A soft moan rises up my throat and Jagger swallows it down while his hands slide to my back, then he yanks me flush to him. I wind my hands around his neck, not pulling away, though I know I should. It’s impossible when our kiss is frenzied and hungry for the dormant fourteen years between this and our last one.

His hands run over my body like he’s on an exploratory mission, finally resting on either side of my face, when he slows the kiss down. His bulging erection presses into my stomach and our tongues slide and glide now rather than darting and pushing for control.

“I closed my eyes and imagined it was your nipple I was sucking. That’s the only way I could go through with it.”

A painful groan rumbles up from inside me and I grip the short strands of his hair harder.

“After you left, I pushed her off me and went to my room.”

I cover his hands with mine, needing to feel our connection while he relives one of my most painful memories.

“I spent the whole night second-guessing my decision. I was stupid and young. I should’ve—”

“Shh,” I say, my lips meeting his. When our tongues touch my body heats and it feels like a thick layer of burning lava pouring down my body, puddling right between my legs.

Jagger’s hands slide down to my ass, gripping the globes in his strong hands. He hoists me up and my legs wrap instinctively around his waist. His erection grinds over my clit and I let out a greedy moan.

“Shit.” He slowly lowers me to the ground. “We’re in public.”

I bite my lip, stepping away from him, wiping my mouth, scanning around for people. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.

I can’t afford to lose control where Jagger is concerned.

“We should go.” Without waiting, I dig my heels into the sand, sprinting away.

He follows behind, gripping my hand once he reaches me and taking the lead. “Come home with me.” He kisses the top of my hand and for a moment, I’m stunned. The gesture is so casual and intimate that anyone nearby would assume I was his.

I stop at the edge of the sand, right in front of the parking lot of Surfing Tacos. I need to remember—I’m not his. What am I doing besides living in some fairy tale where the guy I’ve compared all others to sweeps me off my feet again and we ride into the fucking sunset?

“One night.” He holds up a finger.

“You don’t hold up your end of agreements very well.”

He chuckles, cradling my hand to his chest. “Please, we don’t even have to sleep together or touch each other…”

“That’s a little presumptuous of you,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

He looks down at me, quirking one brow in a way that dares to me to argue that I wasn’t feeling what he was during that kiss.

“I gave you last night,” I remind him. I’ve already given in to all his requests.

He nods, I’m sure conjuring up some persuasive tactics that he’s mastered throughout his career.

We stare into each other’s eyes, the crashing of the ocean waves behind us, and I can’t help but compare us to a bad romance movie. Cue the soft music. My gaze shoots down his body and my pulse vibrates with the electric energy swimming through my body.

What would it be like to sleep with him now? As a woman who’s had other partners rather than an inexperienced teenage girl offering herself to a boy for the first time ever? I’ve learned what works for me and I bet Jagger would be more than willing to help me along. Am I actually convincing myself of this? The devil on one shoulder chimes in, reminding me that he hurt me—sleep with him and hurt him back and reap the benefit of a night of great sex. The devil wins. I’m not even going to ask the angel’s opinion.

“Okay,” I agree. “It’s probably a bad decision, but...okay.”

He swoops me off my feet, carrying me toward his car. If we were in that movie the cameras would be zeroing in on the sunset because we’re supposed to be living happily ever after instead of what we’re really doing—fucking each other out of our systems.

“People,” I whisper, noticing the beachgoers milling around starting to take notice of us.

“Yeah, they should mind their own business.” He places me back on my feet when we reach his car. I expect him to go around back and grab our shoes. Instead my back hits the metal of his car.

His lips press to mine, his strong hands weaving through the strands of my hair, and I lose all control of my body. His kissing skills have improved through the years, although I’m wondering if it’s him or the filter I’m viewing it through—that it’s Jagger Kale kissing me and maybe I still place him on that pedestal I did when I was just the mousey book nerd who gawked at him from her dad’s deck.

He reaches his hand down and opens the door to his car, then slides our bodies to the opening without his lips leaving my lips. A master at work. He pulls his lips off mine and my hands instinctively reach for him, but I drop them before I embarrass myself. “Get in the car before I strip you down right here,” he says, his muscular chest heaving for breath.

“From what I remember, you prefer me stripping myself.”

His eyes flare, dipping over my body. I step closer, a rock digging into the bottom of my foot, but I ignore it. “Tell me, Jagger, do you still like to watch?” A growl runs up his throat, escaping and hitting its mark between my legs. I squeeze my thighs firmly shut. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Get in the car, Quinn.” His voice lowers to a timbre that rattles me to my core.

I do as I’m instructed. I don’t know what will happen after tonight, but I’m taking this for myself.

He pulls out of Surfing Tacos and a minute later he turns down a street to the right, driving past a row of houses until he clicks a button on his visor and we drive through a set of iron gates and into his garage, sandwiched between two cars on my left and two others on my right.

“How do you ever choose?” I ask him, stepping out of his car, admiring the other high-end vehicles.

The Kale family is known for their money and I knew he did well as an agent, but the cars, the house on the beach. He’s really made something of himself.

