into him like gooey milk chocolate.
He orders for both of us in his gruff voice, picking my favorites
without having to ask. And when the pancakes arrive, drizzled in syrup with
crispy bacon stacked on top, he scoops up my fork and feeds me bites by
hand.
I lick a glob of syrup off his thumb knuckle, holding his gaze.
A shudder ripples through his big body.
 There’s no need for this. I can feed myself, and there’s no one in this
diner who might recognize me. Yet here we are, slipping back into our
games as easy as breathing.
I nip at his fingertip. Reuben growls.
“Behave yourself, princess.”
“Or what?” I ask, my heart skittering. Whatever the consequences are,
I already know I want them.
Reuben leans down, speaking into my hair. His beard brushes against
the shell of my ear.
“Or I’ll put you over my knee.”
It’s my turn to shiver, from the roots of my hair all the way down to
my toes. I squeeze my thighs together inside his warm, fleecy sweatpants.
“I don’t believe you.” Reuben feeds me another forkful of pancake and
I chew, raising my eyebrows.
“No?” He chuckles. “Then why are your cheeks so red?”
Damn it. I can never be cool with Reuben. Mature and sophisticated.
Even on photo shoots for the burgeoning model career my father wanted for
me, Reuben’s eyes on me always made me feel like a gawky teenager.
I’m nineteen years old. An adult. So why do I want him babying me
more than my next breath?
I swallow, reaching for my milky coffee with a frown. Being around
him, so close to him, enveloped in his scent—it’s twisting my insides into
knots.
But I can’t forget the way he pushed me away. The way he keeps
knocking me back, the rejection battering my heart.
Suddenly, I don’t want to play anymore. I clear my throat, ducking out
from under his arm and sliding along in the booth. Not far—just enough to
put some space between us. I avoid his eyes, plucking up the spare fork and
feeding myself the rest of my breakfast.
A tense silence follows us back across the parking lot. Reuben is
agitated, raking his hand through his dark hair. His huge boots echo on the
stone, and I’m struck again just how big and bulky he is. How heavy he’d
be on top of me.
I push the thought away. I have some pride, damn it.
I won’t pine after a man who keeps turning me down. That’s what I tell
myself, anyway, as I pad across the parking lot in my socks. Reuben had
tried to lift me again, but I waved him away, skirting out of reach. Now he
scowls at the ground with every step I take, like I’m picking through broken
glass and not walking over smooth concrete.
I head toward the back of the car, but Reuben grunts and opens the
front passenger side. Fine. It makes no difference to me. I slide into the car
seat, nodding in thanks.
He grunts again, all riled up, but he slams the door shut and storms
around to the driver’s side.
“Do you have to be so pissy?” I snap as he throws himself bodily into
the seat. He glares at me, wrenching the door closed.
“Seat belt.”
Ugh. I clip myself in and fold my arms, my hands drowned inside his
sleeves.
The sweatshirt smells like him. I tuck my nose inside the collar and
breathe, staring out the window. After a long moment, the engine growls to
life, the vibration buzzing through the seat.
Still, we don’t pull away. After a minute, I glance over.
Reuben watches me, his rough face troubled.
“I’m sorry, princess,” he mutters at last. If I weren’t constantly
straining to hear his every movement, I might have missed it.
I shrug one shoulder.
“Me too,” I rasp.
He nods, and we pull onto the road.
 Reuben

I’m not going to manage this. I’ve made a huge fucking mistake. Every
time she bats those big green eyes at me, my willpower fades a little more.
I’ll never get her to the safety of my aunt’s ranch untouched.
Not when Lily squirms so hot and needy under my gaze. Not when she
sighs and melts into me like there’s no place she’d rather be.
I’m not a fool. It’s normal that Lily would be… curious. That she
would want to experiment. Explore.
But I’m not the man for her to do it with. If I got my hands on her, I’d
never let go. I’d own her, body and soul, demanding every last part of her.
I’d consume her, and be entirely hers in turn.
Besides, it’s not me she wants. I’m just the closest man, and the only
one she trusts. One day, now that she’s out of her father’s grip, she’ll meet a
boy. Someone her age. And she’ll look at him the way she looks at me
sometimes—like she’d die and go to heaven for a single kiss.
I clench the steering wheel until it creaks.
I can’t fucking think about this. It makes me want to tear this car apart,
to rip the doors off with my bare hands.
“What are you thinking about?” Lily murmurs from the passenger seat.
“Karma,” I clip out.
The agitation snaking through me only builds through the day. We stop
off in a strange city and ditch the car, moving the few supplies I brought
into a new ride. I drop a chunk of my savings on the new car without
blinking.
It’s worth it to keep Lily safe.
We go by new names out here. She picks the same last name as me,
pretending to be my young wife just to torment me.
By the time late afternoon rolls around, as we drive along the endless
coast road, the novelty has worn off. She’s bored. She plucks at my sweater
where it clings to my shoulder. Then scrambles around on the passenger
seat and rests her feet in my lap.
Jesus. I breathe in hard through my nose and will my cock to stop
swelling.
“Where are we going, again?”
“I told you. Somewhere safe.”
She scoffs, and the sound makes my mouth twitch.
“Right, yeah. Because that’s a helpful answer.”
I flex my fingers on the steering wheel. Over the last three years, I’ve
taken great care not to share too much about myself with Lily.
It’s a self-preservation thing. When I leave her at the ranch, I’ll already
be leaving my heart with her. I can’t leave the rest of my soul too.
There’s nothing for it, though. She needs to know where we’re headed,
and she’ll find out all about me one way or another.
About my parents dying when I was a child. Being raised on my aunt’s
ranch. Leaving for the military, then spending every night I was at war
vowing to one day come back to that ranch.
I’d been on my way there when I took the job for Lily’s father. I’d just
been honorably discharged, and the bodyguard gig was meant to be a
temporary thing. A few weeks of work to make a quick buck before
heading back to the ranch.
I took one look at Lily and rented an apartment. The ranch could wait.
Going there now, taking her with me… it’s like something out of a
dream. So I keep pinching myself as I tell her about it—the open fields and
the stables full of horses.
My aunt’s cooking. The flocks of chickens pecking around the
courtyard. The way the sunset lights the whole ranch up gold.
Lily listens to it all, her expression rapt. And I can’t help but take one
hand off the wheel, massaging the arch of her foot. She moans, her eyelids
fluttering closed, and now my hard-on is back with a vengeance.
I drop her foot, clearing my throat, and look back at the road. The
ranch is a long way yet.
“My aunt will take good care of you.” It’s the only comfort I have for
what’s coming. “And I’ll send you money. Enough to live well. Maybe even
go to college.”
Lily’s gasp slices to my core.
 “You’re not staying with me?” Her voice hardens. “You’re leaving me
there? Like some orphaned puppy?”
“Lily…”
She snatches her feet off my lap. And turns around so far in her seat, I
can only see the back of her head. Her golden brown hair is still snarled and
messy from our… altercation in the night.
I grit my teeth, pressing harder on the accelerator. The sooner I’m far
away from her, the better.

***

I drive until the light fades and only headlights swoop through the darkness.
Only then do I pull off the highway, our car rumbling to a stop in a motel
parking lot.
“Wait here.”
Lily doesn’t reply. I debate carrying her inside under my arm, but
decide it’s better not to draw attention.
Besides, where would she run? And she’s clearly come to the same
conclusion, because when I step back outside the reception with a key
clutched in one hand, she’s still glowering at me from the passenger seat.
“Let’s go.”
She gets out without a word. She even waits quietly while I grab our
things from the trunk. But when I reach for her, to carry her over the dark
path to our motel room, she steps out of reach.
God damn it.
The room is clean. Sparse but cozy enough. A light bulb dangles from
the ceiling, and a boxy old television hunkers against the far wall. There’s a
small refrigerator, a shadowed doorway that must be the bathroom, and the
bed.
The only bed.
I hold my palms up as Lily turns to me, eyebrows raised.
“This was the only room left. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She sighs, shoulders slumping.
 “Of course you will,” she mutters, then marches to the bathroom. The
door closes behind her with a snap. After a short pause, the shower comes
on, the drumming of water drifting through the wall.
I palm my hardening cock through my jeans, trying not to let my mind
wander to her hot, flushed skin—to the streams of water pouring down her
curves.
“Fuck,” I mutter, locking our door behind us and kicking off my boots.
It’s fucked up, but this is my only hope for relief. While she’s safely locked
behind that door, far away from my twisted thoughts.
My cock strains against my jeans as I tug my zipper down. One, two
strokes, and my head is already swimming. She’s been right fucking there
all day, with her little sighs and her goddamn scent—
“Reuben?”
Her shocked voice echoes from the doorway. She leans against the
door frame, her wide eyes fixed on my cock.
I’m a monster. I can’t help it. I snarl and pump my fist again.
“Go back inside. Lock the door, princess.”
She licks her lips, hypnotized. “I forgot a towel,” she murmurs, like
she didn’t even hear me.
“Lily,” I grind out, jerking my cock harder. With her eyes on me,
everything is dialed up brighter. The feel of my rough grip, the brush of my
clothes against my skin, the trembling breaths sucking in and out of her
sweet chest. “Lily. You don’t want to see this.”
I layer all the command I can manage into my voice, and it jerks her
from her daze. She looks up at me, her cheeks flushed.
“Yes I do,” she whispers, and my knees nearly buckle. I stroke myself
harder, faster, as she crosses the room, the rasp of my breath loud and
hungry.
“Don’t,” I grit as she reaches her fingertips toward my cock. She
pauses, her hand hovering, and she looks up at me with those wide eyes.
“No?” Her lips turn down, her face so fucking sad, and she starts to
pull her hand back. Starts to turn away. She won’t push me; I have to own
it. If I want Lily’s hands on me, I have to admit it out loud.
“Fuck. Yes. Lily, touch me.”
She spins back to face me, lit up like I’ve bought her a damn pony.
Like I’ve showered her with diamonds, not offered her my thick cock. She
sinks to her knees, and fuck, I didn’t mean she should do that, but when her
lips fasten around the head, I let out a hollow groan. I’m the worst kind of
man, but my hips snap forward and my hands burrow in her hair.
Lily moans around my cock, her tongue swirling over the sensitive
skin, and I hiss.
“You like that, do you princess? You like a man fucking your sweet
mouth?”
She pulls off me with a wet pop, jerking the base of my shaft with her
small fist.
“Not a man, Reuben. You.”
I snarl, pushing back between those plump lips. Her eyelids flutter as
her cheeks hollow, sucking all the blood to my head. My balls are heavy,
ready to burst, and they draw up tight to my body. Her hands drift down her
body, tweaking at her nipples through my sweatshirt, and I groan, pushing
deeper into her throat.
It’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong—rough and primal and everything
Lily is not. But she loves it—my princess moans on her knees, bobbing her
head in time with my thrusts. A hint of teeth scrapes over my shaft, and I
see stars.
“Lily.” I tug her hair. “Lily, fuck. I’m going to come.”
Her eyes blink open again and she holds my eyes as she takes my cock
as deep as it will go. I curse, filthy praise falling from my lips as I empty
into her mouth, feeding her spurt after spurt.
She takes it all.
She hums and swallows it all down, like it’s more syrup from the diner
and not my salty cum. Lily trails her palms over her body as she sucks me,
squeezing her own waist and twisting her nipples, writhing on her poor
knees, and she might as well give me a road map.
Where she wants to be touched. And how.
The second that last spurt of my release hits her tongue, I tuck my cock
back into my jeans and scoop her up. I carry her over to the bed, tossing her
onto the mattress like a rag doll. I know how much she loves that.
Sure enough, a shocked laugh bursts out of her, then she’s gazing up at
me as her legs drop open.
Yes, a voice roars in my head. Triumph swells my chest; makes me
want to beat my fists against my sternum.
That is what I want to see every day for the rest of my life.
 I can’t, though. Even this moment of weakness aside, Lily deserves
better.
Still, I crawl onto the bed after her, growling as she moans and reaches
for me.
If I’m going to hell, I’m doing it properly. With the sound of Lily’s
orgasm ringing in my ears.
 Lily

If my knees weren’t throbbing from kneeling on the cold, hard floor, if my

jaw weren’t aching and sore, I’d probably think this was a dream again.
I’ve pictured this so many times. The glint in Reuben’s eyes as he
crawls up my body, his bulk dwarfing me against the mattress. The soft
brush of his beard under my fingertips; the nip of his teeth against the pad
of my thumb.
I’ve wanted this for so long. My heart shudders inside my chest,
primed to shatter.
“Please,” I breathe as a shadow passes over Reuben’s face. He rakes
his gaze over me, from my wild hair to my socked feet, and his mouth
twists in dismay. I grab fistfuls of his black sweater, tugging at him like I
could shake the doubt clean out of him. “Please, Reuben. I want this. I want
it so bad.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, so I lunge up and capture
his mouth with my own. The taste of him is still in my mouth, salty and
delicious, and Reuben groans as my tongue slides between his lips.
“Stop if you want to,” I murmur between kisses. My head is light and
spinning. “But only if you really don’t want this. Don’t choose for me,
Reuben. I can’t bear it.”
His broad shoulders vibrate with tension under my palms. He scowls
down at me, eyes tortured as I flop back against the bed. And when he
snaps, tearing his sweatpants down my legs in one rough motion, I grin and
punch the air.
“Come on.” I hook my legs around his waist, rubbing the damp spot on
my panties against his jeans. “Take me. Take me rough. I can handle it.”
I’m babbling, only half aware of what I’m saying. I’m talking a big
game, but no one has been inside me before.
I have no idea what I can take. Only that if Reuben’s the one giving it
to me, I need it more than air.
 But he’s already shaking his head, hooking his hands under my knees
to peel me off. I prop myself on my elbows, panic and hurt warring in my
chest, but Reuben places one big hand on each of my bare thighs and
presses me wide open. He shuffles down the bed, settling his huge frame
between my legs.
Yes.
I drop back against the mattress, squirming and panting fast. He
smooths a thumb over my panties, his calluses catching on the lace, and my
pussy clenches down on nothing.
“I knew you’d be a needy little thing.” He’s muttering, half to himself,
and I bite my lip. I can’t deny it—I’m so desperate for him, I can’t lie still.
“Is that bad?” I gasp at the ceiling. A flush creeps over my cheeks.
What if I’m doing this all wrong?
“No.” That word shudders through me, almost angry in its denial. I
sink deeper into the mattress, relieved.
When his thumbs hook in my panties, I hold my breath. I lift my hips
to help him pull them down my thighs. He goes slow, so slow, and if he
doesn’t touch me right this second my heart is going to slam straight out my
chest—
Reuben licks a broad stripe up my pussy, covering every inch of me in
one go. I squeal, twisting and writhing on the bed, but he holds me down as
he rubs his face in my core.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He rubs my clit with his nose, and I whimper. His
beard tickles the soft skin of my inner thighs. “We’ve come this far,
princess. You’re not wriggling away until you’ve come on my tongue.”
Every drum beat of my heart is triumphant—yes, yes, yes—and I feel
myself grow slicker with each passing second. Reuben growls his approval,
licking and sucking on me, grinding his whole face into my private parts.
I scrabble at the bed covers, twisting them in my grip, before my hands
flutter to Reuben’s shoulders. He’s so freaking big compared to me, his
collarbone like scaffolding under my palms, and for a second I remember
the size of his cock.
“That’s it,” he mutters as I groan, my pussy clenching. “Show me how
bad you want it.”
“So bad,” I gasp. “Please, Reuben. Give it to me.”
A shudder ripples through him, but he shakes his head.
 “Not today,” is all he says, and I open my mouth to argue but he swirls
his tongue around my clit and sucks. My legs lock up, my muscles shaking,
and hot, aching pleasure rolls through me in waves. I might be screaming, I
don’t know, but when I finally come back to myself, I’m crashed out on the
mattress with my ears ringing.
My harsh breaths slow.
I reach out a languid arm.
And brush against a chest that’s vibrating with tension.
I prop myself up on my elbows as Reuben tugs the sweatpants back up
my legs. He double knots the tie at my waist with a furious scowl as I
whisper his name.
He scrubs a hand over his beard, his face gaunt with regret. I try to
catch his eye, but his gaze is fixed on the mattress beside me.
Then he pushes off the bed and storms out of the motel room,
slamming the door behind him.

***

Okay. Okay.
This isn’t how I’d pictured this part.
I know Reuben is gruff. I love that about him. So I figured he probably
wasn’t a cuddler.
But whenever I dreamed of this moment, fantasizing in the shower or
in my dark bedroom at night, I always thought that he’d at least stay. That
he’d tuck my hair behind my ear. Murmur nice things to me. Or if not nice
things, deliciously naughty ones.
I force myself to sit up, my limbs like jelly, and blink at the closed
motel door. The room is silent except for the wind rattling the window, and
the shower still drumming in the en suite. I wrap my arms around my legs,
tucking my knees to my chest, and stare at the scratched wood, willing him
to come back.
Maybe he forgot something in the car.
Maybe he needs to make a call.
Maybe…
 He doesn’t want me.
All this time, I thought we were playing the same game. A twisted
game, maybe, but a secret, special game between us.
Where we both knew the rules. Where we both knew what was coming
at the end: us together, never letting go.
Maybe I didn’t know the rules at all.
After all, that’s not the plan, is it? Reuben’s version of this ends with
me left alone at the ranch, as he drives off into the distance. To continue his
life without me in it. Maybe to meet someone. Start a family.
A pit yawns open wide in my chest and I choke back a sob. I keep
staring at that motel door, but it stays shut. Silent and ruthless. My breath
starts to wheeze in and out of my lungs. Suddenly I can’t bear to have
Reuben’s clothes on me anymore, to be wrapped in his scent. I tear them
off, fast and clumsy enough to rip the seams, flinging them at the ugly
wallpaper.
He warned me, alright.
Plenty of times, he tried to tell me. He might want my pussy, might
want my mouth wrapped around his cock, but when we’re done with all that
he doesn’t want me. All those times, I thought he was being noble. Trying
to protect me because he’s older, rougher, wild.
I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, my toes curling on the
scratchy carpet.
Well, I won’t cry for him anymore. Even as my chest aches so bad it
might burst, I refuse to shed another tear.
I’m strong, even if he doesn’t see it. I can make my own way.
And I plan to. Away from him.
 Reuben

The sky is inky black by the time I go back inside. Bats flap overhead,
deeper shadows in the night.
I’ve done my thinking. Got my head on straight, with the fresh ocean
breeze slapping my flushed cheeks.
Lily is mine.
I may be too old for her. Too scared, too big, too brash. But I don’t
care anymore.
I’ve touched her, and I’m never letting her go.
It’s ridiculous, but I haven’t been this nervous since I was a gawky
teenager trying to figure out girls for the first time. What if I’ve misread
this?
What if she just wanted to act out a fantasy, to defy her father one last
time by sleeping with the help?
I have to ask. I have to know for sure, either way. Because if there’s
any chance Lily feels like I do…
I can’t risk not knowing. I’m going to war one last time.
The motel room is weirdly quiet when I push the door open. I scan it
quickly, frowning at what I find. The clothes I lent her are bunched and
twisted, strewn all over the carpet. The bed covers are rucked up from our
bodies, and just that sight alone is enough to send my blood pumping south.
My cock hardens, and I palm the front of my jeans.
Not this time. I can’t get distracted. The stakes are too high.
The bathroom door creaks open and Lily steps through, dressed in her
nightshirt again. Her hair is damp from the shower, braided over one
shoulder, and her skin is pink from scrubbing.
My mouth waters, but something stops me from lunging for her. The
cold, distant smile she gives me.
“You said you’d sleep on the floor, right?”
 I nod, my gut clenching. My pulse thuds so loud, I can hear it in my
ears. Lily trips past, an ice princess dismissing her subject.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It’s everything I feared. I’m good for a roll in bed, but that’s all I am to
her. A hard, warm body, and a way to piss off her father.
I shut myself in the bathroom for a moment. I need time to catch my
breath, to stare into my own dead eyes in the mirror. I look lost. Broken
from the inside out.
It was just another game, then. Right. Fine.
At least I know for sure.
I splash my face with cold water. Scrub my teeth, then say fuck it and
take an icy shower.
When I emerge from the bathroom, the lights are off and Lily lies
alone in the bed. She’s turned away, the covers tugging up over her slender
shoulders, her breaths coming slow and even.
I don’t bother searching for a pillow or blanket. I lie on the floor
beside the bed in a daze. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticks, each
passing second digging into my brain.
I won’t push her. Won’t chase her. I’m not a monster.
Not in that way, anyway.
 Lily

