That dumb trope where women eat ice cream in bed and cry all night after a breakup is so passé. Chocolates, that’s the way to go.

Popping another in my mouth, I eye the clock with disdain. Seven in the morning on a Saturday and I’m awake. This is completely unacceptable.

Turning, I shove my face into my pillow, and? feel like Makayla is really starting to rub off on me. She loves the early morning, and is always so productive before noon, whereas normally on the weekends I don’t even get out of bed until then.

A loud crash from outside has me jumping out of my own skin. Sitting up to turn the light on, I look down at my white camisole to see that it is chocolate stained.

It’s his entire fault.

What is he doing here?

How dare he show up at my house!

He has some nerve.

And again, my mind wanders to Keen Masters, where it has been all night, all week, all month, all year.

I just don’t get it.

We fuck, we talk, we make plans, and he disappears without a word, and yet I’m still thinking of him to the point of obsessing.

It’s so crazy.

Another boom and I’m swinging my legs off my bed and rushing toward my French doors, which overlook the beach.

The rumble of the thunder grows louder.

Peeking through my blinds, the speed at which the clouds are moving, and the fact that the sky is as black as it is even though the sun is up, brings instant worry.

As I open my door, the cool wind blows harder than I had expected and the handle flies out of my hold. Pulling it back, I push it closed behind me.

Taking a moment to look around, the first thing I notice is how choppy the ocean is—like really, really choppy, and not as in good surf conditions.

Suddenly, the whole sky is engulfed by black swirling storm clouds. Shit, a storm is coming to shore. I need to clear the patio after the party last night.

Just then the palm trees start bending precariously to one side as though they are going to fall over or get blown away like feathers, and I know I have to hurry.

Struggling against the intensity of the wind, I start to make my way through the sandy beach and head around to the outdoor patio. The very loud roar above the rumbling of thunder is the howling of the wind gaining strength.

That is not a good sign.

The roar only gets louder and louder with each passing second. The sound is as though a gigantic train is approaching, which obviously out here on the beach is impossible. Now hurrying even faster to open my gate, I rush onto the patio just as I see a white curtain of rain approaching.

Needing to push the furniture against the house, I move the easy things first. The umbrella over the table is a struggle, but I’m finally able to close it.

The lights Makayla had hung last night slam against the wooden beams of the trellis above me and shatter to the ground like confetti. And then with the next whip of wind the sky opens up, with fat, cold drops of rain crashing down all around me.

Great!

Trying to avoid the shards of glass, I push the chairs against the house and then move to shove the table up close as well. Half-filled glasses and bottles of wine tumble over and roll to the ground, and I’m torn between clearing everything off and just pushing the table out of harm’s way with everything still on top of it.

Raindrops splatter harder, stinging my skin. The wind whips the ends of my hair, tangling it, but I don’t take the time to tie it back. I need to move this table.

The kitchen door opens, but I can’t look up. I’m too busy trying to push the very heavy iron table against the wall and avoid getting assaulted by the glass on top of it.

When hands grab the iron lip and my struggle comes to an end, I slowly cast my eyes up, expecting…no, hoping…to see Brooklyn. Still, I already know it’s not my roommate, but my roommate’s brother.

The crinkle, tickle, tease on the back of my neck gave it away the moment I heard the creak of the hinges from the barnlike kitchen door.

I suck in a huge breath, trying to ease the tightness compressing my chest. And then I meet his eyes, but for only a moment before I let my Keen-starved gaze take the rest of him in.

Even through the heavy raindrops I can see him standing across from me in nothing but a pair of those damn tight-fitting, black boxer briefs. The twin pair to the ones I’m wearing right now.

Shit!

Two or three inches over six feet, he is so leanly muscled that I can see his veins, his tendons, the ridges of his abs, the jut of his hip bones, and even the ligaments running under his skin.

Barefoot like me, just as unclothed as me, I have to bite my bottom lip to stop my tongue from sneaking out and licking it at the sight.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

Yes, I have to remind myself of that fact.

Wouldn’t you?

Rain puddles at my feet as my dignity wars with my outrage. I don’t need his help. I don’t need him here. I don’t need him at all.

I.

DO.

NOT!

“I got it,” I grit through my teeth, yanking the table back with all my strength.

He remains as silent as he had last night, and the only noise is that of the bottles rolling across the glass of the tabletop. At lightning speed he reaches to grab them and stop them from shattering at our feet.

Watching, I draw in a ragged breath. I hate to admit how good he looks. Muscles rope around his wrists, his arms, his shoulders, his chest. And damn him, with each and every movement he makes, his abdominal muscles flex and release in the sexiest way.

As he bends to lay the bottles on the paved bricks of the patio, the wind rolls them out from under our feet, and we both let them go.

