Looking after his half sister Briony’s hotel was supposed to be a vacation. Time away from doing the high-octane bike stunts that directors liked to pack in these days; like racing bikes over speeding cars. And leaping into pools to stop women from drowning? Yep, and that. This was time away from rescuing anyone, not that he’d done a very good job of that recently.

“Here.” Jake Slade grabbed two towels from his bathroom, and after peeling off his wet jeans and T-shirt and tossing them into the tub, wrapped himself in one and handed the other to the woman from the pool who was still dripping. She took it and draped the towel rather ineffectively around her waist. “That’s not going to do much,” he said as he rubbed himself down.

“You’re going to tell me how to use a towel? Now I’ve heard everything.”

“I’m not telling you how to use a towel, just, how not to make a mess of the carpet.” Okay, so his charm was a little rusty. It shouldn’t have been, working in film meant he’d heard some of the best chat-up lines in the business. Hollywood types he worked with sure knew how to get laid. And the transition from stuntman to actor these past years meant he got recognized enough to keep him in women as often as he wanted. But after the accident . . . well, for a good six months he’d been happy if he got through a night alone, without any women, alive or dead, paying a visit to his dreams.

Then at the reading of his mother’s will three months ago, he’d discovered he had a half sister: Briony Wilde. When he’d googled her he’d wanted to run in the opposite direction. The woman thrived on risk: running a biker bar? The thought of it had turned his stomach. But then they met. And it was good. She was good. Solid. This was his chance to try to make things right. To try to build a family of sorts. Briony trusting him with her hotel while she was on her honeymoon was a mistake, he’d tried to tell her that, but here he was. Today was his first day. So he was damn well not going to fuck it up. Not ruining the carpets or having anyone drown in the pool were the first steps.

The partially drowned woman interrupted his thoughts. “Whatever it is that you think you’re doing, it’s not helping. Not all women need saving.” Her face didn’t change, the buildup of something dark and hard still there, still twisting her beautiful mouth into a tight line. It was probably a good thing. When he’d first pulled her to him in the water, the look on her face had been full of incredulity, so open, so clear, he could have fallen into that face. There was latent trust there, and he was not a man to be trusted. “If you say so. Are you going to stop yourself dripping or do I have to help?”

She pulled the towel up and caught most of the water that was still sliding from her long chestnut hair.

“Thank you.” He waited. Silence. “This is where you say something.”

She laughed and for a brief moment her features softened and a glimpse of the woman who had been lost and limp in his arms resurfaced. It was nice, he decided, dangerously nice. “If you’re waiting for me to tell you you’re my hero you might be waiting a while,” she said. “Even Spider-Man can’t save everyone and he’s supposed to be a superhero.” The frown reappeared but less severely than before.

“I’m no one’s hero.”

“Well, nice we agree on something.” She bit her lip. It was as if she’d caught herself being snarky and hadn’t meant to be. Jake wanted to smooth the worry away from around her eyes. To ask her what was wrong, if he could help. But that wasn’t his business. Hell, he had enough trouble sorting himself out. Since the accident he’d had the shakes at the worst of times, been flat and angry at others. Best thing for him to do was get this woman out of his room. And fast, before he did something stupid. Like pull that towel off and warm her up? Time to put things back on steadier ground. “I’m Jake. Jake Slade.” He put out his hand to shake hers and he couldn’t help notice her eyes flick up and down his bare chest.

As she took a step toward him he could smell the sharpness of the road on her; it was visceral, like he could touch it if he tried hard enough. The water had washed a large part of it away, but he could still pick up oil, yes, it was motor oil, in her scent. Looking down at her hands he found the source, tucked in around her blackened fingernails. “You work with engines?”

“Bikes. I work with bikes. I’m Lucy Black.”