There’s something wrong with Reuben. I shouldn’t care—I don’t want to

care—but three years of unrequited love for this man can’t just be wiped
out in one night. He packs up the car in silence, his jaw clenched tight, and
he won’t meet my eye.
The regret is killing him. He’s always been so ashamed of his
attraction for me. And I pushed him to this—teased and taunted him until
the last thread of his control snapped.
It wasn’t a game to me. I wanted him forever. But I still can’t deny that
this is my fault.
I’ve broken a good man. So when he opens the passenger door for me,
I pause and rest my hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Reuben.”
He shrugs me off like I’ve burned him.
“Get in,” is all he says.
Now that is familiar. He’s always been blunt. Always loved to boss me
around. And I’ve loved it too, an ache throbbing in my core whenever he
uses that commanding tone on me.
That was before. Now it pisses me off. I toss my hair and use my best
icy tone.
“Don’t speak to me like that.”
He laughs, hollow.
“It never bothered you before.”
I jab him in the chest.
“You’d never made me come then ditched me before.”
He blinks, expression shocked, but I’ve said too much. I couldn’t keep
the raw hurt from bleeding into my words. I duck inside the car, sliding
onto the seat and tugging the door closed behind me. I’ve just clipped my
seat belt in when the door wrenches open again.
 “Say that again.” Reuben fills the doorway, a vicious glint in his eye.
The ocean breeze washes in behind him, tinting the air with salt and brine.
Behind him, the motel parking lot is washed blue by the cold light of dawn.
I jut out my chin.
“No.”
I don’t take orders anymore. And I won’t bare all my hurt for him to
get twisted up over. It’s mine, and I’ll keep it to myself, thank you very
much.
He takes my chin in his big fingers and forces me to look at him. Well,
too bad he can’t grip my eyeballs. I scowl up at the car ceiling.
“Lily.”
“What?” I grind out between my teeth.
“Say it again,” he begs.
Something about the desperate way he speaks sends the air rushing out
of my lungs. A silly, traitorous hope tickles at my chest, but I push it away. I
force my words out flat and hollow.
“I said you hadn’t made me come and then ditched me before.” I meet
his gaze, my eyes blazing. “Are you happy?”
“Yes,” he snaps, then grips the back of my head. He tugs my mouth
against his, kissing me like an addict getting his fix, groaning loud and
long. I stay frozen for a moment until he grunts, touching my waist, tugging
my hair, then my control snaps. I melt against him, sliding my tongue
against his. My whole body flushes hot, my heart somersaulting in my
chest, and that premature swoop of triumph is what shatters the moment.
“Wait.” I push him away when my brain comes back online. He moves
back, but only by an inch. His chest heaves like he’s been running a
marathon, and that gives me courage. “Is this another game? I don’t want to
play anymore, Reuben.”
“It’s never been a game,” he growls, resting his forehead against mine.
I suck in a shaky breath, touching his beard with shy fingertips.
“You really want me?” I whisper.
“Lily.” He groans. “More than anything. It might make me a monster
—”
“Shut up. No, it doesn’t.”
“—but I can’t keep away any longer. Now that I’ve tasted you…” His
chest heaves up and down. I watch it, hypnotized. “I won’t let you go.”
 My eyes drop shut. How long have I yearned for those words? He
plucks at my nightshirt, concerned, but a smile curves my lips.
“Princess,” he murmurs, and I unclip my belt and wriggle around in
the seat. I turn to face him, wedging my legs on either side of his hips.
I raise my chin and hold his gaze. Quirk my eyebrow in challenge.
“Prove it.” I roll my body toward him.
Reuben groans, plunging his hands under my nightshirt to find I’m not
wearing any panties. I’m bare to the ocean breeze, wet and pink for anyone
to see, but there’s no one out here but us.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his thumb flicking over my clit.
Well. There’s us, and whoever happens to glance through their motel
window. I don’t care. If anything, the thought makes me more eager.
I want everyone to see Reuben claiming me. To see me claim him in
turn. So when he tries to climb inside the car with me, then shakes his head
and mutters, “Fuck this,” I’m thrilled that he scoops me up and brings me
out into the air. He presses me against the side of the car, the whole vehicle
rocking as he thrusts against my bare pussy, his forehead resting on my
shoulder.
“This is wrong,” he murmurs into my ear. “A good man wouldn’t take
you out here. Wouldn’t fuck you for the first time in broad daylight, up
against a car.”
“Then I don’t want a good man.” I nip at his throat, reaching between
us to pop open the button on his jeans. “I want this.” I wrap my hand
around his cock.
He’s already so hard it looks painful, rigid as steel in my palm. Reuben
lets me rub the head against my slick pussy, humming and teasing.
He glances at the nearest window.
“Someone might see.”
“Good,” I hiss. “Let’s give them a show.”
He snarls, snapping his hips up and burying the first three inches inside
me. It’s a tight fit, he’s so freaking huge, and the stretch and burn of him
steals my breath.
“Keep going,” I gasp when he stills. He grunts and shoves forward
another few inches, my channel twitching around his cock.
“Does it hurt?” he mutters in my ear. I giggle, lightheaded.
“Yes. It’s perfect.”
 That’s what breaks him. What makes him groan and thrust forward,
filling me to the hilt. My ankles hook behind his back, and his grip on my
thighs is tight enough to bruise. It’s sinful, so perfect, and when his palm
cracks against my ass cheek, I jerk up in his arms, surprised.
“Yeah, I knew you’d like that. Always begging to be put over my
knee.”
I gasp and nod, writhing on the hard length of him. He pulses in and
out, spanking my ass and growling filthy things in my ear. Things that make
me clench and ripple around him.
The sting of his invasion is fading now, and the hot slide of him in and
out makes my toes curl in my socks. It’s heady, all-consuming. Taking me
over from the inside out.
“Fuck,” Reuben grits out. “Look at you. A needy virgin princess. You
can’t get enough, can you?” He shoves deeper, hips snapping up.
I shake my head, teeth chattering. Too far gone for words. Reuben
thrusts harder and faster and I see stars. Every push of his hips brushes over
my clit, and the pleasure is building in my core, hot and achy. It winds
tighter and tighter, coiling up my insides, and when Reuben grabs a fistful
of my hair and yanks, I come apart with a cry.
He keeps thrusting through it all, murmuring filthy praise in my ear,
telling me how good I feel on his cock. How I was made to take him, to let
him inside. Then he follows me over the edge, slamming deep into my
pussy and emptying everything into my core.
I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging on for dear life. The groan
he lets out sounds like it was dredged up from his soul.
We slump against the car together, breathing hard.
“This is it, princess.” He speaks after long minutes standing together,
sticky and cooling but pressed tight against the metal. “No running. No
changing your mind. I warned you, and now you’re mine.”
I’m already nodding. That’s what I’ve always wanted. What I’ve been
teasing and begging him for.
“You’re mine too,” I tell him, just to be a brat. “Don’t you dare look at
another woman. Not for the rest of your life.”
He tosses his head back and laughs, the sound echoing through the
parking lot.
“What other women? Since the day I met you, I’ve only seen you.”
My grin makes my cheeks ache.
 We bundle back into the car, but it’s different this time. Reuben’s
always touching me, glancing over. He can’t keep his hands off me. I bite
my lip, then swivel in my seat again and rest my feet in his lap. He hums in
approval.
I’m excited for the ranch, yes, but most of all I wish this drive could
last forever.
It’s perfect. He’s perfect. And the tickle in my belly is already starting
up again.
Reuben snorts. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll drive the car off the
road.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, my smirk telling him I’m not sorry at all.
I’ll never be sorry for any of it.
 Reuben

Three months later

The last time I saw Lily in a wedding dress, she was crying. Her beautiful
face was pale and shocked, and she kept throwing desperate glances at me
as her father’s tailor measured her, tucking up her hem.
That day took every ounce of my self control. Already, a dozen plans
whirred through my head—a dozen ways to get Lily out of this arranged
marriage.
Today tests my self control just as badly, but for an entirely different
reason.
Lily’s cheeks are flushed as she stands in her gown on the grassy cliff
above the sea. Her dress is simple and elegant, the white silk skimming her
frame like a Grecian goddess. Her golden brown hair is pinned up in an
elaborate updo—one with twisting braids and dotted pearls that her twin
sister Nora did for her this morning.
Nora is here now, clutching the Fox’s hand and beaming as they wait
for the priest to say the words. Beside them, my aunt and cousins watch too,
glowing with pride. They loved Lily the moment she stepped foot on the
ranch.
One day soon, she’ll have a ranch all her own. Her own stables and
horses; her own cozy farmhouse. I already put down the deposit. I’m
surprising her with her new home after our honeymoon in Italy.
Lily glances around, nervous, but Mountford isn’t here. He wouldn’t
dare show his face, not after my little visit two months ago.
I just wanted to say hi. Catch up. Inform him that Lily was mine now,
and that she never wanted to see him again. Oh, and that if he gave us any
trouble, I’d carve out his heart and leave it still beating on his desk
I think he believed me. The knife I was picking my nails with didn’t
hurt.
 I wrap an arm around my bride, speaking with my lips against her
temple.
“He’s not coming, princess. You never have to fear him again.”
She shivers, but this time it’s not from fear. When she smiles up at me,
her pupils are dilated.
Fuck.
I already took her twice this morning, but the second I leave the place
between her thighs, I want to go back again. Nowhere else feels like home
to me. I need her, need to feel her hot and wet around me, sighing in my ear.
She’s my ruin.
My salvation.
I press a kiss to her hair, my throat tight.
The ceremony is short. Simple. We don’t need to convince anyone else
of our love; we’re just here to make it official. And so that I can selfishly
see my bride in a wedding gown, and tuck that image away in my mind
forever.
“I do,” Lily breathes, her eyes wide as she gazes up at me. Her lips are
slightly parted, and I want to slide my thumb into her mouth. She bites her
lip like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, her faint giggle snatched
away by the breeze.
“I do,” I grit out.
This is it. The beginning of everything. A life together—one without
games.
Well. All but the fun kind, anyway. And my princess loves to play her
games, loves to tease me and wind me around her finger. I’m helpless to
resist, a puppet on her strings, but I love it too.
Especially when her goal is always my mouth on her pussy; her hands
on my cock; my length shoved deep inside her. This morning, I spanked her
ass so hard I left a pink hand print. She came and showed me, grinning and
proud.
Fuck. What did a big, grumpy beast like me do to deserve a prize like
her?
I was her bodyguard. Now I’m her husband. My heart throbs in my
chest as we seal it with a kiss.
This is the beginning, and I dip her back. Kiss her right, until she’s
swooning in my arms and our small audience is whooping.
The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky above the ocean pink.
The first day of the rest of our lives.
 III

Fake Model
 Coral

I’m icing a vanilla cupcake in our kitchen when my sister bursts through
the front door. She’s a whirlwind of color, her sapphire blue top slipping
down one arm, and our signature red hair escaping from the messy bun on
the crown of her head.
“Coral! Oh my god. I’m so glad you’re here. You won’t believe it.
Coral.”
Where else would I be? I’m not larger than life like my twin sister. She
goes to parties and gallery openings and red carpet events. She meets with
fashion designers and struts down catwalks.
Me? I clean a billionaire’s house, and I hang out here. In our sunlit
kitchen. The afternoon light filters through our big windows, washing over
my potted herbs nestled on the windowsill. The wall tiles are white and
sparkling clean, and the room smells like warm cupcakes.
Seriously. Why would I leave?
“What is it?” I murmur as Billie charges toward me, weaving between
our sofa and coffee table with a big grin. She doesn’t slow down when she
reaches me, barreling into me and throwing her arms around my neck.
“I booked it!” she squeals into my hair, squeezing me and rocking me
from side to side. I wince and hug her back, happy for her but still kind of
sorry for the smeared cupcake wilting on the countertop.
“Oh.” Billie pulls back, her smile fading into a look of dismay. She
looks so sorry when she glances from the cupcake back to me that it’s
impossible to be mad. I snort, nudging the warm cake toward her.
“You can have the messy one.”
She bites her lip, eyes shining again.
“I don’t know if I should. I’ve waited so long for this, Coral. I can’t
afford to overeat now.”
I nod and shrug, trying not to feel hurt. This is the only physical
difference between Billie and I—she keeps her body svelte and slender for
her modeling career, always hitting the gym and going on runs and drinking
green smoothies, while I…
Well, my hobby is cake decorating.
And hey, I like yoga. Once in a while.
“Save it for me.” She squeezes my arm. “The shoot is in two days. I’ll
eat it after that, and I swear, I will savor every bite.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I duck my head, embarrassed, but I can’t
help my faint smile. Billie is my biggest fan, and I’m hers. That’s how
we’ve always been. We left home together, rented this apartment together,
and we’ve had each other’s backs the whole time.
Billie’s the one who keeps nudging me to put my cake designs online.
To try and start a following, and maybe even my own business.
She says I can do it. That I’m more than talented enough. That I’m
wasted cleaning a rich man’s house.
I’m not so sure. The thought of people looking at me, at my designs,
even through a computer…
I shiver, my skin flashing cold.
Billie hops up onto the kitchen counter, her heels bouncing off the
cupboards as she chatters away. Telling me all about the man she’s so
excited to work with—the photographer Archer Westbrook. He’s famously
moody and impenetrable, prowling around shoots, but he’s the best. The
man with the unstoppable talent.
The model-maker.
The man who can set your career alight, who holds people’s hopes and
dreams in the palm of his hand. Billie is starry-eyed, beaming at the ceiling.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I listen, icing the rest of the cupcakes
carefully. What must it be like, working with a man like that? Going toe to
toe with a titan? She’s shown me a photo of him before, and the man looks
like the reincarnation of Thor. Only grumpier.
Billie is far braver than me. I’d run and hide under the table.
“Oh, Coral.” Billie leans closer, sighing from her seat on the counter.
“Seashells? They’re so pretty.”
I shoot her a grin from behind my hair. I’ve been working on this
design for a while, and it’s finally perfect. Each cupcake is a different
seashell, with cream icing tinted with pale pink and blue. There’s even an
oyster, opening wide to show off its pearl.
 “You should take a photo,” Billie says suddenly. “Or I could take one
for you. We could put it online, start some social media accounts for your
business.”
I shrug, grabbing the mixing bowl and crossing to the sink.
Billie doesn’t push me. She lets me run away, hiding in the drumming
of the running water and the big stack of washing up. But after a long
moment, I hear the smack of her sandals against the kitchen tiles, then the
click of her camera.
I don’t say anything. I’m too tongue-tied, my throat tight with nerves.
Another time. I’ll do it another time.
When I’m feeling brave.

***

My phone chirps the next day as I’m straining to dust my boss’s bookcase.
The tech mogul Eli Koven is a big reader, with bookcases lining the walls
of most rooms in his mansion. But this one has his collection of first edition
hardbacks, the leather spines lined up neat and perfect.
They’re priceless. Worth more than everything Billie and I own
combined.
And they’re freaking dust magnets.
My phone chirps again as I stretch to reach the top shelf. There’s a
stepladder I could use, but the cupboard is all the way down the hall, and if
I could just reach—
Chirp.
I curse under my breath and rock back on my heels. With a quick
glance to check for cameras or prying eyes, I dig my phone out of my
maid’s tunic.
No one texts me except Billie, and she knows I’m at work. She
wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important.
My heart thumps faster as I read her text, scanning it over and over
until my vision blurs.

Billie: At the hospital. Had an accident. Can you come get me after your
shift?
I swallow, mouth dry. My boss Mr. Koven is strict. Exacting. He doesn’t
employ slackers—or certainly not for long. And while maybe I could try
and talk to him, ask if I could leave early…
My throat clamps tight at the thought. My palms grow damp with
sweat.
Crap. Crap. I can’t let my sister down like this. But there’s no way on
this planet that I could talk to Mr. Koven. Already, I can feel the stutter
tripping up my tongue.
My cheeks flush crimson. No. Not an option.
I glance at the clock on the wall of Mr. Koven’s study. 2:03pm. There
are two hours left of my shift.
“Screw it,” I mutter, shooting Billie a quick reply and stuffing the
phone back in my pocket. I tiptoe out into the hallway, duster clutched in
one hand.
Mr. Koven’s housekeeper smiles at me distantly as I speed-walk past,
nodding and dropping my eyes. She doesn’t say anything, even when I stuff
the duster back into the cupboard and hurry down the main staircase, my
shoes thudding on the thick carpet.
That’s the good part of being invisible.
No one sees me leave.

***

My poor sister looks rumpled and exhausted in her hospital bed. She’s fully
dressed in denim shorts and a light sweater, her body stretched out on top of
the covers with her bag perched ready by her feet. But even she can’t
disguise her winces of pain as she tries to sit up, her snarled red hair
tumbling over one shoulder.
“What happened?”
I rush to her side, checking her over for cuts and bruises. There’s a
graze on her cheekbone, but that’s mostly it. She seems almost normal
except for one thing: the plaster cast wrapped around one forearm. It’s
tucked against her chest with a sling, and the fingers curling out of the
plaster are battered and bruised.
 “Freaking cyclist,” she grumbles, hissing in a sharp breath as she
straightens up. “He came barreling out of nowhere, right down the
sidewalk. Coral…” Billie stops and swallows. I know her heart’s breaking
when her chin wobbles. She whispers her next words. “I can’t do the shoot.
My career is over.”
“That’s not true.” I help her off the bed, my mind spinning. That can’t
be right. Can it? “It’s just one canceled booking. It must happen to everyone
sometimes.”
Billie snorts, but there’s no humor in it.
“No one cancels on Archer Westbrook.”
I huff, annoyed on her behalf. Who does this Archer Westbrook think
he is, the king of England? Of course people need to cancel sometimes. I
tell her so too, wrapping my arm around her waist and supporting her stiff
steps to the hospital doorway.
“You just don’t get it,” Billie mutters, blowing a strand of hair out of
her face. “This was it, Coral. My shot. And I already blew it.”
I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong, that there will be other
opportunities, but I swallow the words back when a doctor strides over. His
footsteps are loud in the hallway, his white coat billowing behind him, and
his confidence is like a hand wrapped around my throat.
He begins to speak to me, clipping out instructions about painkillers
and washing my arm. He thinks I’m Billie. It’s only when he looks down
and sees the cast on her arm instead that he blinks and gives himself a little
shake. Apologizes and talks to the right sister.
She answers his questions, murmuring careful replies, but I’m not
fooled. I know Billie.
I can see the wheels turning in her head.
The second he’s gone, she spins to face me, eyes bright and crafty. I
hold up my palms, back up against the hospital wall. The corridor is lined
with cork-boards and peeling posters about anatomy, and the frayed corner
of one tickles in my hair.
“No,” I beg. “I can’t do it. Billie, don’t ask me.”
“It’s just one shoot,” she pleads. “A few hours, tops. It could save my
whole career.”
I wave an arm up and down my body. Over my curves, so much
rounder than hers, and my maid’s tunic.
I could not be less of a model if I tried.
 “No one is going to buy it, Billie! What if I can’t fit into the clothes?
And what if they need me to sp-speak—”
“You can do it.” She smooths a palm down my arm. “You’re beautiful,
Coral. Clothes need to be adjusted all the time at shoots. And you don’t
have to speak. Just say you’ve lost your voice. Take a note.”
I chew on my lip, staring at the floor. At my sensible maid’s shoes,
next to my sister’s pretty sandals.
Could I really do this?
Some part of me has always wondered… if things were different… if I
were different…
Would I be as magical as Billie?
A thought slams into my brain, crushing those tenuous hopes. I sigh,
shoulders slumping.
“I can’t, Billie. I have to work tomorrow. I already skipped out early
today.”
It’s not like I can afford to lose this job. Billie’s shoots bring in a lot of
money when they happen, but they’re not steady. We can’t rely on them to
pay our bills each month.
“I’ll cover for you,” she says at once. “I’ll do your shift. If anyone
asks, I’ll say you sprained your wrist at work.” She winks. “Then if they
give you a hard time, you can sue.”
She’s joking, but I still squirm. I hate lying. And I like my job, mostly.
It’s quiet. Calming. And the views from the mansion windows are so pretty.
“I don’t know…”
She begs me from the depths of her soul. “Please.”
I’ve never been able to refuse my twin sister. And there’s a small,
secret part of me that’s curious. That wants to try being Billie for a day.
That wants to be brave.
“Okay.” I screw my eyes shut tight. “Okay. I’ll try. But don’t blame me
if we get caught.”
Billie whoops, catching me up in a one-armed hug, then hisses with
pain. Her mood isn’t dimmed for long, though. She’s soon beaming at me
again, eyes wide and grateful.
I trail her out to the parking lot, fiddling with my car keys, my heart
sinking down to my shoes.
I hate people looking at me. I hate speaking in public. And I hate
bossy men who shout at me. What if this Archer Westbrook sees through
our lie and lays into me in front of everyone? What if—what if he makes
me cry?
I’ve always been such a baby. So quick to crumble in scary situations.
Oh god.
What the hell have I done?
 Archer

