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They had run and hadn’t looked back.

She knew that Alex had always felt entirely responsible for her. And she knew that he wanted her to always be within reach so that he could care for her the way that she needed to be cared for.

Her brother was the best of men.

But he wasn’t a friend.

Same with Adonis, really. Her obsession. Her fascination. Not her friend.

She mused on that as she wove through the tightly packed bodies to the sleek bar. It was white and glossy, with big glass bubbles suspended above it.

Fine ambience if you liked that kind of thing.

She actually thought it was a little bit tacky.

She wrinkled her nose. Twelve-year-old Esme would hate that too.

But twelve-year-old Esme didn’t know anything. She certainly hadn’t been to the most luxurious vacation spots in the world. She hadn’t even been outside of that one neighborhood. No. It wasn’t wrong of her to know more. To have more experience.

To expect more.

It wasn’t.

“Can I have an old-fashioned, please?” she asked the bartender.

She felt him before she turned around. It was him before she confirmed it. The heat that he generated was unlike anything or anyone else. And the reaction that her body had was unique to him too. She was certain that she could smell his unique cologne, his skin, as soon as he came within five feet of her, even in the crowded club.

Then he was right there, behind where she stood at the bar. And she felt pinpricks of sensation bloom from her shoulders all the way down her body. Between her legs. Oh, she knew it was him. And if it wasn’t, it was definitely the man she was going to lose her virginity to tonight no matter what he looked like, because anyone who could make her feel like this who wasn’t Adonis would immediately be her hero.

The heat moved closer.

“What the hell are you doing?” The throaty whisper in her ear was hardly the sexy advance she’d been hoping for. And it was absolutely for sure Adonis.

She turned around and nearly choked because her breasts were practically touching his chest, he was so close to her. And in the dress, there was very little between him and her breasts. The fabric was very thin and very scant. She could feel her nipples getting tight, and she was pretty sure he could see them if he bothered to look down, which he wouldn’t, because Adonis really didn’t care about her breasts.

“Getting a drink. What are you doing here?”

“Clubbing,” he said, his lips tugging upward into a terrible imitation of a smile.

God. He made her want to climb a mountain, and chew on glass, and generally misbehave. He was so beautiful. His black hair hung artfully in his eyes; his dark brows were perfectly shaped and severe. His eyes were nearly black. His cheekbones so sculpted he looked like he had been made by an artist’s hand. His jaw was the stuff of legend, his lips so beautiful a fourteen-year-old girl might write bad poetry about them. Maybe.

It was quite possible she had done that.

Why did he make her feel like this?

Because you are sex crazed.

“Clubbing. That’s strange, because I don’t recall you ever doing that before.”

“I like to have a good time,” he said, entirely flat, entirely bland.

“You very much don’t,” she said. “Quite famously, you are a man who facilitates the good times of others, yet never seem to engage in them yourself.”

“I know how to have fun, agapi.” He touched the pristine white cuff of his dress shirt and then looked at her. “But that does not answer the question of what you are doing here. Dressed like that.”

“I am dressed quite like everyone else in here.”

He looked down at his immaculately tailored suit. “I didn’t get the memo that we were all supposed to be wearing miniskirts tonight.”