He doesn’t comment, but walks around the car and slides his hand into mine. “Come on.” He pulls me, and I follow even though my nerves have flared up and I begin to question why I agreed to come.

We walk through one door and a long hallway before the ocean comes into view. His kitchen is on the left with more appliances in it than I’m sure Jagger knows what to do with. It wouldn’t surprise me if Marisol has used them more than he has. A fireplace adorns one wall and set across from it is an overstuffed leather sofa and loveseat. The drapes are open, because who wouldn’t want a view of the sun setting over the ocean as their welcome-home view?

“It’s beautiful,” I say, my eyes roaming every surface for clues as to who Jagger Kale is now. Has he changed from the overindulgent teenage boy who rarely suffered any consequences for his recklessness? I head toward the sliding doors and they open before I reach them. I look back, finding a remote in Jagger’s hand.

“Go get comfortable. I’ll grab us some wine.”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I step out onto the deck where the pool is overlooking the sandy beach with lounge chairs lined on either side. A gigantic grill is set up in the corner. He must entertain his high-end list of clients here.

“Here.” He hands me a glass of white wine, which I’ll drink, but I prefer red. But he wouldn’t know that because I was underage when we were together. We’ve missed so much of each other’s lives.

“Thanks.” I sip the wine because any amount of alcohol right now might overload my brain. “You have a great place,” I say, smiling over at him.

“Wait until you see the upstairs.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Let me guess. That’s where the magic happens?” I lean against the railing, my gaze glued to the sun casting an orange glow over the ocean.

“I’m not that cliché. I can make magic happen anywhere, it’s more of a caveman mentality. I’m taking you to my lair and never letting you go.”

I giggle, shaking my head, and his chest hits my back, his chin resting on my shoulder. Every nerve in my body feels him, aware of his proximity and every point of contact.

“Please tell me you take advantage of this view,” I say.

“Not as often as I should,” he whispers with what I think is a hint of melancholy. “I work a lot.”

I nod, already assuming that. It’s his family business, in his blood. His dad was never home when we were younger, and his mom was often gone on long trips to foreign countries with her friends—or, if my suspicions were correct, her lovers.

“What about Nolan?” I’ve seen Jagger’s brother in the pictures on Google, too. He’s the spitting image of their father.

“He’s married to a wife he never screws with three kids he barely sees.”

“Jagger!” I turn my head to look at him and he straightens up from my shoulder.

“It’s true. They’re always arguing, and he misses all my nieces’ and nephews’ shit. They’re not the poster children for monogamy and marriage, believe me.”

I spin around. The only thing separating us is my wine glass, gripped tightly in my hands. “What about you? Why is there no wife in your life?”

A smirk crosses his mouth and he stares down at me for a beat. The sun has almost set now, but I can still make out the intensity in his gaze. “She left me fourteen years ago.”

All the air leaves my lungs in a rush. He can’t possibly mean it.

I push at his stomach and snake out from under his arms. “I’m not a gullible teenage girl who’s willing to believe all the crap you threw at her.” I gulp down the rest of my wine.

“It’s the truth.” He follows me further down the railing. “But I don’t want to talk about that anymore. I’d rather convince you how perfect we are together.” His arms wrap around my waist, his face nuzzling my neck. Every breath leaving his body ghosts across my earlobe and my breathing picks up. His tongue flicks over my earlobe, then he pulls it between his teeth.

My body morphs into putty, and I collapse back into him. He takes the opportunity to grab my wine glass, placing it on a nearby table. “Let me take you to my cave.” He scoops me up again.

The carrying thing is new. Maybe because he’s so manly now. I swear his muscle mass has doubled.

I wish I didn’t like it so much.

The rest of his house goes by in a blur because I’m fixated on his five-o’clock shadow. It’s sexy as hell. My hand reaches forward of its own volition, rubbing the stubble under my fingertips. Jagger glances down, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Sorry.” I retract my hand.

“No, I like it.” There’s a rough quality to his voice and he squeezes me tighter into his body.

He walks us up the open staircase, down a hallway to the last door, pushing it open with his foot. The manly scent of cedar and musk hits my nostrils. He places me down, my feet landing on a warm hardwood floor.

My gaze slowly rises until he’s all I see. His brown eyes project his feelings as if they were spoken words. And hasn’t that always been the problem? Jagger has a way of making me feel like I could be in a room with fifty runway models and he’d only be staring at me from across the room. That’s what got me into his bed in the first place. The memory of our first time together, the way his hands explored my body like it was a treasure, the easing of hips forward at a snail’s pace so he wouldn’t hurt me, the way he placed a towel on the bed and held me the entire night after.

No one can argue that Jagger Kale knows how to handle a woman. That’s why he’s asked for one night. He knows that’s all it will take.

He’s probably acquired a million more moves since then that I don’t even know about. He’s been as slow and sweet as honey dripping from a jar. He’s buttering me up. Using those manipulation skills he’s honed over the years to convince me he’s changed. And for what?

I push down the anger and smile up at him. Two can play his game.