It’s a dawn shoot on the beach, which means two things: sand fucking
everywhere, and bucket loads of coffee. So much black coffee that energy
crackles through my veins, and my vision sharpens as I glare through my
camera lens.
Everyone else stifles yawns as they set up the equipment. The dress
rails bristling with garment bags; the makeshift shelters for the model to
change out of the wind. There are small tables set out with huge silver
boilers of coffee, and covered baskets of muffins and fruit.
Across the long stretch of pale sand, clear blue waves froth and break
on the beach. They’re lazy too, the tide sighing and rolling over in its sleep.
Seabirds wheel overhead, screaming at the wisps of cloud. Shells dot
the sand, either whole or in sharp white fragments.
It will do.
I turn to the dress rails, barking for one of my assistants to open the
first garment bags. I want to see the material in the morning light, want to
see how it reacts to the cold sun. I chew on the inside of my cheek, fiddling
with my camera as I swap out lenses and check my memory cards.
“We’ll start with the bridal gowns. Work backward through the styles
and end on the lingerie.” There’s a squeak behind me, and I twitch my head
to look, but my assistant comes and mutters in my ear.
“There’s a problem.”
Fuck. Already? There’s no such thing as a perfect shoot, but we
haven’t even started. How have we gone wrong so fast?
I roll my head on my neck, annoyed. It’s my name on the line, here.
I’m at the top of this pyramid, which means if this shoot is a bust, I’m to
blame.
I don’t like fuck-ups. I don’t make mistakes. So when I nod at Gavin to
keep talking, I’m already grinding my teeth.
He lowers his voice, eyes darting away. He’s uncomfortable.
 “The model… she’s bigger than the measurements we have on file. We
need to take out the gowns.”
I huff out a breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. I keep the best
seamstresses in the business on standby for this exact reason, but it still
pisses me the hell off. This model, this Billie Blue Walsh—she’s supposed
to be the best. I only work with the best.
And this? This is a rookie error. What kind of model doesn’t update
her measurements?
“Big breakfast?” I snarl, turning on my heel and pinning the girl with a
glare. She’s waiting a few feet back by the garment rail, wrapped in a robe
with her arms clamped around her waist. She starts, her blue eyes widening,
and a flush creeps over her cheeks. She tries to speak, her mouth opening
and closing a few times, before she gives up and shakes her head, staring at
her bare toes buried in the sand.
Shit. I’ve always been a grade A asshole, but a sliver of guilt squirms
through my gut.
I tamp it down. I’m not here to make everyone feel good about
themselves. This isn’t an after school special; we’re here to work.
Even if the sight of her creamy skin and red hair makes my chest seize.
I turn back to my camera, flipping through the settings, a new
eagerness urging me on. For months now, I’ve been feeling… flat.
Uninspired. I’ve been going through the motions, winning awards and
making the front page of fashion magazines, but there’s been no joy in it.
No passion.
One glance at Billie Blue Walsh, and suddenly the love for my art
comes rushing back. I want to capture the soulful depth to her eyes; want to
pick out the copper highlights in her auburn curls.
A stuttered breath makes me turn around, dread freezing my veins.
She’s dressed in the first gown, arms held out at her sides, two
seamstresses altering it to fit. And she’s staring off in a daze, a single tear
rolling down her cheek.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What have I done?
One careless, throwaway question, borne out of impatience, and I
made her cry.
 I want to smash my camera over the rocks that line the edge of the
beach. I want to walk into the goddamn sea. But I can’t, because I need to
make this right. I need to wipe that look of glazed horror off her face.
I need to show Billie Blue Walsh that she’s the most beautiful creature
I’ve ever seen.

***

It’s odd. I picked the model for this shoot myself, flicking through hundreds
of head shots and profiles. And while I thought Billie Blue had potential,
had good cheekbones and striking eyes, her photos didn’t move me.
Not like this.
Seeing her in person… I have a heart attack every time I glance over.
Gavin notices her crying too, and he’s better at this than me. He takes
her a coffee and a muffin from the basket. She waves the muffin off, a
queasy look on her face, and I want to howl at the sky.
I don’t know what I hate more—the fact that I’ve scared her off eating,
or that Gavin is the man offering her comfort. I stride over without thinking,
needing to break the two of them up.
“Are we ready?” I grit out, eying the two seamstresses. They glance up
at me, mouths full of pins, and nod. I look down at Billie Blue, raising my
eyebrows. She cringes under my gaze, but nods too.
I vow here and now that she won’t be scared of me for long. That by
the end of today, she’ll look to me for praise and comfort.
I might not be practiced in giving those things, but I could be. For her.
Her first gown is elegant. Modest. A good dress to start with, since
I’ve so thoroughly dented her confidence. I make her pose by the rocks; on
the golden sand; and holding her hem up, ankle deep in the waves.
She’s so stiff and unhappy, flinching at every instruction, that you’d
think she’d never modeled before. I have to coax her into each photo, and it
takes three times as long as it should to get a usable shot.
I say nothing. I’ve hurt her enough.
But when we walk back up the beach, her shorter legs hurrying ahead
of mine, I sigh and check my watch. She hasn’t spoken a single word since
she arrived, and she’s utterly wooden when she strikes each pose.
 There are dozens more outfits. And who knows how many more hours
of good light? At this rate, we won’t get a third of the shoot done.
I toy with the idea of summoning another model at short notice.
Strictly speaking, it’s the most professional thing to do.
But the thought of the hurt and dismay on her face when I snapped at
her earlier…
No. I won’t do it. This is our model, and we’ll make it work.
When we reach the huddle of whispering assistants, I snag Billie
Blue’s elbow and drag her aside. Out of earshot, where I can give her a little
talk. Remind her of her job.
But when she looks up at me, her mouth pressed in a tight line and her
expression resigned, that all falls away. I cup her face and breathe out a
ragged sigh.
 Coral

Archer Westbrook is touching my face. Cradling me like I’m precious.

Um. What?
I knock his hand away without thinking. He may be Billie’s boss in
this scenario, but he’s a jerk. I don’t want his hands on me.
Even if he really does look like a Norse god with his broad shoulders,
leather jacket, and long blond hair scraped back with a hair tie.
Crap. My knees knock together under my gown. They don’t make men
like this in the baking videos I watch. He scowls, ducking his head and
forcing me to meet his eye.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he murmurs, so only we can hear. His gray
eyes hold mine, and I struggle to breathe.
I shrug one shoulder.
“Do you ever speak?”
It’s my turn to scowl.
Yes, I want to say, I speak to nice people. People who don’t make my
throat close up with nerves.
He’s already torn me apart for being a few pounds heavier than my
sister. I’m not about to show him my stutter, too.
I clear my throat. Rehearse the words in my head to make sure, then
whisper, slow and clear.
“Let’s get back to work.”
He growls with frustration, the sound gruff behind me, but I keep
walking back to the garment rack.
I’m not an idiot. I can tell I’m a terrible model, but I promised Billie
I’d try my best, so that’s what I’ll do.
The next dress is simpler, a work of draping white silks, with the
tiniest braided straps over my shoulders. I wait while the seamstresses
adjust for my curves, a hollow feeling in my gut.
 I’ve never felt bad about my body before. I’ve always kind of liked the
dip and swell of my form.
That’s modeling, I guess. Especially with men like Archer around. No
wonder Billie’s so reluctant to eat my cupcakes.
Well, you know what? I prefer being a maid.
This time, when we walk down to the waves, I let my anger shine
through my eyes. I raise my chin in challenge, my limbs still awkward, but
not quite as wooden as last time. Archer hums behind his camera, snapping
shot after shot.
“That’s it. Better. Show me your spirit, Billie Blue.”
When he lowers the camera, his eyes are dark and intense. They rake
over me, taking in every inch of my body.
I can’t help it. I cross my arms over my chest. Archer gusts out a sigh,
shaking his head.
Whatever. If he doesn’t want his models to be shy, he shouldn’t be
mean. I stick out my tongue and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. His
mouth twitches and he strolls over to me, his boots thudding over the damp
sand, one hand tucked in his pocket.
He stops right in front of me. Close enough to touch. I could reach up
and press my fingertip into the cleft of his chin. I could snatch his camera
out of his grip and smash it on the sand.
“What on earth are you thinking about?” he murmurs. His voice is
deep and smooth; it sends shivers skating over my skin. My nipples pebble
under the thin, white satin against my crossed arms. His eyes flick down,
and his mouth curls in a slow, knowing smile.
“Ah.” He chuckles. “I see.”
For the millionth time today, heat spreads over my cheeks. My eyes
burn, and I blink back tears.
Why?
Why do I have to cry so easily?
And why is this man so hell bent on humiliating me?
I clear my throat, forcing the words out even as my face flushes even
brighter.
“You are a cr-cruel man, Archer W-Westbrook.”
His smirk falls, but it’s too late. I turn around and stride back across
the beach, not waiting to be dismissed, heading for the next garment bag
with my head held high. The nice assistant Gavin gives me a questioning
look, but I shake my head, keeping my arms crossed over my traitorous
breasts.
Archer Westbrook already knows the effect he has on me.
I don’t want every last person on this beach to know my humiliation.

***

We speed through the next few dresses, with Archer hardly bothering to
direct me. He’s distracted, snapping pictures while barely looking through
his camera lens. He seems more concerned with frowning at me, staring
intently like I’m a riddle to be solved.
I roll my eyes, lifting the hem of a lacy knee-length bridal dress and
stepping deeper into the waves. The cold water shocks my skin, zaps me
with new energy, and I don’t have to fake my exhilarated smile.
“Good,” Archer murmurs, raising the camera to his eye. He snaps a
series of photos, sea foam rushing around his boots. “Very good,
sweetheart.”
He has no right to call me that, but the name sends a secret thrill down
my spine. Something pulses, hot and achy, between my legs.
I bite my lip, turning to give him my back, and gaze at him over my
shoulder.
“Fuck,” Archer mutters to himself.
I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, him cursing. He seems more
worked up than angry, the corded muscles tight in his neck and his jaw
grinding together. He grunts and adjusts his pants.
Oh. Oh. I flush red hot again, but this time I don’t mind.
He wants me. The man who thinks I’m too big, who knows I can’t
model for shit—he wants my body. For a giddy moment, there’s nothing but
the hush of the sea and the gentle breeze. No people, no cry of seabirds, no
reality.
I smirk straight into the camera lens. I don’t know where this daring
Coral came from, but I hope she never leaves.
“Jesus,” he mutters, snapping several more photos. “I won’t be able to
sell any of these.”
I slump.
 Just like that, my newfound courage deserts me. Once again, I’m just
the wrong twin sister, standing in someone else’s dress, her feet numb in the
sea.
“I don’t mean it that way,” Archer says quickly, as if he can read the
defeat in my face. When he speaks again, it’s quieter. Confessional. “I mean
I don’t want to share.” His grip tightens on his camera where he holds it by
his chest, his knuckles turning white. “I don’t want anyone to see you like
this. Only me.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I process his words. It sounds like…
No, he is saying that. And not just with his words, but with his hungry
eyes. Archer Westbrook is staring at me like a starving man at a feast.
I’ve never done anything like this. Never felt anything like this—an
immediate connection to someone, sparks racing under my skin.
I lick my lips. “C-call me sweetheart again.”
“Sweetheart,” he purrs. I squeeze my thighs together, my breath
catching in my throat. He watches every tiny movement of my body,
reading my arousal in every twitch and gasp.
I’ve never been watched this closely before. Never been seen so fully.
It makes me want to show him more.
I glance over his shoulder, at the group of people clustered at the top of
the beach. They’re huddled around the coffee table, chatting. Their backs
turned and their attention elsewhere.
I meet Archer’s gaze and hook a thumb under my dress strap. He raises
his camera again as I tug it down, showing my bare breast, and snaps a
photo.
“Don’t sh-show anyone,” I warn him, cupping myself. I pinch the
nipple, tipping my head back with a gasp.
Archer chokes out a laugh.
“As if I could. I’d have to murder them on the spot just for looking at
you.”
My pussy throbs harder, slick and wanting between my thighs.
“Y-you don’t mind my curves now.”
He huffs out a breath. “Mind them? Sweetheart. You’re the most
beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
There’s no way that’s true—the man works with freaking supermodels
every day—but it’s nice of him to say. Nicer than he’s been all day. It
warms me up to him just a tiny bit, and hunger claws at my belly when he
reaches down again and palms the front of his jeans.
It should be crude. Off-putting.
But it makes my mouth water.
Already, through his dark jeans, I can see the outline of his cock. It’s
huge. A statement. A battering ram.
I squeeze my breast harder, biting my lip against a moan. Archer
curses, glancing back over his shoulder.
“If we were alone,” he tells me hurriedly, “I’d prove it to you. I’d lick
your sweet pussy until you cried. For the right reasons this time.”
Gavin’s voice echoes down the beach, calling for us, and I yank my
dress strap back up my shoulder, alarmed.
Archer looks rueful. Moody and impatient again, but not at me.
This time, he guides me back up the beach with his warm palm
hovering over my back.
Half an inch of air. That’s all there is between us. It makes me want to
slam to a halt so his palm brushes my skin. I can almost feel his heat as it is,
that tiny point of imagined contact sending warmth licking through my
veins.
I come to a stop in front of the last garment bags. The lingerie.
Archer growls behind me.
Oh, god. Here we go.
 Archer

“W ait.” I snake out a hand and grab Billie’s wrist before she takes hold of
the garment bag. The zipper is undone, the bag open to the breeze, and
those tiny scraps of ivory satin and lace bring a roaring sound to my ears.
Her wrist is delicate in my grip. Her skin smooth and creamy. I rub my
thumb over her pulse point, glaring around at the small crowd.
“Everybody go home.”
“What?” Gavin splutters a laugh, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the
corners. It occurs to me for the first time that my assistant is probably
considered handsome.
My grip tightens on Billie.
“Did I stutter?” I snap, and I feel her flinch beside me. Fuck. When
will I stop putting my foot in my mouth? She tugs her arm away, frowning
down at the sand.
Gavin waves at the equipment, helpless.
“We still have four more outfits! The light’s still good. Come on,
Archer, we’re on deadline.”
All reasonable points. He’s not saying anything untrue. But that
doesn’t stop me from pinning him with a murderous glare. Gavin shrinks
back, baffled and alarmed, and everyone else around us holds their breath.
“Go,” I grind out. My heartbeat thunders in my chest. “Now.”
They jerk into action, packing away tables and grabbing their things,
shooting me worried glances and whispering together. Billie starts to move
too, but I snag her by the shoulder.
“Not you. Gavin’s right. We have work to do.”
She doesn’t question me. Doesn’t ask why I’ve sent the others away
and not her. She plucks up the first garment bag and ducks into the
changing space, expression thoughtful.
I rub a palm over my chest as I wait for her to change, pacing back and
forth. Will the lingerie fit? Maybe she needs these adjusted too. I didn’t
even think of that. And what the hell is wrong with my heart?
Fuck, I’m a mess.
When she steps back out with her robe wrapped tight around her, I
swallow hard and face her. She tilts her head.
“Are you going to explain why you sent them away?”
Yeah, that’s an easy one. I prowl over to her, only stopping with a few
inches between our chests. She barely comes up to my chin.
“No one else can see you like this.” I tug her robe open, eyes greedy,
sucking in a deep breath at the bare expanses of milky skin. My eyes flick
up to hers and she’s watching me, pupils blown wide. “Only me. Do you
understand?”
“You’re very possessive.”
And her stutter is gone. I don’t point that out. Instead, I smirk,
wrapping a red curl around my knuckle.
“You don’t seem to mind, sweetheart.”
She raises her chin. “You have no say in who I show myself to.”
I want to beat my chest and roar.
“No,” I croak. “Not yet.”
But she must feel this too. This magnetic pull between us, drawing us
together like the tide is pulled up the beach.
“I’m possessive too,” she warns. Then her cheeks flush, and she ducks
her head. “At least, I think I will be.” She glares back up at me. “Are you
prepared for that?”
Is she saying what I think she’s saying? That she’s… inexperienced?
Untouched and untried?
Jesus Christ. This girl is trying to kill me.
“Oh, I’m prepared.” I slide a hand into her hair, cupping the side of her
face. There are freckles dusting her pert little nose. “I’d like nothing better
than you growling over me, sweetheart. Staking your claim.”
I dip my head and drag the tip of my nose along her hairline, inhaling
her scent. She smells like vanilla and cocoa powder. Warm cookies on a
summer’s day.
I nip her earlobe, smirking as she shudders. “I want you to rub your
delicious scent all over me.”
Billie sucks in a shaky breath and pushes me away with gentle hands.
“Let’s finish your shoot,” is all she says.
 It’s not an answer. The evasion is maddening, but I grit my teeth and
tilt my head down the beach.
Fine. We’ll play this her way. Dancing around each other until she
finally snaps.
I don’t mind waiting her out.
I can be a very patient man.

***

The pop-up changing station is a set of three screens and a free-standing

mirror listing to one side in the sand. Billie’s clothes are tossed over the top
of one screen, the sleeve of a thin emerald green sweater shifting in the
breeze.
I’d been too wrapped up in preparations for the shoot to notice her
outfit this morning. Her clothes are simple. Modest. Neat but worn-in. The
sight of the faded patch on the knee of her jeans, of the loose thread on the
collar of her sweater—it punches me in the solar plexus.
I clear my throat and knock on the wooden frame of the screen. Billie
squeaks and staggers into the fabric wall, her corset half-fastened.
“May I?” I murmur. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no. Dash my
head against the rocks? But there’s no need, my skull is safe, because Billie
blows out a breath and gives me a quick nod.
She flaps a hand at the row of hooks running down her spine.
“I c-can’t do them up.”
I hum, stepping closer. “They can be tricky.”
It’s meant to be comforting, a peace offering, but she squints at me like
she’s trying to find the insult.
There isn’t one. I don’t know how I managed to go so badly wrong
with this angel, but she’s flawless. A walking work of art. The first set of
lingerie took ten years off my life.
“Maybe it’s too small,” she whispers, frowning at the mirror, her
mouth twisted. No. Hell no. I’m not letting this happen again.
“It’s perfect.” I pause behind her, hooking the corset up smoothly. It’s a
cruel joke—the last thing I want to do is fasten her into the lingerie. I’d
rather rip it clean in two, sending hooks flying to the sand.
 It takes a few seconds to do up the corset, but I linger. Her soft
expanses of skin make my chest ache. The corset nips her in at the waist,
emphasizing the mouthwatering swells of her body.
I breathe in deeply through my nose.
Cupcakes. Holy shit.
“D-do you always help the models dress?”
I bark out a laugh. “No. Never.”
She meets my eye in the mirror. Raises her chin.
“Why me?”
My hand rests on her shoulder, then slides around to cup her neck. It’s
not a threat—it’s a caress, my thumb skating over the vulnerable places
beneath her jaw.
She sighs and melts back against my chest. My heart lunges at my rib
cage, trying to smash its way through to her.
I dip my head and speak with my lips pressed directly to her temple.
“Why you? Don’t you know? Haven’t I made it very fucking clear?” I
pulse my grip on her throat, just enough to make her eyelashes flutter. “You
own me, sweetheart.”