The same wind, now so cold, rips through me. I continue trying to drag the table and he continues to pull it away from me. He’s such an asshole. I bite down to stop my teeth from chattering, and say through my clenched jaw, “I said I got it.”

Again, he says nothing.

The silence between us is unbearable. It feels thicker, colder, and more dangerous than the storm lashing the two of us. The push-and-pull comes to an end when the table is completely out of my grip.

Hefting it up, he hauls the heavy iron table toward the house and begins to lower it into the space I left open beside the chairs.

Once he has set it down, he braces himself on it, his shoulders sagging, his head hanging low. Even under the awning, drops of rain splatter his face, his chest, his legs. “I’m sorry,” he says over the howl of the wind and the rumble of the thunder.

Standing completely still in the rain, I draw in breath after breath of the stormy air, but even out in the open I feel like I’m suffocating.

Keen starts to walk toward me with raindrops slipping down his face, and then dripping from his chin. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

Shaking my head, refusing to accept his I’m sorry, I take a cautious step back and will my entire body to stop its trembling and for my stomach to cease flipping just because my name left his lips.

I really do hate him.

And it’s all his fault.

“Maggie.” He reaches for me and I step out of his reach, leaving his hands pushing at air.

Rain makes tracks down his face, and mine. The drops on mine, though, hide the tears that slip unwillingly from my eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” I shout. “It was a one-night stand. It didn’t mean anything. Forget about it. I already have.”

My words cause him to flinch, like that is supposed to mean anything to me. What? Did I bruise his precious ego? Good, I hope I did. He takes another step closer. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?” I shout.

“Maggie.”

More with my name. I can’t take it, and flee without thought out the gate and around to my bedroom doors.

Pulling as hard as I can, I can’t get them to open. Crap. Crap. Crap. The wind is too strong, the doors are too old, and my heart is too fragile for this, although I’d never admit that out loud to anyone.

Step by cautious step, I ease away from my house. The waves in the ocean are so high that their sound almost surpasses that of the thunder as it roars overhead.

“Maggie!” The wind whips Keen’s voice away from me, but I still hear it.

Dramatics have never really been my thing, and although I have been told I am dramatic, still that’s not what I’m going for now. I just honestly can’t be near him.

“Get back here! Where are you going? Are you crazy?” Keen yells.

Now, crazy—that, too, I have been called before. Still, I’m not on my way to crazy town or anything, I’m just going to see Makayla, my best friend, who I have yet to tell about my night with Keen, and I have no intention of bothering to tell her now.

She calms me, and I need that, because for some inexplicable reason I find myself still very much attracted to him, even after what he did.

And that is completely unacceptable.

Pushing against the wind is harder than it should be, and the sand flying in my eyes causes me to slip on a pile of seaweed I hadn’t seen.

Just before I land on my ass, Keen yanks me upright and subsequently tosses me over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” I yell and kick and punch.

More lightning lights up the sky and I swear it has struck here. The feel of his skin against mine crackles with an energy I remember feeling only one other time in my life—the time he first pushed his naked body against mine.

With long strides, he’s whisking us through the open gate and in through my kitchen door, slamming it closed behind us before setting me down on my feet.

Anger courses through me as I stare at him standing in front of me, soaked to the bone in his boxer briefs, still looking incredibly sexy, which only pisses me off more.

Nipples popping, teeth chattering, I point my finger at him in my see-through white camisole. “Don’t you ever touch me again!”

Ignoring me, he grabs a dishtowel from the counter and hands it to me. “Here, you’re shivering.”

I contemplate not taking it, but in the end I do. The fabric is inadequate to do much more than wipe my face, but it gives me a chance to calm myself down. Reckless behavior leads to reckless actions and I am not looking for a repeat of New Year’s Eve, nor do I wish to chop his balls off, although that idea is somewhat appealing.

Lightning from outside flashes across the sky and lights up every square inch of him. Keen remains where he is, dripping wet, tousled and practically naked, without saying a word. Perhaps waiting for me to speak.

When I do not, he runs a hand through his wet hair, which seems longer than it was six weeks ago, and smooths it back only to highlight his gorgeous features.

A flurry of nervousness ripples through me. I am not this kind of girl. Men do not get under my skin. And this one will not either, not any longer anyway.

With an intake of breath, I let it out and finally speak. “I don’t want you anywhere near me, Keen. Visit your brother. Do whatever it is you are doing here in California, but stay the hell away from me. I never want to see you again, and I mean it.”

He exhales as if he’d been holding his breath. “Will you listen to me, Maggie? Just hear what I have to say. I’m not saying what I did was right, but I’d like a chance to explain myself.”

The power goes off, and then flickers back on. A second later it goes off again and doesn’t come back on. It happens all the time, and normally doesn’t bother me, but being alone in the dark with Keen isn’t something I need right now.

