"You," I told him frankly, "are beautiful."

  He gave me a quick grin—a flash of the boy he'd been—and then he was in my bed with me, kissing me again while his hands skimmed over my body, going from my neck down over my breasts and to my belly, which quivered with anticipation. I bowed up off the bed, so hot for him that I couldn't have stopped myself even if I tried, and he reared back and looked down at me.

  "Having second thoughts?" he asked, teasing.

  "Never," I gasped. "Don't stop."

  He held my eyes, that half-smile still on his face, while his fingertips crept lower... and then lower again, brushing against the front of my panties and then sliding them to the side and dipping into the wetness there.

  I gasped at the touch, as everything—our history and his blue eyes boring into my own and the fact that he'd just saved me—came crashing together in that one brush of fingertips against sensitive skin, and his grin grew wider.

  When he dipped down to kiss me again, his fingers parting me and sliding up inside of me, I did myself a favor and stopped thinking entirely. I stopped questioning whether this was a good idea and what the repercussions might be and let myself float away on the avalanche of sensations he was handing me.

  An eternity later, I came up for breath again, my body shaking with the memory of Joseph's fingers inside me, and my mouth swollen from his kisses.

  "Well, that's great for me," I murmured. "But what about you?"

  Another of his trademark grins, and then: "Oh, Sloane. Surely you don't think I'm done with you. Not yet."

  Without another word, he slipped my panties down my hips and then off entirely, and settled himself between my legs. I heard the sound of a condom wrapper and watched his face as he put it on, his expression pure focus and concentration.

  I thought again that I should stop him. I should listen to my reasonable side and remember that he was a Rossi, and I was a Brennan. His father would have me killed as soon as look at me. And my father would do the same to him.

  But he was also my best friend. Or at least he had been, once.

  I didn't know if he was still the same person he had been before. But I wanted to. I wanted him more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life, and the history we shared together, the longing I'd felt for him my entire life...

  He drew my hands above my head and threaded the fingers of one hand through my own to hold them there, then used the other to caress my cheek.

  "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?" he breathed.

  I thought my heart might actually explode at his words. When it didn't, I realized that I probably had to answer him.

  "Probably about as long as I have."

  The head of his cock nudged against me, then, and I jerked and gasped, surprised at the sudden contact. And before I could pull away—without breaking my gaze—Joseph bit his lip, balanced himself, and slid slowly inside me.

  I let out a low, keening moan as he filled me, so overcome with the weight of him and the idea that we were finally doing this, so caught up in my heart, which had grown to some superhuman size in my chest, that I couldn't stop myself.

  When he pulled out and then pushed back in, his eyes still on me, I started to orgasm, my world shattering around me until all I could feel was him and all I could see was those electric blue eyes holding my own.

  "That's my girl," he murmured. He leaned down and kissed me, his lips soft and gentle and so full of love that I wanted to cry, and began to rock back and forth above me, his movement soft but insistent as he rode out my orgasm with me, pushing me further and further with each thrust until I was crying his name again and again.

  "Joseph," I groaned, not sure if I could take any more. "God, please,"

  "Please what, sweetheart?" he asked, breathing the words into my ear.

  I had no idea. Please keep going. Please stop before I break into a million pieces.

  Please let this thing between us last longer than I'm afraid it's going to.

  I didn't say any of that. I didn't think I could have, even if I 'd wanted to. But Joseph seemed to understand exactly what I meant, because he grasped my hands harder, his nails biting into my skin, and started to move faster, his pace increasing until it was almost frantic, his breathing harsh and rapid in my ear.

  I rose up to meet him, rotating my hips and taking him again and again, the wave building once more inside me until I was right on the edge, everything in my body drawn up and ready to explode.

  "Joseph," I whispered.

  "Come for me," he growled, driving harder and faster.

  He didn't have to tell me twice. I breathed out and let myself go, and felt him shudder and groan as my body tightened around him, his own release answering mine. We gripped each other and held on as our bodies took us over the edge and into the darkness below, both of us acting as anchors for the other as we fell.

  I came back to myself with Joseph behind me and curled around me, his arm circling my waist and holding me tightly against him.

  I had no memory of getting there, but I couldn't think of a single place I'd rather be.

  "Stay the night," I murmured.

  His grip on me tightened and I felt him nuzzling into the back of my neck. "You sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  It was the last thing I remembered, that word and the feel of him around me, until I woke up the next morning to the sun shining brightly through my window. I cracked one eye open and registered that it had to be after 7 and that it was going to be a beautiful day.

  Christmas, I realized. It was Christmas.

  I turned over to wish Joseph a Merry Christmas, nearly laughing at the idea that we were together again for the holiday after all these years, but froze when I was facing the other way.

  Joseph wasn't in my bed, and when I ran a hesitant hand over his pillow, I found it cold and smooth.

  He'd been gone for some time, then.