Jake took her hand in his to shake it but the shock was as strong as if he’d taken hold of a live power cord. It’s nothing. The aftermath of shock. You thought she was drowning. And the fact that she worked with motorbikes? Equally unimportant. He was on a break from his job. The job that saw him driving bikes well beyond the reach of their official capacity. Well, beyond the bounds of what gravity ought to allow sometimes. It wasn’t something she would approve of as a mechanic. “Anyway,” he finally said, “I’m glad you’re not drowning anymore.” He walked to the door and put a hand on the handle. She followed. But when he opened it, she took a step forward to do the same. CRACK! The edge of the door caught her hard on the side of her head.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Shit. It is bad? You okay?”

She looked up at him and he spotted blood starting to ooze in a thin red line through her fingers.

“You’re bleeding. Damn it. Here. Sit down.” Holding her elbow, he steered her back to the bed and sat her down. She took her hand away a moment and looked at the blood on it. The sight reached right under his skin and tried to pull his organs out in a steaming heap. He sat down heavily.

“I’m fine. Will be fine. Head wounds always bleed a lot. Looks worse than it is.”

“Uh-huh.” It was all he could manage. The blood was nothing, like she said, but all blood took him back to the accident. To Sarah. To the mess that was his fault.

“Can you pass me a tissue or something?”

Lucy’s voice pulled him back from the film lot where Sarah’s body lay sprawled in a pile of broken limbs. That was then, this was, oh shit. Hands fast developing a tremor, he yanked a box of Kleenex from the dresser beside the bed and pressed a wad of tissues against her forehead.

Then there they were. Sitting on the bed together, both of them in a towel and not much else. The blood trying its best to redden the tissue on Lucy’s head. Harden up. Okay, wrong choice of words. He straightened, and ignoring the wobble of his fingers, peeled back the makeshift bandage to check how big the wound was. She was right. It wasn’t a big cut, just a messy one, it wouldn’t even need stitches. Applying pressure again, he leaned in and caught her scent for the second time, every part of him on high alert, adrenaline mixed with lust pumping his blood hard and fast.

She looked him in the eye and something changed. Now she was looking into him, right into him, and searching for the thing he couldn’t name.

“Okay. This is going to sound crazy . . .” she said.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “What?” He peeled back the tissue again and was relieved to see the small cut had already stopped bleeding.

“It’s like I know you. Like we’re supposed to . . . I don’t know . . .”

His body was on edge, waiting for her to finish her sentence. The sensation was odd, out of character for a guy who relished the “Iceman” nickname he’d sported for the last five years.

“I dunno. Like we’re supposed to do something. Something more than just sitting down for a cup of coffee,” she finally managed and pulled back from him, still sitting on the bed.

“Good. I hate coffee,” he said.

“How does anyone live without coffee?” The hint of lightness around her blue eyes reappeared.

“I get by. Other vices, I guess.”

“Like what?” Her voice deepened.

“Fast cars. Fast bikes.”

Fast women? The pause lengthened, tantalizingly open and ready for him to drop in something, anything that would make her stay. “Did you want to wash up a little before you go?” was what he said instead.

“Yes. Great. Good idea.”

He stood with her and let her splash water over her face, but when she turned to walk to the door again, she bumped into him. Again. Crushed against his bare chest, she was a perfect fit to his body. Her waist slid in between his huge hands, her back arched up so that her damp chest pressed against his. Her head, tilted back, her mouth, slightly open, all begged for him to kiss her, to take her, to fill her.

She shifted and her towel dropped, his eyes drawn to the pert nipples pushing at the fabric of her cotton halter. A wet, white, cotton halter. This was not how he had planned his evening. But how often did life throw you a distraction as delicious as this one?

“Perhaps you better stay where I can keep an eye on you,” he said.

Her face was open, coltish even, like she might bolt any moment.

“You’re not with the gang downstairs?”

He shook his head.

“Well then.” She put a hand up to move a strand of wet hair out of her eyes and gave a small nod. The nod was all he needed. He smoothed the hair farther from her face and wound a strand around his fingers before he leaned over and kissed her. Long and hard and deep. In the kiss he threw all the frustration and loss that threatened to boil over in him every day. Maybe he meant to scare her off, to scare himself off. But he got lost instead when she responded just as hungrily. Her tongue twisted with his and her appetite spread throughout his body, increasing his thirst, making him want to rip the last threads of her underwear from her body and lave every inch of her skin. But she came up for air, and put a hand on his chest. She had stiffened, like she was fighting something, like she needed to take back control over her body. “That made me feel much better,” she said, the husky tone in her voice doing crazy things to the blood supply heading south, fast.