Although, I will say, darkness makes what I need to say much easier. “No, Keen, I won’t. I don’t want to hear it. Nothing will change what you did. I let my guard down for you. Let you in like I never have let anyone in. And you crushed me. Dropped me like what we had was nothing. And you know what? It took me a while to figure it out, but it was nothing.”

I can hear his harsh intake of breath.

The lights flick back on and without looking at him, I whisper, “It was nothing.”

I dare to glance up and he’s shaking his head.

A note on the kitchen table draws my attention away from him. I pick it up and read it. It’s from Brooklyn. “Gone to Sasha’s for the night. My brother stayed in my room. I should be back in the morning before he even wakes up. I’m pretty sure he’ll be staying at Cam’s since he has an extra room.”

Well, at least Keen won’t be staying here.

Sasha is Brooklyn’s go-to girl. You know, the one that when he doesn’t score, he goes to so that he can score. They’ve been at it for years, but neither ever wants to take it to the next level. He says they’re fuck buddies only. And for him that works. I’m not interested in such a thing anymore, and that’s all this will be if I listen to Keen make up excuses for why he left me hanging.

The truth is, he is a guy, and guys do what they want, when they want. It’s the truth, and the only one that matters. Yes, I truly believe in the whole “men are from Mars, women are from Venus” philosophy.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize he’s moved closer to me.

“I miss you.” His tenor is deep, raspy, and if I didn’t know better I’d say sleep deprived from a night of mindless fucking.

This man screams sex appeal from the very tip of his beautiful dark head to the very bottom of his sexy bare toes.

Whirling around, I attempt to point my finger at him again but it winds up poking him in the chest. “You—” I start to say but stop. Lifting my chin, I try again. “You don’t get to miss me.”

Keen looks down at my finger and I can see it happening before I can step back, his arm lifting so fast as he starts to yank me flush against that smooth bare chest of his, but the kitchen door flying open forces him to stop.

He whirls around as if shielding me from some kind of harm that might be on the other side.

Stepping to the side, because I don’t need his protection, I look up to see Cam standing there in Makayla’s way-too-small yellow raincoat with a flashlight in his hand.

Keen’s eyes flash in amusement. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

I laugh too, but keep it to myself, knowing Makayla must have forced him to wear it to keep him protected from the rain.

Cam steps inside. “A raincoat, fucker, what does it look like?”

Keen scratches his head. “I think you left your rubber ducky at home.”

Cam’s eyes take Keen in. “Excuse me, Mr. GQ, but I think you left your sense of style in New York.”

“Yeah, well at least I have one.”

“Had. I think you frigging lost it along with your mind.” Cam’s eyes flick between Keen and me.

Along with his mind?

What does that mean?

No, I will not get drawn in.

He hurt me.

I have to remember that.

The flurry of guffaws and trading of insults volleys back and forth a few more times, and I use this time to slip out of the kitchen to grab some towels. I return just in time to see Cam flipping Keen a triumphant bird.

“Here,” I say to Keen, handing him a towel without looking at him, and then I tie a towel around myself.

Cam sets the flashlight on the counter. “I see you both got caught in the storm.”

“Yes, I wasn’t expecting it and had to move all the furniture,” I tell him.

“You should have called me. I would have helped this guy over here with my brute strength,” Cam says, lifting his arms to flex his muscles and ripping open the seams of the raincoat at the same time.

Keen rolls his eyes.

“Fuck, Makayla is going to be pissed,” Cam says, slipping it off.

Keen starts laughing again and Cam shrugs fully out of the coat, handing it to me. “Maggie, you should probably cover up a little bit more anyway before you catch cold.”

Smooth.

Real smooth, Cam.

Even Keen snickers under his breath. Or was that a snort?

Asshole.

I narrow my eyes at Cam and set it down, hiking my towel up just to make sure nothing is showing.

He shrugs. “And I guess you don’t need this, either,” he says, pointing to the flashlight.

I continue to glare at him.

“Makayla was worried you didn’t have one, but the power seems to have come back on.”

“Yes, we’re all good,” I say, and start to turn to walk away just as Cam claps his hands together.

“Well, good!” he says. “I’m glad you’re both here.”

Good?

Why good?

Looking at him, at his grin, I see that he is completely oblivious to the tension rippling in waves between Keen and me.

“Let’s sit down,” he says.

I smile at him and try not to grab a knife and cut his balls off. “How about I make coffee?” I ask instead.

“That sounds great.”

Keen is just finishing tucking the end of his towel at his waist, when he looks up at Cam. “Let’s talk later, okay? I’m just headed back to bed.”

Cam clamps his hand on Keen’s shoulder before he can step away. “Oh, no, no, no. We have a lot to do today, bro, and since you’re already up, we’re going to get started early.”

