About a week before Thanksgiving, I met with a real estate agent, and since I wanted Rain and Izzy to live with me in whatever house I bought, I dragged them along whenever I went to see a listing.

Rain refused to comment, insisting this was all on me and her opinion didn’t matter, but I could tell just by watching her what she was thinking.

If her eyes widened, her lips quirked slightly, or she ran her hand over something slowly—like granite countertops—that meant she liked it. If her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, or her lips twisted—as they did for no bathtub in the en suite—it was a no.

And she thought we didn’t know each other well enough to move in together.

When I told my brother I was house shopping and that I hoped Rain would eventually agree to move in with me, he gave me a strange look.

“I don’t know, man. I mean, she’s hot, don’t get me wrong, but you don’t want to get mixed up with someone like that. I mean . . . c’mon, Chase. I hope you’re keeping it wrapped up, because from what I’ve heard, she’s slept with half the damn township.”

“What the fuck did you say?” If my brother was as smart as I believed him to be, he’d better watch how he rephrased that.

“All I’m saying is watch your step. There’s nothing wrong with having a good time, and after what you’ve been through, you deserve it, but—”

My ratchet hit the floor of the bay with a loud clatter as I stalked toward him.

“Whoa!” he cried, holding his hands up. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“You watch your fucking mouth.” I aimed a finger in his direction.

“Are you serious? You’re coming after me over some little piece of—”

“Don’t!” One more word and I didn’t care if he was my brother.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“I mean it, Dylan. Don’t talk about her like that. You’ll respect her, or I have nothing to say to you.”

He stared at me, his mouth working, but he had enough sense to keep it shut. He stormed into his office. After a few minutes, he returned and held out what at first looked like a spiral bound book. It turned out to be a calendar.

“Here,” he said, waving it at me. “Check out Miss February.”

My belly twisted itself into a knot, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. Given the smug look on his face, I didn’t want to find out.

“Go ahead. Take it.”

I turned the calendar over in my hands. Beautiful Bartenders of New Jersey 2012.

“February,” he repeated. “Comes right after January. However, I’m betting a lot of guys come right after checking out Miss February.”

I didn’t even know why yet, but I wanted to punch him. I flipped up the cover and turned the first page: January . . . February.

If I’d been much older than twenty-seven, chances were good I might’ve had a heart attack, although the chances of my having an aneurysm were still pretty high.

Rain’s arms were crossed above her head. She was dressed in a tight, long-sleeved red turtleneck, cropped high enough to expose the bottom half of her perfect breasts. The matching bikini bottoms were cut in a low V. Her lips and nails were blood red, and her nipples pointy enough through the stretchy fabric to cut glass. The stem of two dark red cherries was gripped between her teeth.

“We cannot tell a lie,” the caption read. “Miss February has us tongue-tied.”

Fuck.

“Does your wife know you have this?” I asked, trying to deflect some of what I was feeling.

The son of a bitch had the nerve to snort. I tore out the page and tossed the calendar on the floor.

“What do you think that’s going to do?” he laughed. “It’s last year’s calendar, Chase, and they printed thousands of them. More than half the guys in New Jersey probably still have their copies.”

“You know what? I think you’re jealous. You couldn’t get a girl like Rain, so you have to piss all over me because I can.”

“That’s what you think? You ever notice how many notches she has on her bedpost? You’re the latest in a very long line, little brother.” He took a few steps back. “And that’s not all she’s done. Your little plaything poses for magazines as well. She must be one hell of a mother. Maybe you should get her kid a copy of the latest issue so she can take it to school for show and tell. I bet no one would even be surprised.”

The blood was pounding in my head. “I think you better shut the fuck up.”

He walked toward his office, shaking his head. Before he entered, he turned back.

“Suit yourself, Chase. You say you know what you’re doing. I hope so. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. And if you were planning on bringing her for Thanksgiving, don’t. Lorraine won’t have her in our house, and I’m standing by my wife.” The door to his office slammed shut.

“We weren’t coming anyway!” I called after him.

I finished changing the tie rod on the Caravan I’d been working on, then grabbed my stuff and left, even though it was only a little past three.

Rain had gone Christmas shopping with Diane. If I hadn’t offered to pick Izzy up at her mother’s and bring her to my place, I’d park my ass at the bar on the corner and drink until I didn’t want to bash my brother’s face in. But I wouldn’t drink and drive with Izzy, not even one beer. Besides, if anyone could get my mind off Dylan’s bullshit, it was Izzy.

