I pull into the motel parking lot, the last rays of sunlight finally fading. Good, because it might be over a hundred degrees when I step out of the car. I can feel my shirt congeal to my back, and the straps of my bra chafe. Ah, the joys of being a woman and going outside. This is why I try to avoid it at all costs.

The office is open, and I enter into the blissful heaven of air conditioning. There’s a kid behind the desk who’s sitting there, head in his hands. He’s looking at the clock on the wall like it’s the only thing that can save him.

“Hey. Have you seen a young woman around here? Probably down by the pool? Leggy, tan, ombre-d blonde hair? Kind of has my face shape, but a little pointier in the chin? She was here with a dark-haired man? Who looked like he was up to no good? You know, she’s not the troublemaker type, but perhaps a little ditzy? About five-nine? Probably taking selfies on her phone? Did you notice the phone? IPhone 6? With the sparkly pink case? She wants to upgrade, but she’s still on the family plan and Dad won’t let her? Even though Mom’s annoyed because God forbid her favorite daughter doesn’t get her own way you know what I’m going to stop talking now. Sorry.”

The kid is looking at me with a gaping mouth. By the slack expression and the general redness of his eyes, I get the distinct impression marijuana plays a part in his daily life.

“You wanna, like, head to the pool?” He points out the door. “Go around the side of the motel. It’s on your right.”

“Thanks.” With nothing left to say, except ‘can you make change for the vending machine?’ because there is a Nestle Crunch bar with my name on it, I head back out into the sweltering desert heat. All kidding aside, my heartbeat’s going rapid pace as I rush around to the pool. What if she’s not there? I should have gotten the room number. But then again, I don’t think they’re allowed to give out that kind of information. But on the other hand, Gavin might have her locked in the room. I can start knocking on all the doors, calling ‘housekeeping’ and see what I get. Or what if he took her away? It’s been hours since I left. Does she have her purse? Did she call an Uber?

Finally, I do the semi-smart thing and text: Where are you? At the pool?

My relief is boundless when I instantly get back YES.

I round the corner to find a gate to the swimming pool. It’s abandoned by now, the lights having just come on. The pool’s a glowing, aquamarine grotto, and right by the edge of it, sitting on a reclining pool chair, is my sister.

Lily’s got her arms around herself, even though it’s sweltering. She’s still got on her turquoise bikini, along with a towel around her waist. Her hair’s dry, but hanging in that stringy way that indicates she went swimming. Her makeup, which she’s usually so careful about, is all smudged. When I open the gate, she looks up with big, fearful raccoon eyes. And I don’t just say raccoon because of the dark, smudged eye look she’s rocking right now. She looks like one false move and she’ll jump over the fence and find a dumpster to hide out in. Hilarious image aside, she looks like she needs a hug.

“Come here.” I open my arms wide, because what are big sisters for?

Lily jumps up and rushes over, blubbering afresh. She’s a few inches taller than I am, and bends herself down so that she gets to rest her head on my shoulder. A little uncomfortable for my spine, this position, but I’m so damned relieved I don’t care. Bring on the chiropractors tomorrow. For right now, it’s enough that nothing terrible has happened.

“What did he do?” We sit down on one of the chairs. “How did this all happen?”

Lily sniffs and wipes at her eyes. “We met when I used your name to get into CAA. Emma, I didn’t know you worked in the book division. I thought you guys were real agents!”

I keep rubbing her back, reminding myself she’s had a minor trauma and this is not the time to show her old clips of Reading Rainbow on my phone. Literature is magic, kids.

“Anyway, Gavin totally made me feel understood. Like, he saw what was good for me as an artist. So when he called and said he wanted to take a sabbatical to get out of town and focus on my career, I was so excited.” She sniffles again. “I didn’t think he’d, ugh, you know. Want to have sex.”

“I feel responsible. I should’ve told you all the Hollywood horror stories when you said you wanted to be an actress. Men like Gavin never want to help you without helping themselves first.” God, I think I choked on some bile saying that.

