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His eyes roamed my face as my heart thudded in my chest. We were so close now. Even though we weren’t touching, it felt super intimate.
“So, Julie… do you want me to buy you another drink?” His eyes met mine again. “Or do you want me to take you to my hotel room? Or do you want me to fuck off?”
I struggled to find my voice. “The second thing,” I whispered.
We stared at each other.
“Or would you rather go to your room?” he offered.
Maybe he was considering the awkward who-gets-up-afterward-to-leave thing. But in my experience, it was better to get up and leave than to be left.
“Don’t worry,” I told him, “I won’t stay the night. I won’t ask for your phone number or anything. I know how a one night stand works.” I held his gaze, waiting to see if he said anything crazy like,This is not a one night stand. I must see you again.
But he didn’t say that.
He got to his feet, reminding me how tall and broad-shouldered andfucking perfecthe was as he slid his blazer back on. “Come with me.”
And I did, just like that, gripping the hand he’d offered me.
“Is your name really Hunter?” I practically panted as I followed him through the lounge. I knew this was against the rules. If he wanted to slip me a fake name, that was his prerogative.
I’d slipped him a fake name, too.
He didn’t answer me.
Maybe I should’ve known right then that this was way too good to be true.
That Hunterwasjust a fantasy. A fiction.
A lie.
But hey, I’d lied to him too.
And I did stay the night.
Because somehow, having a hot stranger drive me to orgasm over and over that night, for hours on end, became more important to me than my mom’s engagement party or any other thing on earth.
When I woke up in the morning, he was gone, and I found a note that he’d left for me on his pillow. It had a phone number written on it. And four little words that effectively ruined the best night of my life.
My name is Shane.
I knew right then that I’d been his fantasy as much as he was mine.
Unfortunately, his fantasy was sick as fuck.
ChapterOne
Jolie
Four years later…
“This whole situation is just so… vomitous.”
I stood outside the front door of my mom’s imposing white mansion feeling small. It was her fiancé’s mansion, the home of my soon-to-be-stepdad. I could hear the hum of voices in conversation, laughter, and music playing through the open windows.
As I rang the doorbell, my hand actually trembled.
“You are not going to vomit.” In sharp contrast to me, my cousin stood next to me flawlessly composed. Daniella Vola possessed more than enough confidence for one woman and I was really trying to borrow some of it today. “And why are you ringing the doorbell? You’re living here now.”