I also wanted a clear head when I talked with Rain later. She looked incredible in that calendar, but the thought of some hairy fuck jerking off to her picture made my skin crawl. And if there were other photos of her out there, more calendars or, god forbid, magazines . . .

The turkey club I had for lunch threatened to reappear.

I checked my phone before starting my truck and found a text.

Another reason she should live with me—all this back-and-forth was nonsense. I fired off a text telling her I’d take care of it.

The luncheonette was closed when I got there, and the parking lot was empty. The weather suited my mood, cold and miserable. Between the low pressure and my fucking brother, my head was pounding. At least I knew where Rain kept the aspirin.

I let myself in with my key. On the small kitchen table was a large bouquet of red roses. There had to be at least two dozen. I debated for less than ten seconds. It was wrong, but I opened the card anyway.

I crushed the card in the palm of my hand and pulled out my phone.

“Dorinda? I’m in Rain’s apartment. Did you put these flowers in here?”

“Yeah. She’d left by the time they came, so I just put them upstairs. Why’d you send her flowers?”

“They’re not from me.”

Several beats of silence followed.

“Oh. Crap.”

I wanted to throw the vase against the wall. “Listen, I’m going to be a little late picking Izzy up.”

“Don’t do anything foolish, Chase. Rain doesn’t even know. Just throw them out.”

“Oh, I’m going to throw them out all right.” I hung up before she could say anything else.

I grabbed the flowers and threw the arrangement on the floor of my truck, splashing water onto the carpet and the door, which pissed me off even more. The notes, and now this? This loser was lucky I wasn’t heading for his house instead of his office.

I was still pissed that Rain hadn’t told me Preston had been leaving notes on her car, having to find that out from Wally, but I understood why she wasn’t telling me. She had nothing to do with it, and I couldn’t hold what Preston was doing against her.

But I could sure as hell could hold it against him. Like maybe against his throat.

Jamison Architectural Associates was a two-story glass-and-metal building. Fancy topiaries, pruned into balls and cones lined the walkway from the parking lot to the front door. I grabbed the vase and the roses, half of which were now broken, and stormed in through the front doors.

The receptionist eyed me hesitantly. “Can I help you?”

“I want to see Preston.”

“If you have a delivery, I can take it.” Given the condition of the flowers, she must have thought I was the worst delivery man ever.

“This is personal. I need to speak with him myself.”

“Which Mr. Jamison?” she asked. “Junior or the third?”

“There’s three of them? Fucking unbelievable. The third, I guess.”

She glared at me and then punched a few numbers into her switchboard.

“Mr. Jamison, there’s a delivery man here to see you . . . No, sir. He said he needs to see you personally.”

She hung up and gave me a smug once-over. “He’ll be right down.”

Good. There would be a witness to what I was about to say.

The jackass kept me waiting a good ten minutes while I paced the lobby, carrying the beat-up roses, which didn’t improve my mood at all. A door opened on the second floor, and Preston appeared behind a glassed-in wall and then descended a flight of open stairs into the lobby.

“Hey, Chance. Am I right?” He held out his hand, greeting me genially, although casting a wary glance at the battered arrangement I held in my arm.

“Save it, Preston.” I shoved the vase into his hands, spilling what remained of the water over his slacks and shoes and sending petals spiraling onto the travertine tile. “The next time you send something to Rain or make a personal delivery to her car, I won’t return it to your office. I’ll bring it directly to your fiancée. Understood?”

“How is this any concern of yours?” he asked, his voice low enough so that the receptionist couldn’t hear him, although given the bent of her body, she was listening intently.

“It’s my fucking concern because she’s my fucking girlfriend, and I want you to stay the hell away from her.”

He reached out to grab my arm, I assume to pull me farther from the front desk, but I raised my hands and stepped back. “I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“You? Rain’s boyfriend? You’ve got to be kidding. Since when?”

He laughed, and if there hadn’t been a witness sitting right there, I would have knocked some teeth down his throat.

“Longer than you might think.”

“Oh, really? So when she slept with me last time we were together, she was cheating on you?”

My fist caught his upper lip, cutting my hand in the process. He staggered but was able to right himself before he went down. Several drops of dark red blood dripped from his mouth onto his bright white shirt.

He was smart enough not to fight back, probably for two reasons: one, I was angrier than he was and could inflict a hell of a lot more damage, and two, he didn’t want anyone asking questions. The ruckus had already attracted several bystanders, and the receptionist threatened to call the police.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Valarie,” Preston said. “I think this gentleman is leaving. But if he shows up again,” he announced as I made my way to the door, “you will call the police.”

I issued him a warning as well.

“You stay away from Rain—or next time, it won’t be you I’m coming to see.”