“Believe me, I know that now. We went back to the room from the pool, and when I said I didn’t want to he got really mad and shoved me out the door. At least I had my phone with me. Then I went out here and waited. I think I got sunburned! They say it adds wrinkles like crazy,” she moans.

Well, at least she’s putting skincare first and foremost. She’s not completely traumatized.

“Okay, what room number is Prince Charming?” I stand, ready to roll up my sleeves and SING. I think Gavin could use a few of my SINGing lessons, if you know what I mean and I mean pain. “We’ll get your clothes, and then we’ll hit the road.”

“I wonder if Justin’s on his way. Maybe we should call. I texted you both.” Lily’s shivering. Well, sitting outside all day in practically nothing will do that to you, even if it’s a hundred degrees. I’m getting ready to text Justin, when a flashy and somewhat familiar car roars into the parking lot. It’s sleek, black, and gleaming from what looks like a high-end wax. Someone blasts on the horn two sharp times, like a total jerk.

A total jerk in a somewhat familiar car.

A total jerk who gets out of that somewhat familiar car, looks around, and yells, “Where’s the bastard?” in a very manly and affronted manner.

Oh no. It can’t be. I’m having mirage hallucinations, like in the movies. Fraser’s going to turn around in full on Lawrence of Arabia clothing, with a camel next to him and a palm-tree-sheltered oasis rippling behind him. Then he’ll light a campfire, lay out a rug, and make love to me on the burning desert sands.

Also, Justin is in this mirage as well. That’s awkward.

“Fraser, let’s park first!” he shouts. Then he looks across the lot, and locks eyes with me. After that, he takes off running, heading towards his sisters with wide-open arms and a back that’s already sagging with relief. We don’t do Brightman sibling trips nearly often enough. It’s fun. “You’re all right.” He wraps Lily up in a bear hug, then brings me into the huddle. “Em, I’m glad you got here.”

“Likewise.” With a squeeze, I separate us as Fraser comes strolling up. In the time it’s taken for the sibling reunion, he’s parked and shut off the car. He hasn’t taken off his jacket, or his tie. Even in the murderous heat, he’s ready to look like an uptight, ramrod straight gentleman. God, it’s so infuriating.

God, it’s so sexy.

We look at each other a minute, size each other up. My heart squeezes into my throat, and the tips of my fingers tingle. This is where I should say something, like ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Please forgive me’ or ‘Take off your jacket it’s like a zillion degrees don’t be a martyr.’ His dark hair still curls right in front of his eyes, in that devilishly alluring way. His chin hasn’t seen a razor in a day or so—scruffy, just the way I like it. Right now, not touching him is like not breathing. Granted, it’s kind of hard to breathe right now because Lily squeezed my ribcage a little, but you get my meaning.

“So,” I say, licking my lips.

“Mmm.” His stoic reply. Then Fraser turns back to Justin. “Where’s Gavin’s room?”

“I was taking Lily up there to get her things.” Uh, hello. Adult woman standing next to you, yearning to be in on the conversation.

“You don’t have to subject her to that.” He rolls his shoulders, like he’s loosening up for a fight. “We’ll take care of him.”

As alpha male erotic as that just was, the idea of my brother ‘taking care’ of a sexual predator is beyond ridiculous. And also, Fraser Drake does not own me, or have to burden himself with defending me.

“How about I come along, just to do a leg sweep if you need?” Then, to Lily, I add, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“No.” She shivers. “I want my sweater right now.”

My sister gets what she wants. Fraser leads the way up the stairs, the steps creaking under the strain of his muscular physique. Wanting to bang someone whom you’re a little angry with moments before a possibly physical confrontation with another man isn’t something I would recommend to anyone. It confuses everything.

