And yet now that I see the truth, I can’t unsee it. Like that optical illusion with the drawing of a lady or a hag. Once you finally see, the illusion is shattered.

  “Alex.” My voice is shaky. Weak. And the fact that he’s seeing me like this sends a fresh wave of anger crashing through me as I rip my arm free of his grasp. The next thing I know, my palm is making sharp contact with his cheek.

  My hand throbs from the blow, and I stumble backward, trying to get my bearings. I want to lay into him. I want to kick and scream and pound my fists on him. I want to hurt him the way he hurt me.

  But I can’t. I don’t have the power to hurt him anymore. But he can still slice me up into pieces.

  “You son-of-a-bitch,” I whisper. And then, damn me, I run.

  I have no plan, no destination. I just have to get away, away, away. But whether I’m running from my reaction to him or from the past I don’t know. All I know is I can’t process any of this right now. How he’s here. How he’s Devlin Saint. None of it. Not a single, tiny tidbit.

  I need space. Room to think. Hell, room to breathe. And so I have to move. I have to go.

  Even when I realize that my feet are bare, I keep on running, the soles of my feet stinging as I sprint down sidewalks and across the street, dodging cars that have the right-of-way, the blare of their horns getting inside my already screaming head until I don’t even know if I have thoughts. I’m just motion. Just pain. Just loss.

  Finally, exhaustion catches up with me and I collapse onto a nearby bench. I’m back at Pacific Avenue, breathing hard. Trying to calm down. To think.

  I look around, certain that a dozen people will be gaping at me, whispering about the crazy barefoot woman who totally lost her shit. But there’s no one watching me. I’m all alone.

  In Laguna Cortez, I always end up alone.

  I stand, knowing exactly what I’m going to do now. I skim the street once more, this time to get my bearings. Then I walk to the little convenience store on the corner. It has the usual—snacks and chips and ice—but since it’s only steps from the beach, it also sells beach towels, buckets, rafts, and flip-flops. It’s the latter I’ve come for. Because you can’t walk into a bar in bare feet. And even though I know that I should walk back up the hill to Brandy’s I’m not going to. Because should won’t do shit for me. Instead, I’m going after what I need.

  I use my cash for a cheap black pair. It’s not the most amazing fashion statement, but neither am I at the moment. I’d only planned on a coffee, so I’m super casual in my favorite jeans and a plain white T-shirt. But it’s a V-neck, and it’s just a little snug. I consider that a plus.

  I head back to the Cask & Barrel, then hit the ladies’ room first thing. I unhook my bra from the back, wiggle it out through the sleeves, then toss it in the trash. It’s the cheap kind that shows up in the sales bins at Walmart, so I don’t mind the sacrifice.

  I stand sideways, check my profile in the mirror, and give myself a mental thumbs-up. Now that my girls aren’t squashed, I’m filling out the tee rather nicely. Even better, my nipples are hard and visible against the cotton, which is what I’m really going for. Because I’m not here to flirt and play games over four rounds of drinks.

  One bourbon max to loosen me up, and then I want what I want. I don’t know a thing about catching ants with honey, but over the years, I’ve learned very well how to quickly catch a man. Especially if all I want is a man to use for the night. Or even for an hour. Or fifteen quick minutes.

  To be honest, I don’t even need the bourbon tonight. I’m buzzing already. And it’s all because of Alex. Devlin. Whoever the fuck he is.

  I don’t understand any of this. Why he’s someone else. Why he walked away without a word to me. How any of this happened. It’s crazy, and my head is pounding from the sheer magnitude of this revelation.

  He thinks he can just waltz back into my life and send me reeling? That he can play games? That he can spy on me?

  That he can pop up in the night like a spook in a horror movie and send my emotions reeling?

  No. No way.

  This is the guy who whispered that he loved me. That he would take care of me. Who kissed me so gently. Who made me believe for one night that my world hadn’t completely shattered. But it was all a lie. Because he was the one who dealt the final blow and took every last thing from me.

  So fuck him. For that matter, forget him.