Curiosity tickles my lips, but I remain silent as I scoop coffee into the filter.

Keen and Cam start to argue again in their trading-insults fashion and I tune them out, taking the moment to calm my racing pulse. But then just as I pour the water in the pot, Cam starts yacking about showering, breakfast, getting a new phone, rock climbing, shopping, and work.

Wait! What?

Work?

Why work?

“Maggie, what do you think?” Cam asks.

Switching the coffeemaker on, I turn around. “About what exactly?”

“Showing Keen around.”

Bracing the counter with a towel wrapped around my body, I look into Cam’s gray eyes, hoping beyond hope that this has nothing to do with my job. My fairly new job that I happen to love, by the way. “Don’t you think he’d have more fun if you did that?”

Cam turns his head to the side as if trying to figure me out. “Honestly, no. I think you can do a better job than I can. You know the products better than me. Besides, I’ll be in Chicago for the next two weeks trying to close the deal to purchase Austin Mars.”

I nod, just because I know I should.

The products. Okay, so this is work related. But in what way?

What am I missing?

The wheels in my mind are spinning, and I’m trying to connect the dots. From what I know, Cam is in the process of adding about five smaller retail operations to his corporate portfolio. Once he finishes evaluating them all, he plans to roll the appropriate pieces into Simon Warren operations and sell the rest off. I also know that he wants to move retail headquarters to Irvine. I get that. It is a much shorter distance from Laguna. I’m all for it, but what does any of this have to do with Keen?

Right now the Melrose Corporate Office is a key location for Simon Warren since it is literally above the flagship store, and last I heard he hadn’t decided what to do with that. Is he closing it? Or…no, no, no. He’s not putting Keen there. Is he?

“Don’t you agree, Maggie?” Cam questions.

“Why exactly am I showing him around?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

Cam is smiling so wide, I think it might be Christmas morning. He claps a hand on Keen’s shoulder again, but this time it’s more an out-of-respect gesture. “This brilliant guy right here has taken the position as head of the men’s retail division.”

Please tell me for a different company.

Not for Simon Warren.

I can’t work with him.

No way.

No how.

“Temporary head,” Keen adds, looking hesitant.

“Semantics,” Cam counters. “You’re going to love it and never want to leave.”

“Trial basis—remember, buddy,” Keen stresses.

Please tell me trial basis for Austin Mars.

Cam rolls his eyes as if not bothered by Keen’s reluctance, and then redirects his attention on me. “Anyway, Maggie, my plan is for you to introduce Keen to the company while I’m gone.”

Summoning all of my willpower to prevent me from fleeing right now, I suck in a breath and try to keep my voice even. “Okay, so you want to show him a store or two so he has a feel for men’s retail?”

As easy as it sounds, I doubt I can do that, but I can’t tell Cam that.

Cam shakes his head. “What I have in mind is a little more in-depth than that. Think of it as the first of the training sessions we’ve been talking about, except instead of you training the store department heads, you train the company head.”

The company head?

Like of what company?

Reluctance coats my brow, and I ease my words out carefully. “Okay, I can do that.”

Cam claps his hands together again. “Great. So I was thinking you could take him to the Santa Monica Distribution Center on Monday. And Jordan whispered in my ear that he is planning a little get-together to celebrate the completion of the upcoming fall line, so maybe you could both make an appearance. On Tuesday you’ll take Keen to the Melrose flagship store, and then the two of you will fly out to New York for the rest of the week to meet with your mother and attend a few of the men’s fashion shows, to give him a taste. Finally, next week you will show him the ropes at the corporate office. And then we’ll see where we need to go from there.”

Stunned.

Horrified.

Furious.

Those are just a few of the emotions I’m feeling when I look toward Keen and ask, “You’re going to be running Simon Warren?” at the same time he asks, “You work for Simon Warren?”

“Yes.” He smirks as if he wants to shout, “And now you will have to see me and hear me because I just might be your new boss.”

“Yes!” I respond tartly to his question. I can’t even look at him or Cam.

Silence fills the room.

“I should go give this back,” I say to Cam and then grab Makayla’s raincoat and get the hell out of Dodge, leaving my freshly brewing coffee behind.

“Maggie!” Cam calls.

I look over my shoulder.

“Any questions?”

With a shake of my head, I give him a thumbs-up and then go in search of Makayla, who I hope to God is home because I am in desperate need of her calming abilities.

Have you ever hated someone so much and yet wanted to fuck him on sight? Well, that’s how I’m feeling right now, and I can’t stand it.

With what Cam has planned for me, I have a lot of practicing to do on how to ignore, fight, maybe even repel extreme sex appeal, especially considering I’ve never had to do it.

Like ever.