Claire

He looks like Lurch.” Bri looks at me over her shoulder from her post at the window. “You know, like from the Addam’s Family?”

“That’s not very nice,” I say, scowling up at her as I bend over to wedge on my heels. Standing up straight, I tug at the hem of my skirt, feeling a little self-conscious about its length. Bri, my sister, insisted on matching dresses, which means I feel like a hooker.

“I know.” She gives me a shrug, totally nonplussed. “Doesn’t make me wrong though.”

Curious, I move to stand next to her at the window, and she scoots over so I can check out the driver my father hired for the evening. It’s Bri’s bachelorette party, and we’re heading into the city. Dinner. Dancing. Public. Crowds.

Just the thought freaks me out.

It’s been ages since I’ve been... anywhere, really. I’ve been pretty much stuck here at home with my dad since I graduated high school. Seriously, the biggest thing I did when I turned eighteen was get my pharmacy tech license. I’m twenty-three and I’ve never been to a nightclub. Never bought a drink at a bar. The most I’ve done is buy a bottle of wine at the grocery store.

So, yeah. Life so far has been pretty amazing.

Looking out the window, I aim my gaze at the man standing in our driveway, next to the sleek black limousine our father hired for the night. He’s tall, I’ll give Bri that much. Impossibly tall—at least 6’5—but that’s where the similarities end. This guy is massive. Even beneath the somber suit, I can tell he’s built. His muscles have muscles. His dark hair is clipped short. He stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped behind his back, face aimed forward.

“You need your head examined,” I tell my sister, looking down at the circular driveway. “He’s a little stiff, but he doesn’t look anything like—”

He looks up. Not like he’s searching for something. Like knows I’m here. Exactly where I am. Knows I’m checking him out and wants me to know I’m caught. He’s wearing sunglasses to block out the late afternoon sun, but that doesn’t matter. I feel our eyes connect and my stomach does a slow roll before taking the express route to my feet. Even from behind his dark lenses, I feel the intensity of those deep brown eyes skewer me. Pin me in place. No one else has ever given me that tilt-a-whirl feeling.

Not ever.

Holy shit.

I step back, away from the window, stumbling a bit in my heels.

“Jesus, Claire.” Bri looks at me. “Are you okay?” She takes my place at the window and peers through it. “You look like—”

“I’m fine,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I...” Pressing my hand to my stomach, I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “I forgot a sweater.” I turn, heading for the door. We’re in Bri’s old bedroom. She lives in the city with her fiancé but has been staying here, intent on no sex until the wedding night. It’s been a very long, very crabby two-weeks.

“A sweater?” Now she’s looking at me like I’m nuts. “It’s August.”

I nod, agreeing with her, even as I’m stepping out into the hall to duck into the nearest room with an open door. The guest bathroom. I shut the door behind me and lean against it. Eyes squeezed shut, I try to get my breathing under control.

Calm down, Claire.

Flipping on the light, I push myself away from the door. Making my way over to the sink, I aim my gaze at the mirror above it. My cheeks are flushed. Eyes a little glassy. My skin is hot. I look and feel like I have a fever.

It’s not a fever.

It’s him.

Jaxon Bennett is here.

Here.

At my house.

“Claire.” Bri bangs on the bathroom door. “We need to leave now if we’re going to pick everyone up and make our dinner reservation.”

For a brief moment, I consider telling her I’m sick. To go without me. Have a good time. See you in the morning. Pictures or it didn’t happen.

But I can’t do that. I’m her maid of honor. I’m also her babysitter. Bri has every intention of getting sloppy tonight, and it’s my job to make sure she makes it through the night with as much of her dignity intact as humanly possible.

“Okay,” I call through the door before taking another deep breath. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I hear her sigh. “Hurry up,” she says before I hear the sound of her heels clicking down the hall.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I give my reflection a stern lecture. Jaxon’s not here to take you on a date, for Christ’s sake. He’s a limo driver. A very expensive designated driver.

He’s just a guy.

But he isn’t just a guy.

He’s the guy.

The guy who’s firmly planted himself between me and every other guy I’ve ever dated.

The guy I’ve been half in love with since I was fifteen years old.

The guy I gave my virginity to when I was eighteen.

The guy who disappeared the morning after, without a trace.