***

You know what?

Screw being patient.
Billie Blue Walsh is trying to murder me.
She wades into the surf, her robe wrapped tight around her middle.
The frothy waves break against her legs, and goosebumps ripple over her
skin. It’s midday now, the sun shining bronze in her hair, and licking
warmth all over her body.
She turns around, fixes me with a wry look, then shrugs her robe off
and tosses it to me.
I catch it, the thin fabric still warm from her body, and press it to my
nose, breathing her in.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re playing this up.”
Does she think I’m exaggerating how badly I want her? The words
drip out of me, voice low.
 “I promise you I’m not. Your scent is addictive. I wish I could bottle
you and spray you on my pillow.”
She’s flushed pink and pleased as she cocks one hip, posing in the
third set of bridal lingerie. There’s even a scrap of lace around one thigh, a
garter, and the thought of tearing it off with my teeth makes my head spin.
Billie snorts. “You’re supposed to take photos.”
Right. My whole career. My whole reason for existence, before I saw
her. It’s fallen out of my brain, replaced by her intoxicating presence.
I raise my camera and snap photo after photo, not bothering to tell her
that I’d rather sell my kidney than these pictures of her.
These will just be for me. The designer can hire someone else to finish
the shoot.
“Aren’t you going to direct me?” She tosses her hair over one
shoulder.
Fuck yes. I’d like nothing more.
“Seduce me,” I growl. “These clothes are for a wedding night. Look at
me like I’m your new husband.”
“You mean look at the camera.” Her mouth twitches in amusement,
even as she strokes her fingertips down the center of her chest, over her
smooth, soft stomach.
“If you like,” I mutter, raising the camera and watching her through the
lens instead. I zoom in, taking in every freckle, every inch of her body in
high definition.
Her fingertips graze the top of her panties.
I breathe in hard through my nose. “Fuck.”
Her middle finger dips inside. Just the first knuckle.
“Do it,” I beg.
I’ve never been a man to ask nicely. To flatter and plead. But to see
this woman touch herself, to hear the soft moans of her arousal—I would
live my whole life on my knees.
She tucks another finger inside the waistband, but won’t go any
deeper. Not to where her pussy must be clenching down on nothing, slick
and wanting.
I could fill her up. With my hands, cock and tongue. Make that ache go
away.
“Show me, then,” I rasp, and to my shock, she complies. She draws
her fingers out, then tugs her panties to the side.
 Her pussy is pink and swollen, dusted with red hair, and I can’t help
the groan that escapes me.
“Is that for me?” I ask, reaching down to palm my cock. I’ve been hard
all morning, stiff to the point of pain.
“It depends.” She runs a fingertip up her slit, just on the surface.
“What would you do with it?”
“Worship it,” I say immediately. “Worship you. Until you scream so
loud your lungs burst.”
She hums, circling the sensitive bead of her clit.
“That doesn’t sound comfortable.”
“Comfort is overrated.”
She laughs, a little hiccup of a sound.
I fall to my knees in the sand, placing the camera and her robe at my
side.
“Come here,” I tell her. Billie darts a look around the beach, at the
houses lining the cliffs above us, but there’s no one here. We’re alone with
the waves.
A drumbeat starts in my chest as she walks to me slowly, the sea water
sloshing around her legs. Her teeth dig into her plump, pink bottom lip, and
I reach for her, impatient. She gasps as I yank her closer.
My hands dwarf her hips. She’s a doll compared to me—albeit a doll
with luscious curves. The swell of her hips, her ample breasts straining
against her bra…
I snarl, burying my face in her stomach. My tongue swipes a long line
up her body, tasting her from her belly button to her bra, and she gasps and
clutches my shoulders.
Yes. This is what I want. Her holding on to me for dear life as I
consume her, as I swallow her whole.
“You’re mine,” I mutter, sliding my hands around to squeeze her ass. I
bring one palm down on her ass cheek, making her jump and squeak.
The wet spot on her panties grows in front of my eyes.
“Yeah.” I rub the spot I just spanked, soothing the sting away. “You
like that, don’t you sweetheart?”
She hums, tipping her head back, swaying in my hold. I hook her leg
over my shoulder.
“Tell me you want my mouth on your pussy.”
 I speak the words a hair’s breadth from her panties, my warm breath
washing over the lace. She moans, already quaking, scrabbling at my head,
my neck, my shoulders.
“Y-yes. I want your mouth on my p-pussy.”
Triumph swells and bursts in my chest, searing hot through my whole
body, and I snarl as I bury my face between her legs. I mouth and suck at
her through the lace, teasing her until she sobs.
A small hand bats at my head.
“D-do it properly.”
I grin, tugging her panties aside with my teeth.
“Say please.”
“Archer—”
I plunge my tongue into her folds. She’s everything I imagined and
more—hot and slick and deliciously tangy, quivering with need. She moans
and writhes, so fucking responsive that I can’t help but thrust my hips
against the air. Even on my knees, she’s so small compared to me. Delicate
and light.
“Have you ever come before, sweetheart?” I speak with my mouth
pressed in her core, the vibration humming through her.
“I don’t… I don’t know.” She sounds far away. Dazed.
I swirl my tongue around her clit. “You’d know.”
She mutters something, but I don’t catch it. I’m too busy losing myself
in her taste, her scent, her wet warmth. I want her all over me, from my
eyebrows to my chin. I want to stamp a claim on her the way she’s claimed
me. I rub around her entrance without dipping inside, my finger broad
against her tight pussy.
What would that feel like, wrapped around my cock?
I shake my head and lick her deeper, my brain fried.
For a girl who’s never come before, she doesn’t hold back now. She
climbs swiftly and easily, as natural as breathing, her pleasure cresting as
she writhes in my arms. She jerks her hips, riding my face, and I hum my
approval and smack her ass.
Yes, I want to tell her. Use me. Take me, too.
“Arch… Archer…” She comes with a breathless squeak, her limbs
turning to jelly beneath her. I hold her up, licking her through it until she
collapses in my arms, breathing hard. I tuck her across my lap, brushing her
hair out of her face.
 Billie peers up at me, squinting out of one eye.
I grin down at her, my chin slick and shining.
Hearing her snort of amusement makes my chest ache. I tuck her
closer, running my palms over every inch I can reach.
I’ve found her. The woman I’ve been waiting for. My woman.
I screw my eyes shut and I swear to myself—I’ll never let her go.
 Coral

I sit cradled on Archer’s lap, his hard, muscled thighs supporting my

weight like it’s nothing.
I’m done. I’m cooked. My brain has left the building.
When the rumble of the waves and the cry of seabirds finally pierces
my daze, I clear my throat and struggle to my feet. I have to tug my panties
back so they cover me, the lace soaked and ruined, and heat floods down
from my hairline.
“Oh no you don’t.” Archer pushes to his feet, cradling my cheek and
brushing his thumb over my lip. “Don’t go blushing and feeling ashamed.
You’re beautiful, Billie Blue.”
My sister’s name on his lips is like a bucket of icy water tipped down
my back.
Archer thinks I’m her. A successful model at the start of a dazzling
career. A brave, shining presence—not a maid who hides away in her
apartment.
He touched me, put his mouth there, and he doesn’t even know who I
am.
Crap.
I stumble back up the beach, my mind racing as he strolls by my side.
All his earlier moodiness is long gone. He’s smiling and peaceful, the
sunshine glinting golden in his tied back blond hair. I must have pulled a
few strands from their tie when I grabbed his face, rode his tongue, because
they dangle now beside his sturdy cheekbones.
Snatching my robe from Archer’s hand as we walk, I shove my
shaking hands through the sleeves and tug it around me. He frowns at me,
concerned, but I avoid his eye.
Oh god. Oh god. He’ll be so angry.
He’ll look at me like he did this morning.
With disappointment and anger in his eyes.
 I can’t bear it. I won’t. Not when what we just did together was the
most magical experience of my life. Maybe I’m a coward—okay, I’m
definitely a coward—but I just know that I’ll never feel like that again.
I can’t ruin the memory that I’ll hold close for my whole life.
And this day has been about Billie, about her career and about not
letting Archer and the designer down.
So I’ll be selfish. Just this once.
I’ll protect my heart.
Archer strides ahead when we reach the makeshift work station,
grabbing a bottle of water and swigging from it thirstily. I watch the column
of his throat bobbing, hypnotized, before I shake myself and grab the next
garment bag.
He gives me a small smile as I walk past to the changing area. There’s
so much trust and hope in his eyes.
My chest cleaves in two as I duck behind the divider. As I pull on my
own clothes with trembling hands instead of the next lingerie set, and pause
to suck in one last breath.
I can almost smell him. My screaming emotions conjure his scent—the
crisp, masculine scent that surrounded me on his lap. I close my eyes,
feeling the ghost of his touch on my skin, my heart shattering inside me.
It’s easy to sneak out. I slip through a gap in the changing stall,
hurrying away across the beach with my ragged breath loud in my ears.
I’ve just reached my battered old car, tucked in beside the sidewalk at
the top of the beach, when a roar splits the sky. Archer stands frozen on the
sand, his expression broken as he watches me tug open my car door.
I throw myself into the driver’s seat, risking one last glimpse through
the window.
His chest heaves, the movement so stark I can see it from all the way
off the beach. Archer takes one step toward me but stumbles to a halt, a
hand reaching.
Like he can’t believe I’d do this. That I’d run away and leave him
behind after what we just shared.
He doesn’t know a single thing I’m capable of.
He doesn’t even know who I am.

***
Billie is sprawled on the sofa in my maid’s tunic when I get home, her
usually cheerful face drawn and sad.
“Hey,” she murmurs as I walk inside, my shoulders slumping all the
way down to the floorboards. She does a double-take. “You look how I
feel.”
I nod, too exhausted to speak. My shoes trail sand across our living
room, and I kick them off before flopping down on the rug beside the sofa.
Billie scratches at my scalp as I tip my head back on the cushions.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nope. You?”
She huffs out a breath. “No.” Then: “What a day.”
I hum in agreement, my eyes drifting closed. Though my heart is
aching and raw, at least I’m here. In our quiet sanctuary, filled with
sunshine and potted plants. The art prints we picked out together at a flea
market hang on the walls, and Billie’s got soft music playing.
“What’s the verdict?” She tugs at a loose thread on the sofa cushion.
“You gonna be a model with me, Coral?”
I snort, turning my head to meet her eye. She bites her lip, holding
back a laugh, and suddenly the day’s humiliation doesn’t seem so bad. I
throw up my hands, ranting at the ceiling.
“I sucked! I was so, so bad. The clothes were all too small, and I
swear, I had the charisma of drying paint. Archer could barely—”
I cut myself off, my throat tightening. I don’t want to talk about him.
“Yeah,” Billie whispers, playing with my hair with her good hand. “It’s
rough out there. For maids, too.”
“Oh god,” I groan. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” she squawks. Billie is a terrible liar.
“Did you break something valuable?”
“No…”
“Did you piss Mr. Koven off?”
She chews on her lip, face guilty.
“Um. Maybe. In a way.”
I nod, dropping my head back and staring at the ceiling. The sunlight
plays over the white paint, tiny shadows dancing where the potted plants
sway by the open windows.
I can hardly be angry. Whatever she did to my boss, I sure as hell did
worse to hers. Jeez—I rode his face; ground my pussy onto his tongue;
moaned out his name. Guilt floods my insides, rising hot up my throat, and
I swallow hard.
How could I do this to her? It’s like I was a whole other person today.
Someone who gets caught up in the moment, hazy with lust, and puts her
sister’s career in danger.
I reach for Billie’s good hand and squeeze her fingers.
I’ll tell her. I will. I’ll tell her everything.
All the shameful things I’ve done.
But not today. Not when everything feels so sore and sad. I’ll take one
night to lick my wounds, to gather my courage, and I’ll confess tomorrow.
Hopefully my twin sister can forgive me.
Hopefully I can forgive myself.

***

Our phones start buzzing as we clear up after dinner, washing the plates and
wiping down the table in tired silence. I ignore my phone at first, watching
the screen light up as it rattles against the coffee table, then turning away.
It buzzes once for a text. Twice. Three times.
Then it starts to ring.
“Crap.” I wipe my hands on the dish cloth and toss it on the counter.
But Billie squawks and rushes across the room, swiping up my phone
before I can get there first.
“Billie?”
She shakes her head, staring down at my phone, horrified. She stands
there, holding my phone as it buzzes in her palm, until finally it stops.
Silence rings through the apartment.
“Billie, what—”
Her phone chirps on the kitchen counter, the screen lighting up with a
text. I whip my head around, trepidation sliding down my spine.
It buzzes again.
And again.
“Oh my god.” I dash across the kitchen, bumping my hip against the
table, and snatch her phone up with a shaking hand. Sure enough, Archer’s
name lights up the screen as it rings again in my palm. “I d-don’t… I
can’t…”
Billie clears her throat. She holds up her palms, my phone tucked in
her fingers of my good hand, her cast bulky on the other. My phone keeps
buzzing, the screen a glowing blue rectangle in her grip.
“Maybe…” she twists her mouth, but keeps talking. “Maybe we could
swap phones for the night. No questions asked?”
I’m nodding before she’s finished her sentence.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Th-that sounds good.”
She frowns slightly, concerned. I hardly ever stutter when it’s just us
two, alone.
But we’re not alone, are we? Apparently we have two ticking time
bombs in our hands.
“Coral, is everything alright—”
“You s-said no questions!” I dodge around the side of the table, her
phone tucked close to my chest. It keeps buzzing there, rattling my aching
heart through my rib cage. “I’m going to bed.”
She nods, even though it’s still light out. “Okay. Um. Me too.”
We shut ourselves away in our bedrooms, a thousand unanswered
questions hanging thick in the air.
Tomorrow. We’ll sort through all this tomorrow.
I blow out a breath, my shoulder blades pressed to my door, and stare
down at Billie’s phone in my palm. It buzzes against my skin, the screen lit
with his name, and when I swipe to answer, my throat clamps tight.
“Hello?” I croak, dread sliding through my gut. “Archer?”
There’s a sigh down the line.
Then: “You owe me a photo shoot, sweetheart.”
 Archer

I’ve never claimed to be a good man.

If the only way she’ll see me again is to finish the job she was hired to
do, then fine. I’ll press whatever advantage I have, pull whatever strings I
can, if it means being near her.
I’m not proud, but I can’t bring myself to care, either. I’ll do anything
for a chance to convince my girl she’s mine. I don’t know where I went
wrong earlier, and I’ve played every second of the day over and over in my
head.
Whatever I did, whatever I said, I’ll fix it.
I have to.
I need her.
It’s ridiculous to be this addicted to someone I only met this morning. I
know how fucking crazy I sound. But here’s the thing—I don’t care.
I’m Archer Westbrook. I’ve never given a shit what other people think
of me, and I’m sure as hell not going to start now. I don’t care if I seem
whipped, if I have to throw myself at her feet.
Hers is the only opinion that matters. The only one I want to hear.
Maybe I spooked her. Moved too fast. The thought makes my chest
seize, but if that’s the problem, I’ll promise we’ll go slow. We can take as
long as she needs, just as long as she doesn’t push me away.
When she chokes out her agreement over the phone, she doesn’t sound
like she wants to see me. Her voice is thick with dread.
We arrange to meet in a little cove, further along the coast. It’s more
sheltered than the beach, away from prying eyes, with lanterns lining the
path to the water and a crystal clear waterfall. The light will be shit for
photos, but I don’t care.
I just need to see her.
I get there early, my camera clenched tight in my grip as I stride along
the stone path. The cove is quiet, the only sounds the distant lap of waves
and the sighing breeze. It’s a warm night, warm and muggy, and a bead of
sweat trickles down my spine.
What if she doesn’t come?
I take a few photos to distract myself, playing with the different
settings to try and capture the pink evening light. I almost miss the quiet
footsteps padding along the path behind me.
“Archer.” My heart stops. I turn slowly, the hairs raising on my skin.
She’s here. My girl. Her red hair is braided over one shoulder, and she
looks… different. Tired and gaunt.
Billie smiles at me, but it’s empty. Distant. She shifts her jacket in her
arms, and that’s when I notice the cast. It wraps around her wrist, clunky
and awkward, wound with white bandages. I let out a groan, rushing over,
my boots slamming heavy on the stone path.
“What happened?” I touch her face, her arms, her shoulders, checking
for more signs of damage. How the hell did she get hurt in the space of a
few hours?
Billie Blue steps back, away from my roaming hands. I shove them in
my pockets instead, my chest caving in.
She really doesn’t want me. Doesn’t feel what I feel.
It was all in my head.
And it must have been, because that unstoppable magnetic pull I felt
toward her earlier—it’s gone. I look at her now, and I feel nothing.
God. I’m going insane. It’s the only explanation.
“I got hit by a cyclist.” Even her voice sounds different. Surer. “It’s just
a sprain. But, um. I obviously can’t finish the shoot.”
“No.” I stare down at her cast, something screaming in the back of my
brain. There’s something off here, something I’m missing. “No, I see that.”
“Archer.” She wets her lip, a hint of that blush returning to her cheeks.
“About what happened earlier…it can’t happen again. I’m trying to start a
career.”
I nod vaguely. I don’t even try to argue. Because even though
nothing’s changed, even though it makes no sense… right now, I don’t even
want her.
Fuck. Am I so fickle? I’d been sure. I’d wanted to marry her, for fuck’s
sake. To take her home and never let her go.
Now the woman in front of me is a stranger.
 “Did…” I shake my head. “Did something happen? You seem so
different, sweetheart.”
Please say yes, I beg her privately. Please help me make sense of this.
“Nothing happened.” She sounds kind of strangled. She’s an awful liar.
“I’m just not interested, Archer. I’m sorry.”
“Alright,” I say slowly, stepping aside to let her leave. I watch her
walk away, my gut churning, but unlike when I watched her run away
earlier, there’s no urge to follow.
There’s only the rasp of my breath.
A dull ache in my chest.
And something screaming in my brain for attention.
 Coral

I haven’t cried like this since I was sixteen and our family cat died. The
sobs wrack my whole body, scouring my throat raw for hours until I finally
hiccup to a stop, exhausted. I curl deeper into my blankets, mushing my
face into the pillow, a hollow ache pulsing through my chest.
God, this day. What a disaster.
Billie and I came crashing out of our bedrooms right after our phone
calls. She was chalky white, deep shadows bruising her eyes, and I was no
better.
We confessed in stilted whispers. No details, but the vague problem.
We’d both gotten tangled up with each other’s boss.
Neither man knew our real identities.
We were screwed. Caught up in our own lies, our hearts breaking in
tandem. Well, we’re twin sisters. We do a lot of stuff together, but this was a
new one.
In the end, the solution was easy. Horribly simple. Billie set out to
meet Archer in my place, while I called Mr. Koven by video chat so he
wouldn’t see my two good arms. We did the other’s dirty work, turning
down the men so they’d never discover our lies.
My normally unruffled boss was wrecked. Torn apart by one day with
my sister. I hung up when it was done, tossing my phone on my bed spread
and bursting into tears.
Such a mess. So many hurt feelings. All because Billie and I swapped
places.
I sniffle, tugging my blanket higher over my shoulder. I can’t help but
torture myself, wondering what might have happened if I’d met Archer
properly. As myself, as Coral. The shy, curvy twin.
Would he even have noticed me? Would he have called me sweetheart
and found excuses to touch me the way he did today?
 Or was it the supermodel he wanted all along? Billie Blue, the
beautiful, confident twin.
Thoughts of Archer make my heart throb in my chest. It feels so sore,
like it’s been stewing in sea water just like my legs.
Will he be upset when she turns him down? Angry? Will he ever think
of me after this?
I bury my face in the pillow, groaning. I know down to the marrow in
my bones—I’ll think of Archer every single day.