* * *

When he’d pushed his hand through her wet hair and pulled her head back, the challenge in his eyes shot through Lucy and settled in a fist around her heart. Here was hotness on a plate, just when she needed the distraction. And he wasn’t from Hell’s. You were just bemoaning the lack of action in your pants only a couple of hours ago. This wasn’t something to overthink. This was something to feel. She just had to work out how to not give up control during the process. Because if she was going to survive the next few weeks she needed to stay strong, and falling into the arms of someone like Jake ran the risk of her stumbling.

But like the handshake, the kiss had ricocheted through her system. Everything else ceased to matter. Her hand on his chest was the only defense she had. She was going to be in control here. She had to be. “Truth or Dare?” she asked.

His jaw clenched, the muscle working in his jaw. Hot damn that was sexy.

“No man is ever going to answer that with Truth. Surely you know that.”

“I was counting on it.” She wound a length of her wet hair around her finger with one hand. He let her, but she could feel the strength of his focus on her, it crawled over her skin and laid sticky fingers up to her chin. He was invested in this just as much as she was now.

“Take me under the moon.”

“What?”

“Under the moon. Outside. Take me.”

“Now?”

“Right now.” She pointed to the french doors in the room that opened onto a tiny balcony.

The glimmer of a smile traced his lips and he stood from the bed, opening the doors wide and placing a metal chair out onto the balcony. This was good. Round one: point to Lucy Black.

Outside it had started to rain. A light drizzle that was finally cooling things off and giving the night a heady, humid scent. She looked out over the edge of the balcony, the lights of the city spreading out before them. One of the big apartment towers in the development Briony’s husband was building was done, but it was behind Wilde’s and out of view. Wilde’s wasn’t a huge place, but its three stories all had high ceilings, so compared to the single-story places out front that weren’t in the development, they were high up, high enough that the lights of LA danced and threaded the horizon like naughty sprites.

He scooped her up and sat her on the chair, kneeling in between her legs in front of her.

No. Wait. This was not the plan. “What are you doing?”

“Warming you up before I take you under the moon. Don’t want you fainting again, so I thought you might like to sit down.” He stroked her breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple and sending a shot of sensation thundering around her body like a well-tuned hundred-horsepower engine starting up. Damn. Round two: point to Jake Slade.

Reaching up to take her mouth in his, he claimed her in a kiss she’d remember forever. While the first one had been fierce, almost a little fearful, this one was simple passion. Pure white-hot lust, and a promise to make good on it. It demanded she open up to him, obey him, let him in and she struggled to maintain control against such a force of nature. Sliding her hands around his neck, she pulled the hair at the back of his head, hard, and nipped him on the lip.

His grunt did nothing to stop her passion and as he slid a hand down her body to stroke the front of her already wet panties, she held back a gasp as he slid a finger under the seam. Her hips pushed back against the metal chair, and its cool, slick surface was a perfect foil for her hot body. No, wait, this is madness. But for once, she pulled back on the urge to shove him off. She needed this today. She needed him. Didn’t mean she was going to let him know it though.

“And here I was thinking you were wet from the rain.”

“You taking credit for that, are you?”

He shrugged and she stiffened again as he put his mouth to her center and blew hot air over everything. She could do this. Let go. Have a short, sharp shift of release. Tomorrow and all of its shitty, what the fuck was she doing problems, would still be there when she woke up. Only she would have had a great night, and that always helped put things in perspective. She arched her back and he pushed one of her legs over the arm of the chair to give himself better access. Growling low, down deep in his throat, he literally tore her panties off, splitting the seams on each side. His big, calloused hands returned to smooth over her breasts, practically bare as the water had turned her halter entirely transparent, while his tongue delved deep in one long, devilish lick.