  And that’s exactly what I intend to do tonight. I’m going to fuck Alex Leto right out of my mind. I just need to find the right guy to help me with that.

  In the end, it doesn’t take long. It never does. Very few men come by themselves to a bar if they aren’t looking to get laid. They might say they’re coming to watch the game or chat with the bartender or just chill after work, but that’s never the truth, not even if they think it is.

  I take a seat by a blond lawyer-type nursing a Gin and Tonic as he keeps one eye on the TV. At least until I’m settled on the stool. Then his full attention shifts to me.

  All it takes is a friendly smile and some casual banter. Throw in a few provocative sucks on a maraschino cherry, and that’s pretty much a slam dunk. Soon enough Mr. GT pays for both our rounds, then leads me out the door and toward his car. It’s a short walk to a paid lot, but at past eleven on a Thursday, there are only a few cars still here.

  His is in the back, a black BMW tucked into a shadowy corner of the lot. Nice.

  His hand had been casually possessive on my arm, but now he removes it to reach into his pocket for his keys. The car chirps as the doors unlocks. “I don’t live far.”

  “What a coincidence. Neither do I.”

  He grins. He’s clean-shaven with broad shoulders and strong hands. I could do worse. “Come to my place. You won’t regret it. I have a view, a well-stocked bar, and nowhere I have to be in the morning.”

  “Tempting,” I say, though I’m not tempted at all. I’m not going to his place. That’s not what I want. I’m craving danger. And I want something a damn sight more visceral than me dodging pleas that we exchange numbers in the morning.

  No, what I want is something edgy. The rush from pushing the envelope. The danger of possibly getting caught.

  I tilt my head and bite my lower lip as I move toward his car, then lean casually against the trunk. “Convince me why I should?” I rub my fingertips lightly over my breast, then casually brush my nipple. “A smart woman always tries before she buys.”

  Even in the dim light, I can see his throat move as he swallows, and it’s like a drug to me. Because I’m the one calling the shots now. I’m the one in control.

  “You do seem like a very smart woman,” he says, taking a long step toward me. He puts his hands on my knees, then roughly pushes my legs apart.

  “Yes,” I gasp as he eases closer, so that my thighs press against his hips and his hand cups me through my jeans.

  “A smarter woman would have worn a skirt.”

  “A clever man will find a solution,” I counter, grabbing his tie to tug his mouth down to mine. He’s not a great kisser, but that’s okay. This isn’t about romance or even passion. But it’s raw and hot, and that’s what I crave. Something hot enough and wild enough to burn away my thoughts and regrets. Something I started, and that I’ll finish on my terms, and then walk the fuck away.

  “More,” I demand, grabbing his hand and putting it on the fly of my jeans. He doesn’t need any additional encouragement, and soon enough he has the zipper down and his fingers sliding inside, teasing my clit over the satin of my panties as his other hand frees my breast and plays with my nipple.

  I arch back, closing my eyes as he moves his mouth to my breast. I want to lose myself to the sensations he’s bringing. I want to find that sweet spot of forbidden pleasure, but, dammit, right now all I feel is touch and pressure and the wet suckling of his mouth. There’s no electricity. No fiery threads of awareness. No heat arrowing straight for my core.

  I want to be fucked. I want to be pushed into that void where sense and reason disappear and all you feel is raw, wild passion. I want it, but it’s not happening. Because it’s not anonymous pleasure I’m thinking of now. It’s Alex.

  Goddamn him to hell, now he’s even ruined this for me.

  Light arcs over us as a car enters the lot, but I just ignore it, holding Mr. GT’s head in place on my breast, because maybe this extra bit of risk will finally, finally send me spiraling up to that magical, mindless place I’m so desperate to reach.

  He pulls back, meeting my eyes, and I can see that even if I haven’t hit nirvana yet, he damn sure has. I can tell from the heat in his eyes that he’s never done anything like this before, and I’m like a goddess to him right now.