We reach room 208, and Fraser pounds on the door. The curtains are drawn, but a thin line of light tells us that someone’s inside. Besides, I see Gavin’s Cadillac parked downstairs; he hasn’t gone anywhere. A minute passes, with nothing. “Gavin, open this door,” Fraser booms. His dark eyes crackle with furious light. He is ready to throw down in the worst way. Justin, meanwhile, is looking from Fraser to the door with a look that reminds me of a golden retriever when his ball is thrown into a lake. ‘You don’t really want me to go in there, do you?’

Finally, the door creaks open. Gavin’s wincing as he stares out at us, and in only his bathrobe to boot. What a treat for us ladies. What a nasty, turd-like treat.

“Fuck do you want?” he slurs. From the way he speaks, the way he wobbles as he backs up, and the harsh, ripe smell of him, I get the impression he hit the motel minibar in the worst way. Indeed, a few mini Wild Turkeys have been scattered around the rug and in the corners of the room like the world’s most alcoholic Easter eggs.

“Lily’s clothes,” I say. He grimaces at me, and mutters something under his breath that I hope I don’t understand. Justin guards Lily’s back as she slips into her sandals, grabs her suitcase, and snatches up a few fallen garments. Gavin isn’t paying attention to her, anyway. His focus is all on me, and I cross my arms to give him a good return helping of stink-eye. Fraser, meanwhile, is balancing on the balls of his feet. I can sense that one wrong move from Gavin, and he’ll lunge forward and strike. For a big man, Fraser can be pretty fast on his feet. Very lithe. Devastatingly lithe. Really, really, really sex, I mean lithe.

Gavin snorts. He must notice how my focus has shifted to Fraser. “Makes sense you’d go for someone without a personality, Emma. Yours is grating enough on its own. No need for competition.”

Fraser moves forward, but I grab him by the elbow. “Don’t dignify it with a response,” I mutter. Being undignified is my job in this quasi-relationship. “Gillian sends her regards, by the way. Sorry to let you know you haven’t been nominated for Father of the Year. Huge upset, I’m sure.”

Fraser looks down at me, a mixture of relief and bafflement on his face. It looks a little weird, like he’s about to sneeze, but then his eyes seem to…simmer. Relief wins, and it’s a beautiful sight. I swear, it’s like someone plucked a sack of invisible bricks right from his shoulders. “She told you?”

“Everything. Well, not everything everything. She didn’t take me on a blow by blow of your favorite foods, bands, fabric softeners…”

Fraser grins, lighting up those (smoldering, sexy) eyes of his. But not everyone is amused.

“The way you talk is fucking exhausting.” Ah, Gavin joins the conversation once more. He rubs his eyes and musses his hair even more. Poor, drunk asshole. “I’m lucky I didn’t get to fuck either of you. What a bunch of whiny cunts.”

I’m about to volley back something sharp and biting, something like ‘so’s your Mom’ or ‘fuck you sideways,’ but it turns out that Fraser’s ready to get a lot more physical than I am. He stalks forward, fists balling at his side. He’s a tall, imposing man at the best of times, but he seems to somehow grow taller with every step. Remember Gandalf in the first Lord of the Rings movie, when he yelled at Bilbo and just shot to the ceiling? Think that, but with not so good lighting and a much hotter leading man. Sorry, Ian McKellen. It’s true.

What the hell am I talking about? Fraser’s going to beat the shit out of Gavin. And while I am in many ways here for that, I know that this is going to give Gavin exactly what he wants: a way to exploit Fraser and this situation.

“Fraser, hold on,” I cry, but it turns out I’m not the one who gets there in time. Fraser’s pulling back, ready to take a hard swing at Gavin’s face—and the little bitch kind of falls backwards onto the bed with a squawk—when Justin swoops in and grabs Fraser. Yes, that’s right. Justin ‘so non-confrontational he won’t take a hard stance on what we should have for dinner’ is literally holding a seething Fraser back from beating the shit out of someone. While Gavin sits up, looking obviously relieved, Justin turns back to Fraser.

“It’s going to be a lot worse if you touch him. Legally, you need to back off.”

“Yeah, listen to whoever the fuck this guy is,” Gavin slurs. And then Justin turns around. And then, oh my droogs, and then shit gets real.