***

The knocking starts just after midnight. A frantic pounding on our front
door, the sound echoing through the still rooms. I squint at the lit up screen
of my alarm clock, my eyes blurry from crying.
Is it Billie? I never heard her come home. I push myself upright,
swinging my legs out of bed. My limbs ache like I’m a thousand years old
as I hobble across the room, tugging my robe off the door hook.
“I’m coming!” I call, even though the knocker won’t hear me over
their racket.
What if Billie’s hurt again? The memory of getting that text, of reading
she was in the hospital, makes my blood run cold.
I don’t know what I’d do without my sister. Especially now, when I’ve
pushed the only man I’ve ever felt drawn to away.
Archer…
It can’t be him. It won’t. I refuse to get my hopes up. I knot the belt of
my robe tightly at my waist, shuffling out of my bedroom into the
shadowed apartment.
It looks different at night. The plants cast weird shadows, and
moonlight spreads over the floorboards in silver pools. The wood creaks
under my feet as I creep across the rug, wincing at the steady banging.
Whoever it is, they’re going to wake up our neighbors. I push back my
shoulders and throw open the door.
“Do you know what time it…”
I trail off, stunned. Archer stands in the doorway, gripping both sides
of the frame. His jaw is clenched tight, and his eyes are dark as they flick
over my body, checking both my wrists.
He scowls.
“I thought so. You have some explaining to do, sweetheart.”
My grip flexes on the door. I could slam it in his face. It would serve
him right, coming here in the middle of the night, banging on our door loud
enough to wake the dead. Digging up our address from god knows where.
Except…
Except there’s hurt beneath the anger in his eyes. Hurt and confusion.
Archer looks baffled.
“You’re not Billie Blue. Why did you lie to me?” he rasps.
I shrug miserably, waving a hand down myself.
“Billie hurt her arm. She couldn’t do the shoot, but she couldn’t lose
the opportunity either. So, um. She sent me.”
He nods along, impatient. His blond hair looks silver in the moonlight.
It’s out of his tie, hanging over his broad shoulders.
Shoulders that I clung to just a few hours ago. That I dug my nails into
and rocked my hips against.
“Yeah, I guessed that.” He rakes a hand through that hair. “But
afterwards. When it was the two of us. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did
you run?”
I can’t do this. I can’t have this conversation. I’ve had it so many times
before—with disappointed parents and teachers and speech therapists, all
those people who rooted for me and I let down, even though I tried my best.
So I deflect, pushing back at him.
“How did you find out?” I raise my chin, trying to mimic his
confidence. His control. “And why did you come here?”
Archer scrubs a hand over his mouth, stepping back. The way he’s
looking at me—it’s like I’m a stranger. Like he doesn’t know me at all.
My bruised heart crumples into a ball.
Time slows down as I watch him shake his head. As I watch bitterness
twist his mouth as he turns to leave.
“Wait.” I dart forward, grabbing the sleeve of his black sweater. He
stills, vibrating with tension—like a battle horse held in check by flimsy
reins. “D-don’t go. I’m sorry.”
His skin is hot through his sleeve. His arm is sculpted, deliciously
bulky, like he’s used to lifting far heavier things than cameras. I tug lamely
on the fabric.
 “I d-didn’t think you’d want me,” I whisper at his boots. “Not when
you found out who I really am. I’m not a model, Archer. I’m a maid.”
He blows out a slow breath. He turns back to face me, his big leather
boots pointing at my bare toes.
“Something didn’t seem right when I saw your sister.” His voice is
dull. Robotic. “Part of me knew it wasn’t you. So I found her on social
media, and in one of her photos, there you were.” He bites out a harsh
laugh. “The woman I’d lost my mind over.”
I tug on his sleeve again, but he stays put. Immovable. And when he
keeps talking, his words are curt.
“The two of you must have had a good laugh.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“No?”
I shake my head, tears brimming. When I risk a glance up at him, one
spills over and rolls down my cheek.
Just like that, his ice melts. Archer ducks his head, fussing over me,
cradling my face and wiping away the stray tear. He looks horrified to see
me cry, cursing himself out under his breath.
“Wait. No. Shit. Don’t be sad, sweetheart. Fuck—I keep doing this.
What the hell.”
“I’m sorry!” I wail, backing up into the apartment. Archer follows,
kicking the door shut behind him. “Y-you’re right to be mad. I would be
too.”
“Okay, well, I’m done with that now. It’s over with. So there’s no need
to cry, alright?”
I nod, even as more tears slide down my face. Archer casts around
wildly, then ushers me back to the sofa.
“Sit here. Shall I—shall I get you something? A glass of water?”
“N-no thank you.” I plop down onto the sofa cushions, my arms
wrapped around my waist. “You don’t have to stay,” I tell my knees.
Archer pauses. The apartment is quiet. His next question is so careful.
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I tear at the loose thread on the cushion. “I never want you to go
again.”
It’s too much, too honest, way too intense for someone I only just met
today. I cringe, waiting for him to mutter some excuse and leave. To get
away from my crazy.
 Instead, Archer lets out a ragged sigh. It’s the sound of pure relief. He
crouches in front of me, his big fingers so gentle as they tuck a stray piece
of hair behind my ear.
“Why don’t we circle back,” he murmurs. The moonlight sparkles in
his gray eyes. “You thought I wouldn’t want you because you’re a maid. Is
that right?”
I hiccup. “Uh-huh.”
“Bullshit,” he says immediately. “I’d want you whatever your job. I’d
want you even if you worked knee-deep in garbage all day.”
I giggle, wincing as it turns into a watery snort.
“Now, the most important question…” Archer tips onto his knees, the
thud echoing through the floorboards as he leans forward to drag his mouth
up my neck. “What’s it like, exactly—your maid costume? Paint me a
picture.”
I huff, even as I can’t keep the smile off my face.
“It’s a uniform, not a costume. It’s not like my boss makes me clean in
a skimpy little French maid outfit.”
“Good.” Archer nibbles my earlobe. “That’s one less man I have to
kill.”
I hesitate, then place my hands on his collarbone. Gingerly, like he
might explode upright at any moment. When he hums and stays put, I run
my palms over his shoulders, biting my lip. His scent is everywhere,
surrounding me, and I want to drown in it.
“Are there many on the list? Men you need to kill.”
“Hundreds. Thousands. All the men who ever looked at you and
wanted you for themselves.”
“I don’t think—”
“Believe me, sweetheart.” He licks a stripe over my pulse point. Heat
pulses through my core. “There are thousands.” He shakes his head sadly.
“They shouldn’t have to die. But life can be cruel.”
He’s funny, my photographer. Surprisingly playful given how
thunderous he’d looked this morning, striding around and barking orders at
the beach. He laughs when I tell him so, tossing back his head and exposing
the thick column of his throat.
I’ve been thinking about that throat all day, ever since I watched him
drain that water bottle.
I lunge forward and suck a bruise on it while I can.
 The room changes. The air crackles with energy, and my breathing
stutters. Archer rocks back on his heels.
“You left me aching, sweetheart.”
I nod, stealing glimpses at his lap. The hard outline of his cock juts
along the leg of his jeans. My abdomen twists, my nerve endings zapping
under my skin.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. My fingers itch to reach for him. To hold the
length of him in my palm.
“I won’t rush you, sweet girl. But I’d give anything to sink my cock
deep inside you.” My breath rushes out of me as his mouth quirks. “Would
you like that?”
Would I like that?
I squirm on the sofa cushion, hot and restless, already whimpering at
his words.
“Archer. Yes.”
 Archer

I push to my feet, a thousand urgent impulses clamoring for my attention.

I want to tug off that robe and suck on her rosy nipples.
I want to get her tiny hand wrapped around my cock.
A vision of her bare ass resting on my lap, my palm cracking down
and leaving pink hand prints drifts across my mind, but there’s no time to
make it happen.
Because she’s tugging down my zipper. Popping the button of my
jeans. And fishing out my cock all by herself. Sitting on the edge of the
sofa, her pert little nose is level with the head, and she darts out her pink
tongue, lapping at me like a cat.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Wait, wait.” She stops, blinking up at me. I push my thumb between
her lips and she sucks me in, swirling her tongue until I groan. I rub it along
her tongue, relishing the soft heat. “I still don’t know your name,
sweetheart.”
She lets go of me with a pop.
“Coral,” she says, voice husky. Her mouth quirks. “Our parents were
hippies.”
Coral. It suits her. She looked kind of like a mermaid with her wild red
hair at the beach, walking into the waves.
“Are you going to lick me, Coral?”
“Uh-huh.” She pulls my cock back to her lips, tracing them like
lipstick. “It’s my turn to make you cry.”
I open my mouth to respond but she sucks me deep inside, sinking
several inches into her sweet, warm mouth. Her hand works the base as she
suckles on the head of my cock, her head bobbing and her tongue swirling.
She may be inexperienced, but she’s a goddamn natural.
“Shit.” I bury my hands in her hair. I can’t help it; my hips twitch
forward, thrusting until I hit the back of her throat. Coral hums, the
vibrating rattling all the way through to my teeth, slurping me deeper as I
plunge my cock inside her.
“Shit,” I say again. All other words are gone. “Fuck. Sweetheart. That
mouth. That fucking mouth.”
She moans, bobbing her head eagerly, her spare hand drifting down to
squeeze her own breast through her robe.
“Yeah, that’s it. You like this, sweetheart? You like sucking down your
man?”
She hums louder, her hand dropping to her lap, nudging the robe aside
to delve between her thighs. That’s what breaks me. Catching a glimpse of
her tiny soaked panties.
There will be time for blow jobs. Years—hell, the rest of our lives, if I
have any say in it.
Right now, I need something else. I need to wedge myself deep inside
her.
“Come here.”
She pulls off just in time for me to scoop her up, turning us both and
crashing back on the sofa. Coral lands on my lap, bouncing on my thighs,
the creamy mounds of her tits swelling and falling.
I tear open her robe, snarling at what I find: the perfect body. Curvy
and sinful. I thought I must have imagined it, back on the beach. Built it up
in my own head, but here it is again.
Paradise.
Her nightgown whips over her head before she can blink. I trace a line
down the center of her chest with one callused finger, down her soft
stomach, dipping into her belly button.
“God.” I gather her breasts in each hand, squeezing them together. I
want to fuck her there too. “You’re a wet dream. A work of art.” My grip
tightens and she whimpers. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she whispers, color bright on her cheeks. Then she adds,
voice stronger: “And you’re mine, Archer Westbrook. Mine to fuck. Mine
to love.”
I never expected language like that from my shy sweetheart, nor the
jealous bite to her voice. My cock swells impossibly harder between us.
She pushes onto her knees without urging, notching me at her
entrance.
 “I haven’t done this before,” she tells me, then sinks down three inches
like she hasn’t just blown my mind.
I knew that about her.
I did.
But fuck if that doesn’t send heating surging through me. My hips
twitch up, impaling her deeper, and Coral gasps, her head rolling on her
neck.
She’s tight. Warm and wet, pulsing around me.
“How does it feel?” I grit out, fisting her hair in one hand and
squeezing her thigh with the other. “Does it hurt?”
She bites her lip, thinking about it, then shakes her head slowly.
“It doesn’t hurt. It feels tight, it’s stretching me, but… but…”
“What?” I’ll die without the end of that sentence.
“It’s so good,” she moans.
“Good.” I thrust up harder, feeding her another inch. “Because it’s the
last cock you’ll ever have. I never want you out of my fucking sight.”
“Don’t you trust me?” she murmurs dreamily. Her head lolls as she
begins to work up and down, sliding on my shaft. Her eyes are glazed,
peering up at me, her arms winding around my neck.
I tug my handful of her hair.
“Of course I trust you. But I’ll fucking die if I don’t get between your
legs every day. I need you with me. Within reach.”
She’s nodding in agreement, hiccuping and gasping, and she’s so
honest in her pleasure, so needy and wound tight, my heart clenches in my
chest.
I love her. I love her so fucking much.
“I don’t care that it’s so soon.” I pulse my hips up as I talk, and she
sinks further down on me with every bounce in my lap. “I love you. Coral.
You’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she breathes, slamming all the way down to the hilt. I’m
filling her up, stretching her pussy, her muscles quivering over every inch
of my cock. “I need you too. I feel so—so desperate for you. As soon as
you stop touching me, I want to scream.” Her eyes slam shut, and her hips
stutter. “Oh, god. Archer. It’s happening again.”
I tug on her hair, pulling her head to the side, and scrape my teeth over
her neck.
“Let it happen, sweetheart.”
 Feeling her come from the inside out—that’s what fucking miracles
are made of. The pressure starts and builds, her channel spasming, then she
clamps down on my cock like a vice. She rides me through it all,
movements frantic, head tossed back and moaning loud, and her pussy
twitches when I crack a palm against her ass.
She ends on the tiniest squeak.
I want to record it next time.
I want it for my fucking ring tone.
“God, baby.” I pump my hips up, ears ringing. “So sexy. You’re so
goddamn sexy.”
Heat floods inside her as I come, emptying into her pussy with a groan,
my forehead pressed into her shoulder. It takes forever, dredging up spurt
after spurt, and a wicked voice in my brain whispers that she might get
pregnant.
I thrust up harder, just in case. You know, to help it along. She’s still
squirming in my lap, working herself up again, and I’m right there with her.
I’ll never get enough.
Not even if I fuck her every day for the rest of our lives.
Better get started.
 Coral

Two years later

My husband likes to take photos of me.
Intimate photos.
Sometimes he wanders into the bathroom in our house on the cliffs, the
windows overlooking the beach where we first met. I’ll be stretched out in
the tub, chin deep in bubbles, and he’ll wink at me as he raises his camera.
I’ll smirk and prop my heel on the tub, showing off my bare, soapy leg.
Sometimes he finds me when I’m dressing. Hooking my bra strap into
place; tugging the scraps of my lacy panties up my thighs; the soft light of
our walk-in closet painting me gold.
He sinks down to his knees, eyes hungry behind the lens, and tells me
to seduce him. To show the camera what I’ve got.
Sometimes I’ll flick open one of the books in his office and a photo of
me will slither out. They’re everywhere in this house—inside books,
propped on shelves, beneath Archer’s pillow. Some arty, some erotic. The
most intimate, he hides away, just in case prying eyes come over for dinner.
He can’t get enough. He calls me his muse. The only woman he ever
wants to photograph.
The day after we met, he stopped photographing models. It was always
professional for him, but even so—he says his inspiration has moved
elsewhere.
Now he photographs beaches and landscapes. Bright festivals and
cultural events.
And me. Always me.
I smooth a palm over the hard swell of my belly. Soon there will be
more of us to photograph.
“What are you doing?” Archer’s warm voice slides around me,
enveloping me like honey. I pause at the kitchen counter, smiling down at
the cupcake I’m icing. His hands grip the counter on either side of my
waist.
“Working on a new design.”
He hums, trailing his lips up my neck.
There’s one more thing Archer photographs—the designs for my cake
decorating business. His gorgeous photos are half the reason it’s such a
success, though he’d never let me say that.
“All work and no play.” Archer tuts, gripping my earlobe between his
teeth and tugging gently. Heat flares in my core, an ache building in my clit.
“What are you going to d-do about it?”
These days, I only stutter around Archer when he turns me on.
So, you know. All the freaking time.
His palm smacks against my ass without warning, and I jump,
squeezing the edge of the counter. I nudge my legs apart, rocking my hips
back against his jeans, and Archer chuckles, the sound smoky in my ear.
“So eager.” He thrusts against me, his length hard against my ass.
“You’re wearing me thin, sweetheart.”
I huff out a laugh. “Poor baby.”
“I know.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “But what a way to go.”
It can’t be real. Sometimes I think that. There’s no way anyone can be
this lucky, this happy, this deep in love.
But then Archer proves me wrong every single time, squashing every
doubt before it has time to fester.
He loves me, this handsome photographer. The Norse god with the
camera. He’s mine.
And I am his.
I turn in his arms and prove it to him.
 IV

Fake Maid
 Eli

Bed rest.
Bed rest.
What am I, one thousand years old? Bed rest is for the elderly and
infirm; for feverish children who can’t lift their limbs. Not a thirty-one year
old man who climbs mountains and runs ultra-marathons to relax. Who has
taken more spills on the cliff than most people take on the stairs.
Bed rest. Please. If I weren’t so insulted, I’d find it funny.
Of course, the problem with hiring the best surgeons in the land is that
they have egos to match. And that was the devil’s bargain I struck in my
desperation to get better quickly: Doctor Price would fix my mangled hand,
but only if I followed his instructions to the letter. And when he reluctantly
agreed that ‘bed rest’ could mean ‘house rest’…
In hindsight, after three days trapped in my mansion, it was not worth
it. Better to have chanced it with any old doctor. Hell—better to have
splinted the damn thing myself.
This is a lesson. Next time I break my bones on the rock face, I’ll
remember this and choose differently.
“Mr Koven? Is there something I can fetch for you?”
One of my many housekeepers smooths her manicured hands over her
dress, her painted face betraying no hint of alarm that I’ve burst in on her in
the library. No hint, except the thrum of her pulse in her throat.
What’s her name again?
God. This is awkward. I should remember my own staff. But I’m so
rarely at home, I’d have more chance of recognizing a stranger in the street.
“No,” I tell her, voice hoarse from the way my throat has clenched
tight with frustration. Two whole weeks of being trapped at home—and I’m
going mad after only three days. “No, thank you. I came to find a book.”
Despite the natural stillness of reading, I’m a lifelong bookworm. I
always have been. So this will be my saving grace over the next weeks—a
chance to work through my rather ridiculous collection. There are first
editions and rare books in this mansion that I’ve never even cracked open,
to my great shame.
The housekeeper nods and plasters a smile over her face, then turns
and marches swiftly for the doorway. Whatever she was doing in here, I
suppose she won’t continue while I’m near.
It’s probably a manners thing. Something they learn in housekeeper
school.
So why does that make me feel so damn lonely?
My library is a cavernous room, lined with floor to ceiling shelves
crammed with book spines. A large desk worthy of a war general stands
beside sparkling glass windows, prepped with a fountain pen and sheets of
paper but—to my knowledge—never written on. I do all my own work at
the much smaller desk in my office, safely away from distractions, and
besides—the desk looks like an antique. I’d rather not scratch a piece of
history.
A ladder leans against one of the bookshelves, taunting me and my
busted hand, and a slew of squashy armchairs and reading tables are
scattered through the room. The air is thick with the smell of paper and
varnished wood. Why have I barely stepped foot in this room?
I suppose I’ve barely stepped foot in most of my rooms, always
preferring to be outside. This mansion is wasted on me.
My footsteps echo over the floorboards as I stroll to the nearest shelf. I
came here looking for a book, any book, but now that I’m here, the choice
is almost overwhelming. I pluck the nearest hardback from the shelf with
my good hand, flipping it over to read the cover.
Atomic Computing: the Implications.
Rolling my eyes, I slide it back on the shelf.
“Not a page turner?”
I jerk around at the voice. A maid stands in the doorway, a feather
duster in one hand and an amused smile curling her mouth. She’s wearing
the normal uniform—a black tunic over dark pants, but something about the
way she wears it is downright irreverent. Like she’s just strolled off a
catwalk, not come in here to clean.
When she shifts against the doorway, I notice the cast on her arm. It’s
larger than mine, and more crudely done.
I unstick my jaw.
 “I’ve read it before.”
She chuckles, running the feather duster over her tunic
absentmindedly. I watch the motion, transfixed. Her nails are clean cut but
unpainted on the handle, her hands pale and slender.
“I’m more of an eReader kind of girl.”
“And what do you read on your eReader?”
She smirks, the expression sending a bolt of heat down my spine.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Yes. God, yes. Desperately. I consider ordering her to tell me. She’s
my employee, is she not? But something tells me throwing my weight
around this girl won’t bring me answers—only her censure.
I don’t want her censure. I want her silky red hair wrapped around my
cock. I want to sink my thumb into the wet heat of her mouth, and I want
her to moan around my knuckle.
Fuck. Who is this girl? I peer at her, mind racing as I try to put a face
to the name. I glance over the resume and background check of every
member of staff in this mansion; surely I’d remember a face like hers.
I snap my fingers. “Coral! You’re Coral Walsh.” Never have I been so
pleased with my memory.
Just like that, the maid frosts over. The warm openness fades away,
and she draws herself up. Her posture stiffens, and her smile turns polite.
“That’s right, Mr. Koven.”
“Call me Eli.”
She tilts her head. “Do the other maids call you that?”
“No.” I’ve barely exchanged two words with the other maids.
“Then I’d rather not, thank you, sir.”
Her words are polite but cold, and I don’t understand. Where has the
teasing warmth of a few seconds ago gone? I frown at her, but she nods at
me, unbowed, and crosses to the desk where she drifts the duster over the
polished wood.
I clear my throat.
“What happened to your hand?”
She glances over at me, eyes quick, then looks back at her work.
“A cyclist came onto the sidewalk. And you?”
I look down at the plaster cast and snowy white bandages on my left
hand. With her in the room, I’d almost forgotten its dull ache.
“A rock climbing accident.”
 Coral hums, smile wicked. “Self inflicted, then.”
Yes. She’s back with me.
“Guilty, your honor.”
“Do you often bash yourself against rocks?” The teasing lilt to her
voice has returned, and I can’t help myself. I wander closer, eager to be near
her. As near as she’ll allow.
“At least once a day. Twice on Sundays.”
“Ah.” She nods sagely. “So it’s not for fun. You’re repenting your
sins.”
I actually consider that for all of a moment before I dismiss it as a
joke. I don’t climb to repent; I climb for the thrill. Everything I do—my
work, my hobbies, my life—comes down to seeking that electric crackle of
excitement.
That’s why I build the best tech. Drive the fastest cars. Jump out of
planes and eat the spiciest food I can order.
“It’s true. I am a sinner down to my bones.”
She bites her lip as she looks down, plump mouth curled in a faint
smile, her uninjured arm sweeping over the surface of the desk. It must be
the least dusty surface in all existence by now, but neither of us are in a
hurry to move.
A thought occurs to me, and I stiffen.
“Do you always work when you’re hurt? I know for a fact that I offer
paid sick leave.” My voice has come out too harsh, too clipped, and I know
I’ve gone wrong again when she straightens up.
“Very good of you,” Coral murmurs, turning away and wandering to
the windows. “But I’m not sick. I can clean just fine.”
“Not with both hands.” I’m not making this better, but I can’t seem to
stop myself once I settle into an argument. “If you needed to lift something,
or move a piece of furniture, you’d have to call someone away from their
own work.”
I don’t care about that. So why do I feel the need to win this? To win
everything, even as her pretty face clouds over and her eyes narrow at me
over her shoulder. She sweeps the corners of the window panes, searching
for non-existent cobwebs.
“I’ll be sure not to disturb the other staff members, sir.”
I clench my jaw, but keep going. God help me, I keep on pushing.
 “Don’t you see how that’s more selfish than calling in sick? Everyone
else will have to pick up your slack.”
Her heels smack against the floorboards as she rocks down from her
toes. And even though I’m her boss, even though I could fire her in a
second, Coral Walsh strides from the room without another word. Her
dismissal is clear, her reproach echoing in the silence, and I clench my
uninjured fist as I watch her leave.
Fuck.
I could fire her.
But I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. Not when,
by the churning in my gut, I know I’m in the wrong. And besides—if I fired
her, there would never be any hope of stumbling upon her in my library
again.
Instead, I suck in a deep breath, counting to five before gusting it out.
This was not an argument worth having. And now the first distraction
I’ve had since my fall is gone.
I rub my clenched fist over my sternum.
Well, she can run. But this is my house.
Coral Walsh can’t hide from me.
 Billie