  He'd managed to get out of bed—and then out of the house—without waking me. Without bothering to say goodbye.

  And from the looks of the closet, which was standing open, he'd taken Caleb with him.

  I closed my eyes in regret and something that felt a whole lot like a piece of my heart breaking off, and bit my lip, trying to contain the emotion and disappointment rolling through me.

  Stupid to have thought he'd stay, I told myself. Stupid to have thought this might be anything. Stupid to have forgotten what was really going on here, and who we both were.

  Stupid to have thought that one night of finally giving in to something that had been brewing between us for years could lead to anything more than this.

  I opened my eyes and sat up, staring out at the ocean. At the end of the day, I reminded myself firmly, he was a Rossi, and I was a Brennan.

  And that made us enemies.

  No matter how much our hearts thought otherwise.

  I got out of bed, found my robe, and went to make coffee, turning my head to what I was meant to be doing with my day... and the question of whether or not Brooks had made it home last night.

  EPILOGUE

  JOSEPH

  CHRISTMAS IN LA

  I slumped into the chair at my gate and let my head fall into my hands, trying to figure out where the pain inside me was coming from. My head? Yes, I had a killer headache. My back? Definitely. Getting over the wall last night and then jumping to the ground had been brutal. My stomach?

  Yes. I'd had coffee but no food, and that never sat well with me.

  My heart?

  I stilled, doing a mental check of the organ in question. It seemed to be beating normally, pumping the blood through my body the way it was supposed to. Physically, at least, it was fine.

  Emotionally?

  That was a different story.

  I allowed myself a moment to remember, then. Just a moment, because I knew it was all I could afford. The feel of Sloane's skin under my fingertips. The taste of her on my tongue. Those amazing silver eyes staring up at me as I slid into her for the first time.

  I let myself recall the feeling of being inside her, of my heart expanding so rapidly that I thought I might have a heart attack then and there. Let myself remember her moaning my name again and again as we dove into the darkness together.

  I let myself remember the feeling of falling asleep with her in my arms.

  And then I looked up and into the airport itself, the ghosts of the night flitting away like they'd never existed. My eyes jumped from person to person in the crowds, as if I was somehow expecting to see a familiar face. A head full of red curls and wide gray eyes dancing in a face that looked like it could have belonged to a child.

  The face of the girl I'd loved since I was seven years old.

  And then I took all those feelings and memories and the sense of finally being with someone I belonged to, and I put them all into a chest that I then shoved into a closet in my mind and walled up with bricks.

  I got up and headed for my gate, knowing that we were going to be boarding soon and needing the distraction.

  I wasn't going to let myself think of last night again. I wasn't going to let myself think of Sloane again. It was too dangerous. Too damaging.

  I couldn't have the girl. I never should have spent last night with her—which was why I'd risen at the break of dawn and left before she could wake up and stop me. I'd taken the guy who'd attacked her to the local cops and left him on their doorstep, preferring that to outright murder, and I hoped she'd do the right thing and testify against him when the cops called her number, courtesy of the note I'd left on him.

  I hoped she could manage to keep herself safe from him. From everyone. I hoped she got some decent security.

  But at the end of the day, she wasn't my problem, and I couldn't insert myself into her life any more than I already had. It was too risky for me. My family would kill me if they found out—and then they’d kill her, and they’d make it slow and painful. In both cases.

  After all, I was a Rossi, and she was a Brennan.

  Sloane fucking Brennan. The daughter of my father's enemy.

  And the girl who, I feared, would always have my heart.

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  A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A GIRL

  I didn’t start breathing normally until I got out of the courthouse and onto the front steps.

  Because if there was one thing I hated, it was when my boss assigned me to prosecute someone I knew in real life. Even worse when that someone was a guy I’d had a crush on when I was little and slept with during a very badly advised night three years ago in Malibu.

  A guy who’d then left without a word the next morning. Left before I even fucking woke up.

  I growled at the memory, narrowing my eyes and glaring at the street in front of me. Sure, I’d known at the time why he left. I’d known that it all boiled down to our families and the fact that our fathers were sworn enemies. And somewhere deep inside, I’d agreed with what he’d done.

  That didn’t mean I’d ever forgiven him.

  Joseph. Fucking. Rossi.

  And I’d just spent a full hour staring him down in a courtroom.

  I sank down onto the steps, put my head between my knees—hard to do while wearing a pencil skirt—and focused on breathing.

  Because… Joseph Rossi. I hadn’t seen him in a year, not since the last time I ventured to the side of town where he and his family held sway, but nothing had changed about him. The soot-dark hair full of curls that made you want to run your fingers through them. The shockingly blue eyes that could grow so warm you swore they were going to set your bones on fire.

  That mouth that always looked like it had a smile caught in the corner of it. The dimple in his left cheek that only came out when he was truly amused about something. The way he looked at you when—

  I sat up and sent that thought flying away.