“Justin Brightman. Emma and Lily’s brother, and Lily’s attorney.” He crosses his arms over his chest while Fraser paces around like a puma in a bespoke suit. One false move from Gavin, and he’s going in for the frenzied British kill. “I’m still deciding what kinds of charges we’ll be pressing, Mr. Walker.”

Gavin snorts, and reaches for another mini-bottle of booze. Looks like Crown Royal. Keep it classy. “What kind of charges? Ass groping?”

“We’ll start with fraud, kidnapping, and attempted assault.” Justin says it smoothly, and Gavin sprays a mouthful of alcohol. Oh baby, someone get me a bowl of popcorn, a glass of wine, and a vibrator, because this is simultaneously entertaining me and turning me on. I mean, I wish my brother weren’t involved in that last part, but you can’t have everything.

Even Fraser stops stalking around; he seems impressed. Lily’s got her head through a sweater, but not her arms, and stands there half-dressed with her mouth open.

“What? What the hell do you mean?” Gavin sounds blustery again, so Justin goes in for the kill.

“You work in the literary department of CAA, don’t you? Meaning you don’t handle performance-related talent.”

“Well. Thing is.” But Gavin’s stammering now. Oh, I am gonna need a cigarette.

“So your offers to represent my sister were fraudulent, and you used those false offers to entice her to Palm Springs. Kidnapping’s a bit of a reach, I agree, but I’ve made more difficult things stick. I’m sure I can work something up. That’s not even counting using your power in the relationship to try forcing Lily to have sex with you. When she refused, you physically threw her out of the room. She sustained some injuries.” Justin’s always been a pale, almost ethereal looking guy, but I can practically see his heart rate skyrocketing, the flush of moving blood spreading over his face. He looks alive, man. “In addition, while I’d have to do some research on international cases, there’s the matter of fathering a child and abandoning fiscal responsibilities for said child. Even if there’s no legal case to be made there, your reputation will suffer. Ask Harvey Weinstein how life is treating him these days.”

Gavin doesn’t answer, but from the clenched look on his face—and probably his asshole, but I’m not going to check—it seems that Justin’s hit a home run this time. Lily claps her hands with glee at seeing this sack of shit taken down. Me, I’m more inclined to get right up in his face and grind up on him, laughing maniacally while pouring Crown Royal on his head, but that’s just me. I am who I am.

“So I suggest,” Justin continues, signaling me to open the door, “that you consider sending some kind of support to your daughter and her mother. And I’d also, if I were you, contemplate resigning from CAA. I don’t want Emma working in such a hostile environment.” Man, if Gavin leaves, Thea is going to be the happiest hipster in town.

Gavin stares sullenly at the carpet and doesn’t respond. As we start to herd ourselves out the door, I hear the bedsprings creak as he stands. Oh crap. Looking to get a last word in.

“Are we sure the kid isn’t Fraser’s? It’d explain why she’s defective.”

Call it a potshot. Call it a low blow. Call it Ishmael. Call it whatever you like, but the intention is super obvious: to make Fraser, or any other red-blooded, decent human being want to turn around and kick Gavin’s ass. That way, Gavin gets some legal firepower, and also gets the satisfaction of seeing Fraser unable to control himself.

Fraser is rising to the bait like a handsome, surly fish swimming towards a wriggling worm. The worm in this scenario is Gavin, obviously, because it’s important to cast according to type. Fraser wheels around and storms towards Gavin, looking like a smoldering, electric slab of sexy fury about to do a lightning strike. Or something, I don’t know weather terminology.

So, both to save Fraser from the legal ramifications of smearing Gavin over the ground, and because I am a red-blooded woman who has had it up to here with this shit, I do a spin, storm up to Gavin in a straight line, and…well, I don’t SING for him. I just focus really, really hard on hitting the G.

That’s groin, for those following at home.