Coral’s billionaire boss is… kind of a dick.

A hot one, but still. The guy’s wound so tight, so bursting with
frustrated energy, he’s spoiling for a fight. Any fight.
I won’t give him one.
I might want to—god, I want to take him on. The thought makes my
skin flush hot. But I won’t, not while impersonating my sister. She needs
this job. Hell, we need her to have this job, and besides, she likes it. I won’t
ruin it for her.
Not while she’s out there today, facing her worst nightmare for my
modeling career. I chew on my lip as I wander through the mansion halls,
wondering how it’s going for her. Whether Archer Westbrook will give her
a hard time.
I picture him scowling at her, making my sweet sister cry, and nerves
pinch in my chest. God, what if I’ve hurt her? What if I’ve asked too much?
“There you are.” A steel-hired woman with pursed pink lips emerges
from a doorway, taking me by the elbow and steering me down a different
corridor. “You’re down for the pool house, Coral. Can you manage with
your hand?”
Mr. Koven’s words float through my mind.
“I can manage,” I say, mouth sour.
Even if I have to hold a mop with my teeth, I will manage.
The housekeeper drifts away, bustling off to corral the other maids,
and I peer through the nearest doorways. Look up and down the corridor.
Where would a person hide a swimming pool?
“Need some help?”
His deep voice makes my heart skitter. I turn to face him, leaning in
yet another doorway, his long legs stretching on forever in his faded jeans.
His dark hair is messy, curling under his ears, and his pale gray eyes sparkle
with amusement. He doesn’t look like a billionaire, but then I suppose he’s
on sick leave.
Maybe that’s why he’s so bitter. I’m working with a busted arm while
he’s not.
“No, thank you.” I pick a direction at random, plunging down a
hallway. I don’t need to look back to know that Mr. Koven follows me, his
strides languid.
“The pool is the other way.”
Shit. My footsteps slow to a halt. I clear my throat.
“It’s a big house. I get lost sometimes.”
“Naturally.” The master of the mansion doesn’t look suspicious when
he stops at my side. If anything, he seems amused. Eager for another spat.
He offers me the crook of his arm, his muscles bulging beneath his black
long-sleeved shirt. “Allow me to escort you.”
I eye him doubtfully.
He smiles and shrugs, the picture of innocence.
“Why do I feel like I’m cuddling up to a pit viper?” I tuck my good
hand in his elbow. He tosses his head back and laughs, delighted, the rich
sound bouncing off the walls. God, this mansion is so quiet. No wonder he’s
clearly gone mad.
“What a terrible way to speak of your boss.”
I roll my eyes, not worried. The warm, teasing note is back in his
voice. It affects me more than I’d like to admit. And the hard muscles under
my fingertips, the clean, masculine scent drifting off him… I swallow.
“Lead the way, Mr. Koven.”
The mansion is a rabbit warren. I don’t know how Coral finds her way
around. I half expect a Minotaur to burst out of a drawing room, we go
through so many winding corridors. Coral’s boss peppers me with questions
as we walk, asking about my life, my hobbies, my dreams. I try my best to
answer for Coral, giving the answers that might be hers, but I can feel the
frustration mounting in the man at my side.
“Why are you lying?” he spits at last, yanking us to a stop. “You
clearly do not just sit at home and bake.”
I tear my hand away. “How the hell would you know?”
He levels me a look.
“These are not a baker’s muscles.” He squeezes my bare upper arm.
“These are not a homebody’s tan lines.” He tugs my collar an inch to the
side. The pale stripe of my bikini tie glows against my collarbone. I blink at
him, lips parted, as he runs his analytical eye over my body. He catalogues
everything: my toned muscles, the sun-kissed tint to my skin, the old
mountain biking scar on my elbow.
He lays me bare with a single glance.
I shove away from him, stumbling back, and for a split second I think I
see regret in his eyes. Then his face shutters, and he crosses his arms over
his broad chest. Those shoulders—they’re definitely the kind of shoulders
that can scale cliffs.
“I don’t tolerate liars on my staff, Coral.”
“Miss Walsh,” I hiss. His eyes darken.
“If you don’t—”
“Don’t what?” I give a harsh laugh. “Tell you about my private life?
Reread your employment contracts, Mr. Koven. You have no right to these
questions.”
Forget the stupid pool. I wheel around and stalk away, back rigid and
arms stiff at my sides.
I’ll find it my own damn self.
 Eli

I messed up. Again. Something about this maid makes me snappish and
slow. She twists me in knots, so desperate for tiny details of her that I try to
blunder my way to them by brute force.
She was right to smack me down. I would never demand details of my
other employees like that, and yet with her, if I don’t find out more about
her, I’ll go insane. Something about her heats my blood, makes the back of
my neck prickle and my chest constrict. The second her tunic whips around
the corner, I miss her.
Fuck.
Did she always affect me like this? Surely I’ve seen her before around
my home. Yet I’ve never hungered for her this way before.
She’s going entirely the wrong way to reach the pool, but something
tells me Coral is in no mood to clean.
Fine. Let her storm around the mansion. Hopefully she’ll burn off her
anger and let me near again.
I scowl down at my cast, picking at the bandages as I stroll along the
corridor to a set of French doors. This was a requirement for the architect—
I wanted constant access to the outdoors. In every room, in every direction,
the mansion has balconies, gardens, arched doorways. All for this: the salty
breeze from the ocean tugging at my hair as I stroll down the stone steps
into the grounds.
The breeze is cool, but still my face is flushed hot. Not just my face—
I’m burning all over. I have been since that first glimpse of Coral in the
library, tracing the feather duster over her stomach. Since I heard her husky
voice, laced with amusement.
I hiss out a breath, adjusting my jeans. Two weeks of ‘bed rest’ of
knowing she’s near the whole time…
I’m screwed. She’ll ruin me.
 My assistant answers on the first ring. I press the phone to my ear,
glancing back toward the mansion, but there’s no movement through the
French doors.
“David? I need everything we know about Coral Walsh. Email it over
in the next ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir. Is she a competitor?”
“What? No. She’s a maid.”
The silence is deafening. I scuff my sneaker over the patio. Then: “A
maid, sir? At your residence?”
“Obviously.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Where else would I have
seen her?”
“Right. Uh. Okay. Is she—is there a problem with her work?”
Lord save me from pointless questions. I screw my eyes shut,
breathing in a lungful of sea air.
“There’s no problem. And David?”
“Yes?”
“Is this really how you want to spend your ten minutes?”
He apologizes and hangs up quickly, but I barely hear him at all. Not
when I’ve just spotted a flash of red hair. Sure, plenty of people are
redheads, but her glossy waves are something else. She looks like a
mermaid.
I squint at the shadows moving in the next wing over. She found the
pool.
Maybe she’s had enough time to cool off. I shove my uninjured hand
in my pocket and stroll across the grounds.

***

“Hi there, I’m just—oh. It’s you.”

The mop dangles by her side, and she sweeps her hair off her forehead
with her cast. Her cheeks are pink from the pool house heat, and her
forehead is dewy.
She’s delicious.
“I missed you too, Coral.”
 “It’s Miss Walsh,” she grits out. She spins on her heel, turning her back
to me and swabbing awkwardly at the tiles. I can’t pretend that I’m an
expert in mopping—not many tech moguls are—but I stride over and pluck
the handle out of her hands.
“Hey!”
I offer it back. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to do this part yourself?”
Her mouth twitches, and I fight back a grin. If I can make her laugh,
really laugh, I’ll die happy. And when she raises her chin, fixing those
emerald green eyes on me in challenge, my cock hardens in my jeans.
“No. No, you’re right. I’d like nothing more than to watch you try to
mop, Mr. Koven.”
“Have you no faith in me? I’m wounded.”
She smirks. “None at all.”
Coral hasn’t stepped away. She’s close enough that I could reach out
and touch. I could rake my fingers through her red hair; I could run my
thumb over her plump bottom lip. She watches me wide-eyed, breath
hitching in her lungs.
Instead, I swab at the tiles, inhaling deeply through my nose, but the
pool chemicals are too strong. I can’t smell her, can’t get a hint of her
shampoo or perfume.
It’s another thing to add to the list. Another detail I desperately need.
“Why pay your staff if you’d rather do it all yourself?”
I grin at her. “For the company, I suppose.”
I’m joking of course, but I’m surprised to hear a ring of truth to my
words. I have plenty of friends, an army’s worth of employees, but since
exchanging a few words with Coral in the library, I’ve felt oddly lonely
whenever she’s out of my sight.
This is a big mansion to live in alone. It never bothered me before.
Now I don’t want her to leave.
Not even to go home at the end of her shift. I want her to finish work,
change out of her tunic, and stay with me. Laughing and teasing and
undressing me with her eyes the way she does when she thinks I’m not
looking.
Wait. Scratch that. I don’t want her to work a shift then stick around. I
don’t want her to work here at all.
I want her to live here. To eat breakfast at the kitchen bar; to slip into
this pool in a skimpy bikini.
 I want her in my bed. On my balcony. Perched on my lap in my office.
God. What is happening to me?
“Mr. Koven?”
Coral frowns at me, concerned. Apparently I’ve been staring at her in
wide-eyed horror. I clear my throat, rubbing my cast over my chest, and
swab harder at the tiles.
“Call me Eli. Do you like working here, Coral?”
Is it just me, or does she shrink inside herself when I call her that?
Does she honestly prefer being called Miss Walsh?
She nods, plucking at her tunic.
“Yes. Very much.”
“And did you… always… want to be a maid?”
Shit, what a weird question to ask. And I said it so awkwardly, she’ll
think I’m insulting her. I’m not judging her—far from it. I fully believe that
this young woman could be anything she chose. The world must offer itself
up to her.
She snorts, amused, and my shoulders relax. I swab a new section,
relishing the ache in my muscles. It’s been too long already since I moved
my body.
“I, um.” She darts a glance at me, chewing on her lip. Deciding how
much she wants to reveal.
All of it, I will her privately. I want all of it. Every thought in her head,
every secret dream, every whisper-soft inch of her skin.
“I want to be a model, actually.”
“Ah.” I laugh bitterly. “You won’t be here long.”
Her frown deepens. “What do you mean?”
I wave vaguely up and down the length of her body with my cast.
“I give it a week, max, before the whole world knows your name.”
Her cheeks flush with pleasure and she ducks her head. Not out of
shyness, but to keep her reaction to herself. She’s private, then. And when
she looks up again, that spark from earlier is back. The tension crackles in
the air between us.
Her eyes dip to my throat. Down to my chest, sliding over my broad
shoulders. Coral likes what she sees when she takes in my body. She’s
shameless in her perusal, her gaze greedy as she wets her lip.
I swell harder in my jeans, and her eyes drop there, too.
Fuck.
 “Do you enjoy torturing me, Miss Walsh?”
Her mouth twitches. “Am I torturing you? How?”
“By looking at me like something to eat.” I drop the mop handle with a
clatter, stepping close, but she doesn’t retreat an inch. She looks up at me,
pupils blown wide. “Do you want a taste, darling?” Her chest shudders
under her tunic as she sucks in a breath. “Shall I push you to your pretty
knees?”
My heart stops when she leans forward. Coral places a palm on my
chest, rocking up onto her toes to bring her face close to mine. I’m rigid
with tension, practically vibrating with the effort to hold myself back. To
keep from crushing her against my chest and claiming her.
She smirks, then runs the tip of her pert nose up the side of my throat.
There’s a flash of white, then she’s pulling my bottom lip between her teeth.
A groan shudders through me, and she lets me go and steps back.
“Maybe you should. Do you think you could handle it, Mr. Koven?”
Holy shit. I’ve never been so hard. And judging by the smug look on
her face, she knows it too. She sashays over to the fallen mop, bending at
the waist to pluck it off the tiles.
 Billie

A breath hisses between my teeth when he grips my hips, tugging my ass

back against him. Coral’s boss is hard as steel, the length of him nestled
between my ass cheeks, and triumph surges through me as I straighten and
lean back against his chest.
We’re both breathing hard, the sounds harsh in the pool house where
the only other noise is the gentle slosh of turquoise water against the pool
walls.
I shouldn’t have baited him. Shouldn’t have pushed him to this.
But I can’t pretend to be sorry.
I squirm my hips, trying to feel him better, and let my head drop back
onto his shoulder. Mr. Koven—Eli—scrapes his teeth over my bared throat,
nipping at the vulnerable skin.
A hook twists in my lower abdomen. A pulse thrums between my legs,
ticking like a time-bomb.
“Are you always such a fucking tease, Coral?”
I wilt in his arms. Hearing my sister’s name as he rocks against my ass
—yeah, that’s a downer.
“Miss Walsh,” I whisper. I don’t care if it makes me sound like some
Victorian dominatrix. I don’t want him calling me by the wrong name.
Eli pauses. My heart begins to sink, but then he winds his uninjured
hand through my hair. He grabs a fistful of my waves, tugging my head
back with just enough force to make me gasp.
Heat floods my pussy. I whimper, squeezing my thighs together.
“You haven’t answered my question. Are you always such a tease,
Miss Walsh?”
It’s ridiculous, but the fact that he’s willing to call me that warms my
insides. Makes me go all gooey. Because now I can pretend this is really
between us—Eli and Billie. Not Eli and my sister.
 “No,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. “I guess you bring out the worst in
me.”
His chuckle is dark. Smoky.
“The worst? Oh, I hope so.”
His tongue lathes me from collarbone to earlobe. It’s like he wants to
consume me, to swallow me whole, and god help me but I want that too.
Shivers race across my skin and I melt back against him, pliant and all his.
“And you? Do you always lick your maids?”
Because I need to know. Is this as special as it feels?
This time, his laugh is short and humorless.
“Hardly.” Then he brightens. “Why? Are you jealous, Miss Walsh?”
Yes. The thought of Eli doing this with another maid, even another
woman, makes me want to spit with envy. Makes me want to trash the pool
house and set fire to the grounds.
I won’t, obviously. I’m not insane. But I do rock back against him
harder.
Eli sucks in a pleased breath. “So you are jealous.”
“No.”
“You are, baby. You’re two seconds from tearing my shirt down the
middle and rubbing your scent on my skin.”
“You wish,” I grind out, though the image makes me flush hotter. He’s
right, I do want to tear his clothes. To mess up his hair and scratch his chest
so hard I draw blood. Partly to wipe that cocky smile off his face, and partly
to show everyone else he’s mine.
“Shall I tell you a secret?” He nips at my earlobe, rubbing strands of
my hair between his finger and thumb. “I’m jealous too. I want to suck
bruises all over your creamy skin just so everyone knows you’re taken.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
I scoff, but it sounds weak. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
A hand presses at my lower back, arching me away even as he pulls
my head harder back. I’m bent in the most shameless position, my ass
squirming against his cock as my spine bows and my chest thrusts at the
ceiling.
Eli saws his cock between my ass cheeks, up and down, and the size of
him makes my mouth water even through our layers of clothes.
 “Think about it, darling.” He bites my shoulder, then soothes it with a
lick. “If you want this cock, you’ll have to be mine.”
It should be ridiculous. A laughable statement. But right this second,
I’d give my left arm to feel his rock-hard length slide inside me. If he’s this
domineering, this possessive when our clothes are still on, when we haven’t
even kissed yet…
I whimper.
“Leave the mop.” Eli steps away, letting go of me suddenly, and I
stagger, my knees like jelly. “I need your services elsewhere.”
I wheel around, cheeks hot. “My services—”
“Your feather duster.” He grins, eyes twinkling. “My office. Now.”
Usually, I hate being bossed around. It’s the worst thing about fashion
shoots—grumpy men barking orders.
But when Eli does it, my pussy clenches and my clit throbs. God, what
is happening to me?
Who is this girl who whimpers and writhes against a strange man in a
pool house? Whose thoughts scatter to the wind every time he murmurs in
her ear?
I don’t know, but I want to find out. I stumble forward and follow Eli
into the grounds.

***

Cleaning should not be a sexy activity.