Stilling him there for a moment with her hands gripped in his hair, her inner muscles clenched, but as he gave another long, deep lick, she managed to release a little, letting her pelvis roll with his ministrations, rather than react against them. After a few ragged breaths, he started up a steady rhythm. Slow enough to be gloriously agonizing, but hard and fast enough for her hips to find the perfect echo to his pace.

She never did this. Never let a man think he was going to take her over the edge with his head between her thighs. It was too intimate, too close, for her to climax. But being outside, with the soft rain falling on her upturned face, while a stranger did insane things to her insides was the most crazy hot thing Lucy had ever experienced. On another day, in another lifetime, she would have held him down and fucked him ’til she got her release, floating her hands over his hard muscles, watching his goose bumps appear under her fingers. But that wasn’t going to happen, this guy was different, and he wasn’t letting go, so she was damn well going to enjoy this moment. Throwing her head farther back she let loose a long, earthy moan as he pushed a long finger inside her, hitting her in a sacred spot so few men knew how to access. When he twisted it, shifting his angle and licking her hard on the edges of her clit, she thought she was done for then and there. Her orgasm threatened, a flicker like the lights on the horizon. “Holy crap, you’re going to do it. Take me over, Jake. Now, oh god.”

But he ignored her, instead keeping up his steady rhythm until, bam, she couldn’t hold on any longer. As wave after wave of sensation crashed over her, her entire existence filtered down to that one moment. A pure, white bead of perfection, rolling over and over every part of her body.

She thought she was spent, and hung her head, even while he held her pinned in the chair. But while he slowed his rhythm, he didn’t stop and soon, his finger was exploring her deep velvet center again. He looked up at her, his eyes dark, glazed over with lust. “You fit me like a glove. I can’t even think about what you’d feel like around my cock.”

She shuddered and he smirked as he dipped his head back between her thighs. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he started up a new rhythm. A rhythm that seemed to match the huff of both his breath and hers.

Soon, too soon, she felt herself building again toward climax. Something that despite a legacy of lovers, Lucy had never experienced before. “Again?” she managed and was rewarded by a squeeze on her breast from Jake.

His tongue and the thrusts of his finger increased their pace and her hips followed him, move for move. With every exhale she thought she would lose it. Then with an inhale, the sensation would eek a little further.

“God. So good,” she managed and she arched her back and opened herself completely to him, throwing her head back, thrusting her chest to the moon, wanting nothing more than to explode under the silver light.

With the detonation of sensation inside her, Lucy fell apart. Completely. Utterly. Into nothing.

The increase in rain was what brought her back. Pulling her head back, she lowered her leg to the ground, staying sitting lest she really had lost all use of her limbs. That’s what it felt like. As if that last orgasm had stolen all her bones and left her as a heap of muscle and sinew. Something with a still-beating heart, but utterly devoid of possible function.

“Under the moon, huh?” He was the first to speak and his voice was how she was sure hers would be. It had been deep before, but now it was dark and dirty, like the gravel flicked from a bike tire and left at the side of the road. She could get tumbled around in that voice for a long time she realized. Tumbled and twisted up in a whole lot of trouble.

The rain started down with even more intensity and she laughed to try to break the tension. “Seems the moon liked our little offering at least. Lucky I was already wet.”

“Guess I need to offer you a towel again.”

He stood and she followed, finally sure that her bones hadn’t disappeared and she could function as a human being again. But as he shut the french doors his phone rang, cracking the fantasy they’d built up almost by accident.

He frowned at his cell. “I’m going to have to take this.”

“You sure?” She looked at the hard bulge under his towel and wondered what a second course with Jake Slade would be like. He nodded. “Wait just a moment.” And he turned his back.

She tried not to be glad. A little taste, a shattering little taste, was enough. Plenty enough for her to know she needed to avoid Jake Slade if she was serious about maintaining her self-control against all the male egos trying to keep her down. While he answered the phone, she pulled her wet clothes back on again and slipped out the door.