  I should feel a rush of sensual power, but I don’t, dammit, so I grab his hair and pull him to me, trying to force that connection. That explosion. I suck on his lower lip as he groans and slips his finger under my panties. I close my eyes, craving the moment when his fingers enter me, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I gasp as the guy jerks back, and I don’t even have time to wonder what the hell happened before I see Alex holding Mr. GT by the throat, their faces only inches apart. But this isn’t the Alex I knew. This man is coldly dangerous, his eyes like daggers, and simply from the way he’s standing there, he owns the entire goddamn parking lot.

  The hell he does.

  I shake myself as anger replaces confusion. “What the fuck?” I snap, as GT looks sideways at me, obviously assuming the crazy man with the death grip belongs to me. “Let him go.”

  Alex releases him with a shove and my emasculated hook-up lands ignobly on his ass. “Go.”

  That’s all he says, but it’s enough. Mr. GT stumbles to his feet then turns toward his car.

  I’m still on the trunk, my breast exposed, but he ignores me and clambers into the driver’s seat. As the engine fires, I adjust my shirt, then slide off the car and stalk toward Alex as the BMW starts moving backwards, eager to be free of the crazy people. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, then shove him hard with both hands.

  He catches my wrists and pulls me close. “What am I doing?” His voice is lower and harder and more dangerous than I remember. If I’d been courting danger, I definitely found it. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “None of your goddamn business,” I snap as Mr. GT squeals off into the night.

  I’m only inches from him, my heart pounding as he continues to hold me tight. “Let me go.”

  He doesn’t react. Not a twitch of a muscle. Not the slightest change in the diameter of his pupils. He simply stands there, his eyes hard on mine, as a firestorm of electricity crackles around us.

  Then his hand relaxes, and I jerk my wrist away. I smile, knowing perfectly well that I won this round.

  “Don’t push me, Ellie,” he says, his low-pitched voice as sharp as steel. And that’s when I realize I haven’t won a single, goddamn thing.

  I take a step back, trying to gather myself. “Push you? You’re the one who barged into my party.”

  “You were just going to fuck him? Here? In the parking lot.”

  “Technically, he was going to fuck me. But that’s the general idea, yes. Why not? He seems like a nice enough guy. And you know what I was going to do afterwards?”

  I step closer so that I’m only inches from him. So that I can practically feel the waves of fury rolling off him. “Leave,” I say. “I was going to walk away and never see the guy again. But you’re an expert at that, aren’t you?”

  “This?” There’s fire in his tone and in his eyes. “You’re comparing some guy fucking you on the trunk of his car to what we had?”

  “What we had?” My voice rises with incredulity. “We didn’t have shit.”

  “The hell we didn’t.” He reaches for me again, and though I should back away, I don’t. I let him capture both my wrists in one hand, then pull me even closer, so that my elbows are bent and my hands are fisted between my breasts and his chest. He’s so close that I can smell him, all musk and sweat and memories, and my bare arms brush lightly against his shirt as he breathes.

  “We had an illusion,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the heat rising from his proximity. “Fuck and run, right? But it doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Doesn’t it?” He bends closer, lowering his head so that his lips are by my ear. “I know you, Ellie. I know exactly what it means.”

  I swallow, grateful he can’t see my eyes. “You don’t know me at all. And considering the circumstances, I think it’s safe to say I really don’t know you.”

  He twists us around, the quick motion making me gasp as my back lands hard against the side of a car.

  “Don’t I? You really think I don’t know you? I know you want the rush. The danger. But sweetheart, you don’t have a clue about danger. That guy you picked up? There’s no risk there. None at all. But me?” His words are like a knife edge, and he’s slicing me to the bone. “Me, I could destroy you.”

  “Too late for that.” I practically spit the words. “You broke me a long time ago.”

  He pulls back, and for a moment I think I’ve won. He’s going to let me walk away, smug in my Pyrrhic victory. But then our eyes meet, and in the next moment, his mouth crushes mine as he releases his hold on my wrists.

  I have the idle thought that I should slap him again, just for show. But I don’t. Instead, I bury my fingers in his hair, pulling it free from the loose tie at the base of his neck so that it falls over my hands. I pull him closer as our mouths war with each other, tongues sparring and teeth clashing as if all either of us wants is to be consumed by the fire that now rages inside me.