I know that for sure.
It’s something you do because you have to, to not be a slob, and maybe
there’s a flash of satisfaction for a job well done.
Coral likes cleaning. It’s one of the many ways we are completely
different, never mind that our faces are identical. She says she finds it
therapeutic—the methodical way you work around a room, finding a
rhythm, letting your mind drift and your muscles burn.
She likes the quiet, too, and the mansion’s views.
Me, I find the quiet here eerie. Kind of sad, like loneliness echoes
through the halls. But the views… I glance over at Eli, leaning back against
his desk as he watches me dust with dark eyes.
 Yeah. The views are pretty freaking fantastic.
His dark hair is even more rumpled since our messy clasp in the pool
house. His eyes shine beneath his lowered brows, and his firm jaw is
clenched tight. The hand with the cast rests in his lap, the fingertips still and
curled over the plaster, but his other hand grips the edge of the desk so hard
his knuckles are white. Like he’s clinging on for dear life to keep from
lunging toward me.
A long-sleeved black cotton shirt stretches over his chest and
shoulders, hiding all the ridges and planes of muscle that I felt against my
back. His gray jeans are soft and faded, clinging to his toned thighs, and
god, I want to scratch my fingernails down those jeans. I want to pop the
button open with my teeth.
“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, cocking his head as I run my
feather duster along his office bookshelves. I keep sneaking glances at him,
tiny snatches which make my body thrum. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or so
turned on you might snap.”
I choke out a laugh, rocking onto my toes to reach for the top shelf.
My tunic rises, brushing against the backs of my thighs, and I suddenly
wish I didn’t have leggings on.
“The second one.”
He growls in approval. The low, rumbling noise stiffens my nipples
under Coral’s tunic.
“Are you ready for me to fix that for you?”
I chew on my lip, thinking. Eli made it very clear—if I want his cock,
first I must agree to be his.
I can’t do that. He thinks I’m Coral. He doesn’t even know my real
name.
I shake my head, hair drifting over my shoulders, but my voice is
hollow when I speak.
“No. I can’t agree to your terms.”
“Why not?” Eli sounds ready to tear the desk apart with his bare
hands, injury be damned. “Is there…” His voice drops. “Is there someone
else?”
“No.” I glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m not a cheater. How awful
do you think I am?”
I’m pissed off, but even so, my words settle him. He sinks back against
the desk, relaxed again.
 Eli’s office is like a smaller version of the library, but with a balcony
that stretches the whole length of it. He keeps the French doors open, the
breeze rolling in off the sea, and all the papers on his desk flutter beneath
their paperweights. A few potted plants bring pops of green, their waxy
leaves waving in the breeze.
It’s a nice room. Very… him. A mix of modern and classic with the
wild edge of nature thrown in. Eli Koven is a man with teeth and claws.
“I have money,” he says mildly. “More money than a person could
spend.”
I breathe in hard through my nose and count to ten. When I spin to
face him, the feather duster gripped in one hand, I force myself to speak
evenly.
“Why do you mention that, Eli?” I hold up a palm when he starts to
talk. “Because you should think very carefully about your next words. If
you’re about to imply that I can be bought, that I’m some kind of gold
digger, then I swear I will stick this feather duster so deep up your ass it
will tickle your brain.”
He throws back his head and roars with laughter. My mouth twitches,
but I press it into a firm line and wait for his answer.
I don’t care if he’s hot. If his laugh is infectious.
If that’s what he thinks of me, I won’t spend another minute in his
presence.
“God. No.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, still chuckling. “That’s not
what I meant to imply.”
“Then what did you—”
He shrugs. “I merely wanted to show that if there are other difficulties
keeping you away, I could help you with them.”
Jeez. I see now why tech guys are stereotyped as awkward.
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
He grins, cheeks dimpling.
“Your eyes flash bright green when you’re mad.”
“You… I…” My mouth opens and shuts. I stand here like an outraged
goldfish, staring at this gorgeous, infuriating man. And when he pushes to
his feet, strolling across his office, I back up to the bookshelves until they
press against my shoulder blades.
“Running away?” His gaze rakes over me. “Tell me to stop, Miss
Walsh. Tell me to leave you alone, and I promise I’ll walk out that door.”
 I swallow hard… and say nothing. Triumph lights his eyes.
Eli comes closer and closer until his chest is inches from mine. Until I
can feel the heat of his body; until his breath stirs the flyaway strands of my
hair. He’s so close, so freaking close, that if I arched my back like earlier,
my stiff nipples would brush against him through my tunic.
“What shampoo do you use?” he asks suddenly. “What scent?” He
ducks his head and breathes me in at the base of my neck. He lifts a red
lock of my hair, pressing it to his nose and sniffing it too, then shakes his
head, annoyed. “You smell like the swimming pool. I can’t tell.”
Is he really so eager to know?
“Green apple,” I murmur.
“Green apple,” he repeats, muttering to himself. “Yes. That fits.”
I nudge his knee with mine. “You’re kind of weird.”
He steps closer, flattening me against the bookshelves. His palms skate
up the sides of my waist—cupping and squeezing on one side, and the
steady slide of his cast on the other.
“Not weird. Just infatuated.”
“Already?” I rasp. “You’ve only known me one day.”
He frowns down at me, and I could kick myself. Of course he’s known
Coral for more than a day, and I’ve blown it, screwed this up, but then he
shakes his head.
“It doesn’t matter. I knew the second I saw you.”
“Knew what?” I gasp. His thumb skates over my nipple, and I arch my
back, pressing harder into his hand.
Eli hums and sniffs the crown of my head.
“That I had to have you,” he says simply. My head is swimming from
his touch, from his words, from his manly scent—like ocean air and pine
needles. Maybe that’s why I do it: lose all my good sense. Push away from
the bookshelves, nudge him back, and drop to my knees.
“Fuck. Look at you.” Eli crowds back immediately, cradling my cheek
in his hand. “Do you want to suck my cock, darling?”
I nod, reaching up with greedy hands. My bruised fingers are clumsy
inside the cast, and I curse as I fumble with the button of his jeans.
“Let me help—”
I smack his hand away, rock forward, and tug it open with my teeth.
“Yes,” Eli hisses in approval as I draw his cock free. It’s thick and so
hard it must surely be painful, yet the skin is soft and warm under my grip. I
give an experimental tug, toes curling beneath me when he groans.
“Say please.” I smirk up at him, and he grins back, eyes feral and
dancing. This man is a loose cannon, wild and unpredictable, but I want
nothing more than to push him to the edge.
“Please,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Fuck. Coral. Suck me,
baby.”
“Miss Walsh.” I squeeze him once, hard, in warning, and he rocks into
my grip. But when I glare up at him, he nods and pets my hair.
“Miss Walsh. Suck me down, darling.”
I’m more than happy to obey.
I settle back on my heels and regard the monster in front of me. It’s
bigger than I realized back in the pool house, and it made my breath catch
then. But it’s not the length that makes my pussy clench—it’s the breadth.
When I wrap my hand around him, my fingers and thumb don’t meet.
My first lick is catlike. Teasing, just like him. I taste the salty bead of
fluid gathered at the tip, moaning and gazing up at him with wide eyes.
He curses and thrusts his hips, his cock sliding through my grip.
“So impatient,” I murmur.
Eli narrows his eyes.
That’s all the warning I get before he grips my chin and pulls it open,
pushing his cock into my mouth. A thrill shudders through me at being used
like this—having my mouth invaded for his pleasure. It’s like everything
else in the world fades away except for the heavy weight of him on my
tongue; the stretch of my lips; the slurping noises that I’d never thought I’d
make.
But I make them, and much more, moaning greedily and whimpering,
swirling my tongue over his cock as he cradles my head in place and thrusts
so deep he hits the back of my throat.
“Fuck. Yeah. Do you like that, baby?”
I moan louder, nodding and squirming on the floor. I wedge one heel
under my pussy, grinding down on it and rubbing my clit until the pressure
starts to build.
Eli stares down at me, eyes glassy, then they suddenly widen. His
expression heats, and he fucks my face harder.
“I can see what you’re doing, baby. Getting yourself off. Humping
your own foot because you’re so needy to come.”
 His words are fuel tossed on the fire, and the crackling embers in my
core burst into twenty-foot flames. I cry out, rocking harder, slurping him
deeper, and his fingers tighten on my jaw until they’re just this side of pain.
The thought of bruises—of shadowed fingerprints where anyone could
see and guess what we’ve been doing—it stops my breath. I freeze, muscles
rigid, a cry tearing from my mouth as waves of pleasure ripple from my
core. It scorches through my body, lighting my nerve ends on fire, and
when I finally slump back on my heels, my ears are ringing.
Eli draws his cock from my mouth with a pop, cursing and working
himself with his own hand, before warm stripes of his come paint my
cheeks.
I grin up at him, chest heaving and eyes wet, a flushed, sticky mess.
I’ve never felt so freaking alive.
“Good girl,” he grinds out, his deep voice like gravel, and my pussy
throbs in response. He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Good girl.”
I stay kneeling as he crosses to the desk, rummaging in the drawers
before he comes back and crouches in front of me. He wipes my face so
tenderly, his touch so gentle on my raw lips, that my heart cracks open.
Shit. I wish he really were mine.
And more than that—I want to be his. His lover. His pet. His
plaything. It’s such a cruel joke, to have him like this—to know how he
tastes, how he feels. The way his eyes twinkle when he helps me up from
the floor.
Because I can’t have him. He thinks I’m my twin sister, and if I tell
him the truth, he’ll know I’ve lied to him since the first second I saw him.
I can’t bear his rejection. For once in my life, I’ll be a coward instead.
“I’d better go.” He frowns at my hoarse words. “I, um. I have work to
do.”
“Cor—Miss Walsh.” He catches himself at the last second, but the
reminder is still there. This is my sister’s job, my sister’s boss, and I can’t
ruin it for her.
Not more than I already have.
“Goodbye, Eli.” I step around him and leave the office, my chest
caving in.
 Eli

This can’t be happening.

I can’t have found the one woman for me, the one who lights up my
soul, and watched her walk out the door on the same day. My heart thumps
sickly inside my rib cage, and I stand frozen in the center of my office.
Lost. Confused. Still so turned on from her touch that my teeth ache.
I rub a hand over my jaw. Did I… hurt her? She seemed into it too,
moaning and squirming, her cheeks flushed with arousal, but maybe I
misread the signs.
God. If I hurt her…
I’ll never forgive myself.
I was rough. I thrust deep into her mouth, until I hit the back of her
throat. I acted by instinct the whole time, the two of us slipping into our
roles like we were made for them, and I spoke crassly to her. Ground out
sweet, filthy words that made her gasp.
But what if that was all in my head? My gut sinks as I replay what we
just did—what I did to my maid.
What if she didn’t want any of it? I lurch to the side, sickness roiling in
my stomach. I need to find her—need to make sure she’s okay. Need to
apologize and do whatever it takes to make this right.
The office door bounces against the wall as I charge out into the
corridor. The mansion is quiet, the silence echoing through the halls, slanted
rectangles of sunshine spilling over the floorboards. I whip my head back
and forth so fast my neck aches, but Coral is gone.
She’s gone.
A man walks past the nearest doorway, dressed in the black tunic of
the staff uniform. I charge forward, clenching the door frame in my
uninjured hand until the wood creaks. He glances over, then jerks as he
recognizes me, straightening and clasping his hands behind his back. He’s
young, can’t be more than thirty, with dark hair and a sculpted face, and the
thought of this man working near Coral…
Jealousy tears through my chest.
I force it down. Ignore it. I’m a man, not an animal, and I won’t
mistreat another member of my staff. But still, I have to spit my question
between gritted teeth.
“Coral Walsh. Have you seen her?”
The man blinks at me, eyes darting away and back.
“Um. I’m sorry. Who?”
Forget it. I wrench myself off the door frame, charging down the
corridor like a mad man. A roaring sound fills my ears, my eyes fuzzy with
fear, and I let instinct guide me through the winding halls of my home.
Every step, every aching beat of my heart, is another time I think her name.
Coral. Coral.
Where is she?
My feet lead me down a sunlit corridor, and the scent of chlorine
lingers in the air. My footsteps quicken, suddenly sure, and when I push
through the entrance into the pool house, there she is.
My mermaid.
Sitting on a lounger, her hands upturned in her lap, staring at the
turquoise pool in a daze. She glances up when I burst in, and a frown
creases her forehead, but she doesn’t move or say anything. Like she’s in a
dream.
“Miss Walsh,” I grit out, and she jerks, eyes widening. Like she’s
finally realized I’m real. She looks around desperately for an exit, but I’m
already striding across to her. More than anything, I want to scoop her up in
my arms, to crush her against my chest and tell her she’s mine.
I won’t overstep again. I stop in front of her lounger, sinking to my
knees on the warm tiles.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
She blinks at me, confused.
“Eli? What—”
“In… In my office. I was rough with you.” I suck in a deep breath,
holding her emerald gaze. God, she’s beautiful. “Please forgive me. It will
never happen again. Whatever you need to feel safe and comfortable at
work here, tell me. I’ll put it in place.”
 Her cheeks pink from the memory of what we just did, but she shakes
her head hard, her red hair drifting over her shoulders.
“It wasn’t—you didn’t hurt me.” She bites her plump lip. “I liked it.”
Relief surges through me, sweet and cool. I sit back on my heels,
almost lightheaded with it.
“Then why did you leave?”
She shrugs, and she looks so damn miserable, I can’t resist. I reach out
and smooth my cast over her hair. Stray locks wind around my bruised
fingertips, silky and soft, and it’s the best sensation I’ve ever felt. Better
than any painkiller.
I wait, but she doesn’t offer anything more. Just leans her head into my
palm.
“If I’d known it was a one time thing…” I swallow hard at the thought.
“That’s not how I’d have wanted it to go.”
“What would you change?” she whispers, eyes fixed on the hollow of
my throat. I tip her chin up.
“I would have kissed you first.”
There’s plenty of time for her to move away. I make sure of it, still raw
from the fears which consumed me in my office. The thought of touching
this woman in any way she dislikes—every molecule of my body revolts.
So I lean in, achingly slow, the pool house silent except for the rasp of
our shared breaths. And I stop when my mouth is a hair’s breadth from hers.
“I won’t kiss you unless you ask me to.”
She huffs out a breath, lips parting, but she doesn’t ask like I expect.
Doesn’t push me away either. No—she surges forward, her mouth sealing
against mine. With her hand fisted in my shirt and her tongue licking into
my mouth, Coral Walsh kisses the last sane thoughts out of my brain.
I groan, hands sliding into her hair, crowding closer until I kneel
between her legs. She parts her thighs easily, shuffling to the edge of the
lounger until we’re sealed together tight. She’s so warm, burning bright
against every inch of my front, and I’m hard again, pressed against her core.
We cling and kiss and sway together, like addicts jonesing for each other’s
touch after just a few minutes apart.
“Baby.” I tear my mouth away, kissing along her jaw. When I suck a
bruise onto that pretty throat, she sighs into my ear. “Baby, I need you.”
She’s nodding, scrabbling at the button on my jeans, but that’s not
what I mean.
 What I mean is that if I’d known she’d only want me once, I’d have
been the one on my knees. The one tasting and teasing; the one made
vulnerable.
If this is my last chance, I’m taking it.
And I’m putting my mouth on this woman.
She sucks in a surprised breath when I hook my fingers in her
leggings, but she lifts her hips and helps me shuffle them down. She
watches my hands smooth over her thighs with glassy eyes, and her breaths
already come fast as I push her legs further apart.
“Are you…” She wets her lip, still half dazed. “Are you sure?”
My rough laugh echoes through the pool house.
“I’m sure.”
I sit back on my heels, soaking in the full view of her. The wild tangle
of her hair; her rumpled tunic hiked up around her waist; the lilac triangle
of her panties.
The damp spot on the front of the fabric.
Fuck. That damp spot.
I lunge forward and she squeaks in surprise, the sound melting into a
moan as I rub my face over the lace. I mouth at the fabric, licking her
through her panties, and Coral curses softly and winds her fingers through
my hair.
“Now who’s a tease?” she murmurs, and I smile against her covered
pussy. Turning my head, I press kisses to the sensitive insides of her thighs,
licking and nibbling around the edges of her panties but never dipping
inside. “Eli.” she tugs my hair and I laugh, the sound vibrating over her
skin.
Without warning, I slide her panties to the side and lathe my tongue up
her pussy. She’s hot and slick and perfect, swollen with want, her salty,
tangy taste the best thing I’ve ever had on my tongue. I bury my face
between her thighs like a starving man at his last meal, licking deep into her
center and drawing up to suckle on her clit.
“Eli!” Her thighs snap closed around my head, clamping me in place—
as if I’d ever try to escape. As if there is any goddamn place on the planet
I’d rather be.
“So fucking good,” I tell her, the words vibrating through her slick
folds. “So fucking delicious, baby.”
 She moans, her hips rocking against my tongue, and I growl in
approval as she pushes me harder against her core. This is us—what I
sensed instinctively in my office. We’re both rough with each other,
desperate and wild in our need to get closer, closer, closer.
I love it as much as she did.
I want to fucking drown in this girl.
When I slide my middle finger inside her, she clamps down, her
muscles rippling against me. The thought of that on my cock makes me
groan, and I pump deeper, crooking my finger and rubbing against that
secret spot.
Her thighs lock beside my ears, muscles shuddering, and the sound she
makes.
It’s part groan. Part sigh. And she says my name like a prayer.
I keep licking her through her orgasm, keep pumping my finger into
the tight clasp of her pussy. I don’t stop until she slumps on the pool
lounger, her thighs falling away from my ears. And when I sit back on my
heels, chest heaving and chin slick and shining with the evidence, I don’t
wipe it off. I’m not ready to have her gone from my skin.
“Come here,” she murmurs, tugging me forward by my shirt. She
wipes my face with the hem of her tunic, her hands gentle against my jaw.
The rough scrape of her cast on one side, and her warm skin on the other—I
close my eyes and draw in a shuddering breath.
“It’s my turn to apologize.”
I blink my eyes open. Coral’s smile is rueful.
“What for?”
She shrugs, feigning casualness. “For grabbing you like that. Rubbing
—rubbing myself on you.” Her cheeks flush darker. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” I grit out. “Don’t say that. I fucking loved it, baby. I want you
to use me like that every day for the rest of our lives.”
A light dies behind her eyes at my words. And I know it’s intense,
wanting her so badly after just one day, but surely I can’t be alone in this?
At every moment, we’ve been matched in passion. Equally desperate for
each other, orbiting each other like planets, and fuck, how have I misread
this again?
“Coral…” She slumps further, and dread slides through my stomach.
“Tell me you feel the same way.”
“I’m sorry.”
 My breath saws in and out of my lungs. Her hands drop away from my
shirt.
“It was…” She pauses. Steels herself. Then caves in my chest with
only a few words. “It was just a bit of fun.”
My ears ring as I sit back. As I push to my feet, staring down at her on
the lounger like I’ve never seen her before.
A bit of fun.
“Fine,” I rasp. Harsh words line up on my tongue, but I choke them
back. “Alright.” My sneakers echo on the tile as I move back a few steps.
“I’ll… Goodbye, Coral.”
I stride out of the pool house before I can say anything else. Before I
say something I regret, or push her too hard. It’s her decision, and I’ll
respect it, but fuck—my heart throbs so hard I miss a breath.
I misread the situation. We want different things.
That’s fine.
That’s normal.
I’ve never even cared before.
So why do I feel like a part of me just died?
 Billie

Whoever said love hurts hit the nail on the freaking head. When Eli
strides out of the pool house, my chest cracks open down the middle. I’m
surprised I don’t bleed out into a puddle on the floor.
Why him?
Why did it have to be Coral’s boss? Why did I have to meet him while
pretending to be my twin?
A cruel slideshow plays before my eyes: how things could have gone.
How we might have met on any other day. There would have been no need
for this pain, for all this rejection and crushed hope. I would have leaped
into his arms and never let go.
I curl up in a ball, like if I crush my knees to my chest and wrap my
arms tight, I can hold all the heartbreak inside. Sobs wrack my frame, and
when the pool house door pushes open, I barely have the energy to lift my
head.
“Coral!” It’s the housekeeper from earlier. She hustles over to me, eyes
wide with alarm. “Goodness, dear. Are you ill?”
“Yes,” I sniff. Better to say that than to admit what I’ve really been
doing. I’ve already caused such a mess for my sister—I won’t add any more
to that. “I have a terrible headache.”
“Well go home!” The housekeeper helps me up and ushers me to the
doorway. “Go home and rest, dear. We’ll manage for the rest of your shift.”
I barely cleaned for the beginning of it either, and right now I feel two
inches tall. All I’ve done today is wreak havoc—I’ve messed around on the
job, hooked up with the boss, and poor Coral will have to deal with the
wreckage.
God. She’ll hate me. Hot tears slide down my cheeks.
I’ll make it up to her. I’ll make things right. And first—I duck into the
library on my way through the halls. I cross to the desk, digging through the
drawers until I find a notepad and pen. Something meant for writing, not
display, like the fancy fountain pen and sheaf of paper.
My note is short. A peace offering. No real explanation, but I hope it
will make my sister’s life easier.