  “Get. A. Grip,” I ground out. This was not the time to remember how sexy Joseph Rossi was. It wasn’t the time to think about how adventurous he’d been as a kid, or how insanely hot he was as an adult.

  I’d just tried the man for racketeering, for God’s sake. You’d have thought I’d be focusing on that rather than the things he did to my insides. Focusing on the danger of the situation, and how this was going to affect the balance of power in the shadowy underworld of New York.

  One did not just try a Rossi for racketeering and expect it to go unnoticed, even when one was a Brennan. Especially when the Rossi in question was the oldest son of the leading family, and the heir apparent to the whole damn kingdom.

  I stood up and lifted my chin, forcing my mind around to what I’d just done. Started a case that might see Joseph Rossi going to jail. That’s right: Me, little old Sloane Brennan, favorite (well, only) daughter of Ricky “Irish” Brennan, had risen so high in my career that I was being handed the best cases. The ones that meant the most—and the ones we had to fucking win.

  And I know what you’re thinking. That I was given those cases only because of who my dad was and what he could do to anyone who disrespected me. And though that might have been a part of it—hey, I was realistic, if nothing else—it certainly wasn’t the whole story.

  The whole story was that I was damn good at winning them. I never forgot a detail once I had it in my head, and I’d fucking perfected the ability to look small and innocent so people didn’t realize what I was capable of.

  It was why my boss had assigned me the case against Joseph. It was why I’d marched right into that courthouse and done every single thing I needed to do to make sure we were moving to the next step rather than stalling. We already had an indictment. And now we had a trial date.

  I remembered the smirk Joseph’s lawyer had given me when he saw that I was a woman—and a young one, at that—and smirked myself, then started strolling down the steps. The man had obviously thought he had the case wrapped up. He’d taken one look at me, seen a twenty-something girl who looked wet behind the ears, and figured he was two steps away from getting Joseph off scot-free.

  “Idiot,” I muttered, the grin growing on my face. He’d never seen me coming. If it had been Alfonso Lane, the lawyer Joseph usually used—and big brother to one of my best friends—he would have seen me there and known immediately that they were in trouble. But this guy? This fat, balding man who looked like he spent more time drinking beer than keeping up on current events?

  He hadn’t had one fucking clue.

  And that was exactly how I liked it. After all, it was a whole lot easier to stomp all over someone if they didn’t think you were capable of anything. So much easier to win case after case when people insisted on underestimating you.

  I was just congratulating myself on that when a hand latched onto my arm, closing so hard it was going to leave bruises, and jerked me around.

  I tottered on my heels, not having expected the movement, and was about to go down when another hand clasped my other arm, steadying me.

  “Careful, Red,” a deep, gravelly voice muttered. “I’m in enough trouble as it is. You fall down while standing next to me, and it’s going to get even worse.”

  My gaze, which had been on the sidewalk below us as I tried to catch my balance, turned into a scowl when I looked up at the man who’d just grabbed me. I wasn’t surprised by what I saw. Dark chocolate curls, messy and unkempt. Electric blue eyes. Full lips surrounded by a 5 o’clock shadow. At 9 in the morning.

  “You didn’t even think to shave before you appeared in court?” I snapped. “And don’t call me Red. It wasn’t okay when we were kids and it’s not okay now.” I jerked my arms out of his hold, my balance restored, and took a step back.

  He followed, maintaining the tight distance between us, and bowed down a bit, his breath hot on my cheeks. “You never used to mind when I called you that.”

  I felt my skin flush at the memory... and at the feel of him standing so close to me, the heat jumping between us like a fucking electric current. And then I pushed that heat down, somewhere into my core, and did my best to ignore it.

  “That was a long time ago, Joseph. Things have changed.”

  He snorted. “They sure have. When we were kids, you never would have dreamed of charging me with racketeering.”

  “When we were kids, you weren’t out forcing people to do your bidding no matter how much it cost them. You weren’t building shell companies so you could steal jewels with one hand and sell them with the other, while looking like you had a legitimate business. In fact, when we were kids, you were full of lofty dreams about how you weren’t going to follow in your father’s footsteps. You were going to be an artist. Or was it a musician?”

  I watched his eyes turn stormy with the memory, his face hardening. And I took another step back.

  “That was also a long time ago. Like you said, things change.”

  I nodded once. “As I said. Leave me alone, Joseph. You’re not going to get anywhere coming around and trying to flirt with me or remind me that we used to be friends. I remember. I remember everything. And it’s not going to keep me from doing my job.”

  I turned on my heel, thanking the universe for all the times my best friends and I had practiced that move when we were younger, and walked away as quickly as I could manage without falling down the steps in front of the courthouse.

  I didn’t have to look to know that Joseph was watching me as I walked away. And I didn’t have to ask to know that he was remembering the last time we’d talked, in my bedroom in LA. The last night we’d spent together.