“Why don’t you sit down?” I point to the chair in the corner, biting my lip and seductively eyeing his body.

He turns back. “I want my hands on you.” He inches forward.

“There’s time for that.” I nod at the chair again. “You don’t want me to dance for you?”

His eyes widen, flaring with lust.

Gotcha.

“All right.” He doesn’t strip any of his clothes off because we both know this is what he likes. Being in control. Being the last one to undress. When he’s sitting comfortably in his oversized chair in the corner of his spacious bedroom, I walk the distance to him, harnessing my inner angel and strutting as though there’s a stage and I’m a Victoria’s Secret model.

His gaze doesn’t focus on any one part of my body, but rather scatters across my skin. I ignore the shivers and goose bumps racing along my skin at his appraisal.

Grabbing the hem of my t-shirt, I tease him, showing a sliver of my bare stomach. His eyes finally zoom in on my motions, eyes transfixed, his breathing staggered. This is what turns Jagger Kale on and has from a young age.

Inch by painfully slow inch I raise my shirt and pull it over my head. He stretches his legs out, his palms rubbing down his jeans. I can’t refute how sexy he is when he’s denying himself what he wants.

When I unbutton my shorts, I use my two fingers to tease the top of the zipper. “Do you want to know what kind of panties I’m wearing? Wondering if they match my black bra?”

His gaze never leaves my hands, his tongue snaking out and licking his lips. I didn’t factor my own need into this act. I have a box full of vibrators I know I’ll use to imagine this very scene tonight.

I slide my zipper down and the sound feels like it’s bouncing off the walls. Jagger’s right hand inches closer to the fly of his jeans. It’s like a cat-and-mouse game. I want to make him touch himself and he wants to see what’s under my clothes. Hooking my thumbs into the sides of my shorts, I circle around, peering over my shoulder, leaning forward and pushing them down past my ass.

He sucks in a breath, his hand gripping his hard cock through his pants and rubbing slowly up and down.

Bullseye.

I step closer to the bed and sit on the edge, spreading my legs, giving him a peek at my landing strip through my sheer panties. He sits up, stripping his own shirt off his body.

Jesus, he’s long and lean and muscular and pretty much perfect. My mouth waters.

You can do this.

Pushing my tits out, I unclasp my bra. The straps lower on my arms, but I hold the cups to me, eyeing the erection pushing at his pants to be free. I raise a brow at him. I was always the one to give in, now it’s his turn to show me how much he wants this.

He chuckles lightly, a smile mixed with his heat-filled gaze. His hand leaves his dick, joining his other one to unbutton his jeans. He moves faster than me, and in seconds his jeans are spread open, his black boxer briefs revealed. His dick pushes against the limits of the fabric. Snaking his hand inside, he frees it through the opening, stroking it. It’s so much bigger than I remember.

“Your turn, baby.” Jagger looks on eagerly and I let my bra fall to the floor. “Goddamn.” He bites his fist, watching me.

I stand and approach him, leaning down when I’m in front of him, letting my tits hang inches from his face. His fist opens, and he reaches for me.

I back up. “No.” I shake my head and his eyes flare.

He loves it. Loves to deny himself satisfaction until he’s ready to break. I push his legs together, my knees on either side of him, his dick literally inches away from my wet panties.

I reach for the tie sitting on his dresser and wrap it around my waist. “Tell me…baby.” I take the blue pinstripe fabric, rubbing it along the outside of my underwear where I’m positive my scent will linger. “Would you like me to tie you up?”

I fall to my knees in front of him, my tongue about to slide up his shaft as my hands work overtime, using the tie on his ankles.

“You know I’m not into being tied up.” He moves his leg up, and to distract him, I fist the base of his cock and lean forward, encasing the tip in my mouth. Damn, he’s so perfect everywhere.

His hands push through my hair, quickly forgetting what I’ve done. I pull my lips from his cock with a pop and use my hand to pump him, resting my chin on his stomach.

“Jag?” I ask, coyly, as though I’m about to rock his world.

“Yeah, babe. Anything.” He answers a question I never even asked.

“I’m not in the mood.” I stand up, stepping into my shorts and grabbing my t-shirt and bra.

“What?” he asks, still not grasping the meaning of my words. “No. Quinn!” He rises on his feet and I bolt out of the room, my feet slipping on his steps. Damn Marisol and her good cleaning job.

“Sorry, maybe next time,” I say lightheartedly, laughing as I throw my shirt over my head, stuff my bra into my purse before grabbing it from the counter.

“Quinn!” he screams and then I hear a thud.

I wince. “Shit.” But I have no time. Going out the garage, I contemplate taking a car, but who knows if he’s pissed enough to file a police report? So, I take the next best thing. His bicycle.

I pedal as fast as I can away from Jagger’s house, hoping like hell he’s not dying from a head wound in a puddle of blood. Once I’m far enough away that I don’t think he’ll catch me, I stop to breathe, reminding myself that he would have used and abused me. He would’ve thrown me out with last year’s top actress, maybe not tomorrow but eventually.

He always does.