Eli,

I’m so sorry about today. I wish more than anything that I could explain,
but I can’t. It’s not only my secret to tell.

Please know that what happened between us meant a lot to me. And though
it can never happen again, I won’t forget it either.

Miss Walsh

I fold it up and address it to him, then ask a passing staff member to take it
to the boss. I watch the man hurry away down the hall, my note gripped in
his hand, then turn and make my way to the front door.
My wrist aches inside my cast, and the sun blinds me when I step onto
the driveway. I walk quickly, my legs still wobbly from the way Eli made
me come, arousal still clenched tight in my core.
Better. I’ll do better. I’ll make it up to Coral, and I’ll never be so
thoughtless again.
And hopefully, if I’m lucky, one day I’ll think of Eli without wanting
to cry.

***

When Coral comes through our apartment door, she looks how I feel. Sad
and tired, her eyes red from crying, like we’re two teddy bears with the
stuffing knocked out of us.
We sit together quietly. Share the comfort that only sisters can bring,
with soft breaths and closed eyes and murmured questions, our heads tipped
back against the sofa. Evening sunshine slants through the windows,
painting the apartment gold, and the potted plants wave in the gentle breeze.
 And when we finally push up to cook dinner, to move on with this
terrible day, at least we’re doing it together.
Coral and I are a team. Always. No matter how hard things get.
Then the calls come.
We’re clearing up dishes, bellies full of pasta, when Coral’s phone
starts to vibrate on the counter. We both ignore it, the kitchen filled with the
gentle slosh of Coral’s arms in the sink.
The phone stops. There’s a beat of silence. Then it starts to buzz again.
Cold dread slides down my spine.
I snatch the phone up before Coral can see the screen, my sister gaping
at my crazy behavior. But then my phone starts to buzz too, and she sprints
for it faster than I’ve ever seen her move.
Crap.
Okay.
Okay.
Apparently we’ve both had… unusual days. And when it all comes
out, with Coral knocking on my bedroom door, her face pale and my phone
clutched in her hand, I choke back a manic laugh.
We’ve both fallen for each other’s boss. Gotten mixed up with men
who don’t even know our real names. Maybe it’s selfish, but a tiny part of
me is glad that we’re going through this together. That we’ve both made
mistakes.
We agree: I’ll go and meet Archer Westbrook in Coral’s place and
break their fling off. And Coral will call Eli and turn him down for me.
Neither of us can face it otherwise. And we can’t tell these men about
our lie. Not when they’ve already burrowed into our hearts.
It’s a relief to have a plan, but I’m not proud as I grab my jacket and
head out the door.
Poor Eli. He deserves so much more.
 Eli

Coral Walsh is a liar.

At least, this one is. There seem to be two. At first, I think I must
remember it wrong. She tucks her hair behind her ear with her left hand,
and I frown at the screen of our video call. The imposter keeps talking, that
familiar face solemn but her voice softer than before. She trips over some
words, her cheeks flushing at her stutter.
Her left hand. She used her left. The hand that wore a cast.
Something’s not right.
A memory tickles the back of my brain. A red-headed maid with a
stutter, quietly cleaning my office while I worked at the desk.
It’s her. This is Coral Walsh. A woman I’ve seen many times before in
my life, but who I’ve never spared a second thought for.
So who the hell did I lose my mind over? Who took my breath away
the second I saw her?
Coral’s still talking, gravely informing me that what happened between
us was a mistake. Except I’ve never touched this woman. Does she think
I’m a complete fool? Does she think I can’t see the different way she holds
herself, hear the different cadence to her voice?
“Miss Walsh,” I interrupt. She blinks at me. “I expect you at work
tomorrow morning.”
I hang up without another word, tossing my phone onto my desk. I’m
tired of all the lies. My hand aches inside my cast, a physical manifestation
of my dark mood, and I tip back in my chair and drum my fingers on the
wood.
A twin sister. Obviously. One who lives in the area—perhaps even
with Coral. I pull up the email my assistant sent earlier with Coral Walsh’s
details. I scroll down to the address and stare at it with dry eyes.
Just a conversation. That’s all I want. An explanation from the girl
who turned me inside out. Then I’ll leave her alone.
 I check Coral’s listed emergency contact, mouth twisting at the name
written there, then push back my chair and stride out of the office.

***

I sit in the idling limousine, staring up at the apartment block. It’s modest
but charming, with plain features but plants, string lights, and colorful
blinds in most of the windows. The people who live here may not be
wealthy, but the stairs are swept clean and the squares of warm light in the
windows make my chest ache with longing.
This apartment block puts my empty mansion to shame. I clench my
jaw, staring up at the windows.
I’ll go and knock in a moment. I’m gathering my thoughts; trying to
swallow back the anger of being lied to so that I don’t scare her away.
Billie Blue Walsh.
The little liar who stole my heart.
“Sir?” the driver calls. “Shall I park up?”
I gust out a sigh. “No. Wait here.” I won’t be long. Billie made herself
clear earlier: she wants nothing more to do with me. I just need to
understand what the hell happened today, then I’ll give her all the space she
wants.
Even if it hollows me out. Even though I miss her so badly I can’t
breathe properly.
Warm evening air washes over me as I throw the door open, stepping
out onto the sidewalk. I scowl up at the apartments, slamming the door shut
behind me, and I’ve barely taken three steps when a voice freezes me in
place.
“Eli?”
She’s here. With a cast on her left wrist and a frown on her pretty face.
Billie.
She hovers on the sidewalk, her face pinched and pale. A light jacket
covers her shoulders, but she still wraps her arms around her waist,
squeezing like she needs the hug.
“Billie,” I rasp, and she sucks in a sharp breath, stumbling back half a
step.
 “You—you know?”
“Yeah.” The confirmation hits me square in the gut. “I know. I know
that you came to work for your sister.” I prowl closer. “I know that you lied
to me all day. And then you made her do your dirty work and turn me down
so you didn’t have to.”
I spit the last few words, I’m so fucking mad, and she flinches, gaze
dropping to the ground. She looks so defeated, so sad, and I want to wrap
her in my arms and rock her gently.
I push that urge away. She doesn’t want that from me. So I’ll get my
answers and go.
“Why? Why did you lie to me, Billie? At first, I get it—you didn’t
want to get your sister in trouble. But after we kissed? After—after
everything else? Why?”
“Because I’m a coward.” Despite her words, her voice rings out loud
and clear. She scrubs at her cheeks and I realize they’re wet with her tears.
Fuck. My hand twitches towards her, but I yank it back. Cross my arms
over my chest so I won’t touch where I’m not wanted. The breeze tugs on
her red hair, strands floating out of a long braid, and it looks darker in the
evening light.
“You’re not a coward,” I scoff. “You waltzed into my mansion like you
owned it.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because I didn’t care then what you thought of me!” She throws her
hands up, face etched with misery as she rants on. “Then when we—after
everything that happened, I knew I should tell you who I really was. But the
thought of your rejection, of-of seeing the exact face you’re pulling now—”
She breaks off, glaring at the sidewalk. Her throat bobs as she
swallows. And when she speaks again, her voice is calmer. Measured.
“I’m sorry, Eli. You’re right to be angry. This whole day I’ve made
nothing but bad decisions.” She sighs and looks up again, raising her hands.
“Please don’t hold this against Coral. It was all my idea. All of it.”
My pulse thumps in my ears. I’m too busy fixating on what she said a
moment ago to reply.
My rejection. She couldn’t face my rejection.
“Billie,” I say slowly. “Get in the car.”
“But—”
 I yank the door open. “In.”
She scowls and stomps past me, ducking inside, but she can’t hide the
spots of color on her cheeks. Billie likes to be bossed around.
I remember. I remember it all.
“Take us home,” I tell the driver, Billie darting a glance at me at those
words. I ignore her and press the button to raise the partition. I wait until the
divider is completely up and we’ve pulled away from the sidewalk before I
turn to her.
She stares back at me, wide-eyed.
I frown. “Put your seat belt on.” I never want to see a cast on her
again.
Billie huffs but obeys. I reach over and wind an escaped lock of red
hair around my finger. She watches, spellbound, her chest shuddering with
each breath as I stroke the pad of my thumb over the glossy strands.
“You still want me,” she whispers, almost to herself.
“Always.”
“Even though I lied to you?”
I smirk, but there’s an edge to my words. “Don’t do it again.”
She shakes her head before I’ve finished talking.
“I won’t. I swear. God, Eli…”
“Yes, Miss Walsh?”
She snorts and tips her head back, grinning up at the ceiling.
“You don’t have to call me that anymore.”
“Maybe I’ve got a taste for it.”
“I just didn’t want you saying another girl’s name. Ever again. Isn’t
that crazy?”
It is, but I love it. I want Billie to be jealous over me. I want her
snapping her teeth and staking out her territory. I’ll never give her a reason
to doubt me, but damn, it’s fucking hot to see the angry flash in her green
eyes.
“Insane.” I unclip my own seat belt, ignoring her grumbles, and slide
closer, pushing her thighs wide. I’ve barely skimmed my fingertips over the
seam of her shorts when the engine cuts out.
We’re home.
“Come on,” I tell her, voice gruff, and push the car door open. “Pool
house. Now.”
 Billie

“W hy here?” I trip over the threshold to the pool house, the humid air
kissing my cheeks. I can feel Eli prowling behind me, hot and strong and
determined at my back, and it sends shivers skating down my spine.
He flicks a switch, lighting the pool up from inside and casting a
gentle glow through the room.
“Unfinished business,” he mutters, and tugs my jacket off my
shoulders. He’s pushy but patient, working the sleeve over my cast with
infinite care. And once my jacket is tossed over a lounger, he pulls my top
off next, his hungry gaze roving over my bare skin.
“Catch up.” I bat at his shoulder, and he tugs his shirt off, grinning.
He’s sculpted and strong, covered in the kind of muscles that only come
from real hard work out in the world and not from a gym. Pale scars cover
his skin, and both fresh and old bruises.
I twist and show him the scrape on my lower back from surfing last
week.
“Snap. This is from wiping out near the rocks.”
He frowns, concerned, fingers ghosting over the marks, but he doesn’t
demand that I never surf again. No; he crowds closer, nibbling over my
collarbone.
“Take me with you next time.”
“Okay,” I gasp. His mouth is scorching hot, his hands roaming over
my bare skin, and the scrape of his teeth make me jump like I’ve been
electrified. “If you take me climbing.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating across my throat.
“We’ll have to get rid of these damn casts first.”
I don’t care. It’s a future plan. With that, and the surfing, and Eli
telling the driver, take us home…
Hope swells like a bubble in my chest.
This is really happening.
 “Eli.” He drops to his knees in front of me, working my button open
and dragging my shorts down my legs. I kick off my sandals and step out of
them, tugging at his shoulder. “Eli.”
“Hmm?”
“The windows. People might see.”
The pool house walls are basically glass, and with the light fading in
the grounds, we must be lit up in here like a TV. Anyone could glance over
from the gardens, or from a neighboring house, and see me standing here in
my bra and panties with Eli on his knees.
Goosebumps ripple over my skin, and my breasts grow heavy and
aching.
Huh. Guess I don’t mind.
Eli nips at my hip bone, sucking a bruise onto the pale skin. He catches
my eye and smirks as I unhook my bra and let it drop.
“Since when are models shy, baby?”
I bite my lip. My breasts are warm when I cup them, squeezing and
pinching my nipples.
“You’re right. We’re not.”
The knowledge that someone might see us makes my pussy throb. I
widen my legs as Eli drags my panties down.
Maybe I want people to see us. To know that he’s mine. To watch me
ride his face, my head tipped back in pleasure.
So I don’t hold back. When his fingers slide over my slick folds,
brushing at my clit, I moan and buck my hips. I moan loud enough that it
echoes around the pool house, and when Eli slings one of my legs over his
shoulders, I rub myself on his tongue. He works me until I’m wound tight
as a corkscrew, and only then does he push to his feet and unbutton his
jeans.
“You gonna take my cock, baby?” His gaze is dark. Glittering. I nod,
reaching for him with trembling hands. He laughs, the sound almost cruel,
and god, I love that too. I follow him like a dazed puppy when he strides
naked to the pool.
He doesn’t get in. He sits on the side, legs dangling into the water. And
when he pats his lap like I’m his little pet, I can’t scramble fast enough onto
his strong thighs.
“Fuck. Billie. I knew you’d be a needy little thing.”
 “Uh-huh.” I grip his cock between us. I want to tease him, rub the head
against my pussy until he’s wound tight too, but he’s done too good of a
job. If I don’t get him inside me, I’ll explode.
I notch him at my entrance and sink down, wincing at the stretch. I get
the first inch of him inside. The second. The third.
“Breathe, baby.” He rubs his uninjured palm over my back, and I melt
under his touch, sinking another inch lower. “Rock your pretty little hips.”
I do as he says, rocking back and forth, and the slick slide of him in
and out makes me whimper. Winding my arms around his neck, I press my
face against Eli’s throat and push down lower, lower, lower.
“You don’t have to take it all, baby,” he grits out.
I hiss out a breath. “Yes I do.” But it’s such a stretch, such a full
feeling, and it’s like he’s everywhere. I’m glad my face is hidden. I bet my
eyes are practically crossed.
The sudden crack of his palm against my ass makes me jerk, and heat
floods my pussy. I moan and sink down easily, taking the final inch.
“I knew it.” I can hear his grin above me. “I fucking knew you’d like
that, sweet girl.”
I’m not sweet, not really, and I set out to show him, rolling my hips
and feeling every inch of his cock inside me. He’s touching me everywhere,
the ridges of him thick against my walls, and I moan as I roll my hips
harder.
God. This is it. This is what all the fuss was about. My ass slams down
against Eli’s thighs as I bounce on his cock. I catch a glimpse of our
reflections in the dark glass over his shoulder, and I look freaking wild.
Flushed cheeks; hair falling out of my braid. Desperate and frantic, working
myself on his lap. The sight makes my pussy clench and Eli moans,
spanking my ass again, then grabs my hips and thrusts up into me.
I love it. Every bruising grip of his fingers, every crack of his palm
against my ass. He’s rough with me and treasures me all in the same go, and
it makes me warm; loose-limbed and pliant. I tip my head back, gasping as
he kisses down my throat before latching his hot mouth onto my nipple.
Something tugs in my pussy, a direct line from my breast, and I clamp
down on his length, working my hips so fast they almost blur.
“Eli. Eli.”
“Do it. Come for me, baby.”
 I fall apart with a wrenching cry. I’ve never come like this before—
like my insides are rearranging. Like my body is turning inside out. It goes
on and on, my cry trailing off until I’m breathing through gritted teeth, and
still I’m coming.
“Fuck!” Eli bites down on my shoulder, cock swelling even bigger, hot
liquid spilling inside me. A huge ripple spreads through my core, seizing
my muscles, then finally I slump in his arms, sticky and sated.
Our breaths are loud. Ragged. They bounce off the pool house walls. I
shake my head against Eli’s throat and he chuckles.
“I’m done. Dead. Bury me in the garden.”
His hand strokes down my hair.
“If you think I’m ever letting you go again, you’re out of your mind.
You live here now, alright? You sleep in my bed. You eat my food. You take
my cock. Billie Blue Walsh, you are mine.”
My arms wind tighter around his neck. Maybe it’s crazy, but the thing
is, I know it’s my choice. Eli would never actually force me to do
something I didn’t want to do. And do I want to be his?
Hell yes. More than anything.
“I’m going to need a map,” I mumble. “This house is freaking huge.”
His laugh bounces off the walls. I burrow closer in his arms.
I’m his.
And he’s mine.
 Eli

Five years later

A summer breeze whistles through the mansion hallways. The doorways are
propped open, pale window drapes fluttering in the wind, the scent of
jasmine carried in from the gardens. Stilted piano scales echo in one room.
Whoops of childish laughter sound in another.
My mansion is not cold or quiet anymore. My wife and I have been
busy. Two twin brothers and a little girl’s worth of busy.
I find Billie in the library, holding our one-year-old daughter up to
gawp at the shelves. She waves a sticky, pudgy hand at the priceless leather
spines, and I wince and muffle a laugh.
“You might be jumping the gun.”
Billie grins at me over her shoulder. Her red hair is braided to the side
again—one of my favorite sights since that first night all those years ago in
the pool house. It’s like a challenge, a red flag waved at a bull: how wild
can you make my hair this time?
“Her father is a genius. Her older brothers are at the top of their classes
too.”
“Top in finger painting and spelling?”
“Yes.” She sticks out her tongue, and the baby copies her. “So there.”
“Must be twin magic.” Billie hums as I step up to her back, dipping
my head to kiss her neck. She tilts her head in welcome, and I lose myself
in her scent. Green apple shampoo and sunshine.
A sticky hand lands on my cheek.
“Well, now.” I scoop the baby out of her arms and bounce her against
my chest. Baby Coral squeals, her pudgy arms waving. “Here’s yet another
female feeling jealous over me.”
Billie snorts. “She can have you.”
“Really?”
 “Uh-huh.”
I frown down at the baby. “That’s not very nice, is it, Coral?”
“I’ll show you nice,” Billie breathes in my ear, her chest pressed
against my back and her palm sliding over my stomach. She flicks my belt
buckle. “Why don’t you find the nanny? Then meet me in the gardens.”
“Where?” I’m already striding to the doorway. My skin is flushed hot
under my shirt, and I’m half hard in my jeans.
I never stop craving my wife. Not for a single day. Not for a goddamn
hour. When she travels for fashion shoots, I go out of my mind. I always
snap, flying to meet her after a couple of days.
Billie tuts. “If I tell you, that’s cheating.”
“And if you tease me, you’ll be punished.”
I turn in the doorway and level her a look. Billie smirks back, eyes
dancing. She knows what she’s doing. And I know what she wants.
How to give it to her.
How to make her scream.
By the time I’m done with her, the gardeners will be running for cover.
“Better get a head start. I won’t go easy on you.”
“I don’t want you to!” she calls as she runs through the French doors. I
curse under my breath, prowling through the mansion, searching for the
world’s best hidden nanny. I find her beside the piano, helping my giggling
sons with their scales, and I kiss both boys on the forehead before leaving
my children with her placid smile.
Billie. I need to find Billie.
It’s a drumbeat. A pounding chorus in my blood. I plunge out of the
nearest doors to the gardens and thunder down the stone steps.
My wife can run but she can’t hide.
She’s mine.
And I’m more than happy to remind her.
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She’s a florist. He’s the king of the underworld.

The king of the underworld loves flowers. Not everyone knows that about
him.

They know he rules the city with an iron fist; they know he suffers no fools
and rarely shows mercy. But me—I know about his flowers.

I know other things, too. I know the shade of his blue eyes. The scent of his
private office. The scrape of his teeth over my skin. But he doesn’t know
everything about me.

Like when I play, I play to win.

Read it now: https://storyoriginapp.com/giveaways/38215006-71e2-11eb-

93e0-8f9234efb1e4
 About the Author
Cassie writes outrageous, OTT insta-love with tons of sugar and spice. She
loves cookie dough, summer barbecues, and her gorgeous cat Missy.

You can connect with me on:

https://www.authorcassiemint.com
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cassie-mint
https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B08VF8BPWG

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https://www.authorcassiemint.com/newsletter
 Table of Contents
Keep in touch with Cassie!
I. SWAPPED BRIDE
Garrett
Nora
Garrett
Nora
Garrett
Nora
Garrett
Nora
Garrett
Nora
Garrett
II. STOLEN BRIDE
Lily
Reuben
Lily
Reuben
Lily
Reuben
Lily
Reuben
III. FAKE MODEL
Coral
Archer
Coral
Archer
Coral
Archer
Coral
Archer
Coral
IV. FAKE MAID
Eli
Billie
Eli
Billie
Eli
Billie
Eli
Billie
Eli
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About the Author