  This was what I’d needed tonight. And though some voice in my head tells me to run—to escape this surreal nightmare—I stay rooted to the spot. Craving heat. A connection. Anything to burn away that raw, hungry need inside me.

  With my other hand I cup his ass even as he roughly shoves his hand into my jeans, still conveniently unzipped. I’m incredibly wet, and I break our kiss to suck in air as he thrusts three fingers inside me, and I grind against his hand, so lost in sensation that my only cogent thought is more.

  “Dangerous enough for you?” His words are low and sensual but edged with fire. “You don’t even know what danger is, Ellie. Forget getting caught. You play with me, and you really will get burned. And this skin,” he adds as his other hand caresses the swell of my breast, “is far too beautiful to scorch.”

  I whimper, trying to process his words. Telling myself that I should stop this. That this is a very bad decision, and I shouldn’t want him.

  Except I do want this, and my brain is far too lust-hazed to make any distinction between the man and the sensations he’s rousing in my body.

  And so I do the only thing I can do—I surrender. I let myself slide away into the pleasure of his lips, his touch. I want more than his fingers inside me. I want him to strip me bare and take me on the hood of the car. I want his hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming and drawing attention as he makes me come.

  I want all of that, and I hate myself for it. Because this is how I’ve both punished and rewarded myself for so many years, and it was all because of him.

  Now he’s the one holding me, touching me, and I’m melting with pleasure when I should be running. Hell, I should be slapping the shit out of him and demanding explanations. But I’m not. I’m giving in to animal instinct. Wild pleasure. And though I will surely hate myself tomorrow, right now all I want is what he’s giving.

  “That’s it,” he murmurs, and I realize that my hips are moving of their own volition. I tell myself to stop, but I only grind faster. Harder. I want him deep inside me, his fingers teasing my most sensitive spots. And oh, God, this is so messed up. So seriously, righteously fucked up.

  “Please,” I say, fumbling for his jeans.

  “No.” His voice soft. Even gentle. “This is only for you. Come for me, baby. Let yourself go.”

  I whimper, and though I know it shouldn’t, the idea that he’s doing this for me—that he’s giving me even a single moment of pleasure after all of our past—pushes me right over the edge. I gasp, then suck in air as I shatter, my body shaking and quivering as he pulls me close and I ride out the tremors that cut through me like sonic waves of bliss.

  After what seems like an eternity, the tremors fade, and I’m left in the circle of his arms, trying to decide if I should be running or rejoicing. If I should be mortified or satisfied.

  And somehow, I can’t seem to find the right answer.

  “Alex…” His name slips out of my lips, as weak as a lost child crying for help.

  He rests his finger over my lips. “Devlin,” he says in the voice of a statesman proclaiming the law. “My name is Devlin.”

  “I—”

  He cuts me off with a shake of his head. His other hand is still inside my panties, and my body trembles as he pulls free, then lifts his hand and sucks on one of the fingers that was just inside me.

  My core clenches, and I hate myself for wanting—no, needing—more.

  I bite the inside of my cheek as a reminder not to go too far down the rabbit hole. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and lift my head to meet his eyes. It’s a mistake. All I want to do is melt into him, a willing victim to the hypnotic power of those eyes.

  No. I need to stay focused, and I force myself to be steel and stone, stalwart against this man who hurt me. And no way is one good orgasm going to make up for what he did. On the contrary, I want answers, and before I’ve even fully formed the question in my mind, I blurt out, “What happened? Why the hell did you leave me?”

  His lips part, and my heart stutters in anticipation of his answer. But he says nothing. All I see are the shadows in his eyes, the pain so deeply etched on his face that despite everything I want to pull him close and kiss his forehead.

  But he only shakes his head slowly, his expression so sad my heart aches.

  For a moment, our eyes lock, and I think that maybe whatever pain and betrayal was between us has been exorcised.

  But then he takes a single step back, and I know that nothing has been repaired at all.