I do exactly what I demonstrated to Sawyer in Justin’s kitchen, and bring my knee up in a fast, striking motion. I feel myself connect right on target; I even give a “hi-ya!” to spice up the effort. Gavin’s mouth forms a perfect little O of surprise, and his face pales. Then it tinges green. Then he slumps over, hands between his legs, and ends up lying on the carpet.

That is the first and last time I will ever make contact with Gavin Walker’s private parts.

Also, I think I kind of screwed up our case a little. Oh dear. “Sorry! Sorry, Jus. I, ah, that is…” I hem and haw, but then Fraser says something that sets all the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

“That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice is little more than a growl, his gaze molten. His broad chest rises and falls as he stares at me like I’m the goddess of war, or vengeance, or bitchiness, come down to deliver an ass whooping upon deserving creeps. The charge between us in this instant is electric. He’s still standing there, legs a bit astride like he’s riding an invisible stallion or some shit. He’s all primed and geared for action, every muscle tensed, every inch of his stubble rising in challenge. He’s like a poem of—

“We need to get out before someone calls the police,” Justin says. Fraser and I both blink and shake our heads. The ecstatic moment of hormones evaporates. We have to be sensible, modern age adults now.

“Ah,” is my response. And we all get the hell out of there, but not before I grab that bottle of Crown. It pays to be prepared.

A few minutes later, we’re downstairs in the parking lot. The desert wind has cooled a bit; now it just feels kind of balmy and nice. Justin looks between Fraser and me, as if judging who’s going to do what first and for how long. Fraser continues to brood in my direction, with a pinch of smolder. I finally have to be the grown up.

“I need to take Lily home.”

“I could drive her, if you and Fraser want to take your car.” Bless my big brother, he is going all out to give us a hand. And after the erotically charged ball-smashing we both just engaged in, I know that once I had Fraser in the car, it wouldn’t be thirty miles before we were pulled to the side of the road and in the backseat, my legs wrapped around his neck, while he shoved every thick, glorious inch of his…

Maybe Justin should drive Lily home.

No, no, my preternatural sexual chemistry with Fraser can’t interfere with some deep soul searching we both need to do. We can’t screw our way out of a sober, adult discussion of our problems. Or can we?

No, we can’t Emma.

“I’ll. That is.” Fraser starts and stops the conversation a couple times, then gets the carburetor running on it. He straightens his shoulders, flicks imaginary lint from his sleeve. That is classic man body language for ‘this is not so important.’ “It’s my car, Justin. I’m the one who needs to take you home.”

“Oh. Right. Ha.” Justin winces at his obvious mistake. I love you for it, brother mine.

“Not to be a huge brat, but I, like, really want to go home.” Lily’s hopping back and forth and shivering. Fraser nods, takes my keys, and opens the door for her. A gentleman to the end. The most perfect, fascinating, hot, wonderful, infuriating gentleman I’ve ever known.

Sexy, too. That’s a word that never goes out of style.

Fraser opens my door, too. Then he holds out a hand for mine. “It’s only polite,” he says, still sounding rigid—and not in the fun way. Our supercharged moment back in the room really is over. Though when I give him my hand, and he helps me into the car…well, a flush of goosebumps washes over my body. I think my nipples perk to attention right then and there. It’s been a few days without his full and physical attention, after all. I miss that.

Hell, I miss him. When I look up at Fraser, he seems on the verge of speaking. But then, he simply shuts the door and walks back to Justin, hands shoved in his pockets. Always so close with us.

Why can’t we just take that one step and get closer? Why—

“Can we stop at a drive thru? I’m starving,” Lily says. Right. What would life be without family? I watch Justin and Fraser start up the car, pull out, and head off into the night. With a sigh, I follow.

“I thought you were on a strict no carb diet?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect to get trapped by a pool all day. I started thinking about those little cactus looking plants, what are they called?”

“Succulents. Actually, let’s take this long drive as an opportunity to fix your base of general knowledge.” I smile at my sister. “First of all, that quote on your Instagram? I don’t think George Washington said that.”