I'm awake and yawning, totally ready to shower, and maybe find a quick breakfast in town before I'm due at the studio. It's one of those mornings I sorely miss sleeping in. But Gannon doesn't give me that luxury when he starts work at six o'clock, punctual and demanding as ever.

I clean up and change in a hurry. The new bumblebee dress I bought in Scottsdale last night fits wonderfully. It's everything I like in one elegant black stripped ensemble. Maybe part of me is still asking myself if it's a little tacky, but the fashion world demands a little classy eccentricity. That goes double at the public gallery I'm helping with tonight.

Time to go. Taking a deep breath, I leave my room, and nearly walk over the box sitting outside my door before I see it.

Now, what? I wonder, reaching down. Holding it up, I shake it gently.

Something dense and heavy rattles inside. It's a silver box with a luxury name in men's cologne stamped on the front. Certainly not something I'd order. I duck back in my room, sliding a fingernail under the tape.

It pops open, revealing a lump tucked under a note on thick cream paper in his handwriting. As soon as I hold up the page to read it, I'm horrified.

My vibrator stares me in the face. It's one of the few I keep around to sate the urges that come without a good man in sight.

Just because I'm a virgin at twenty-three hardly means I'm pure.

“Ass,” I mutter, unsure how I'm able to conjure the strength to read what he's left me, but I do.

Mornin' Sunfower. Never took you for a size queen until this rolled out when I was packing your bags. Thought I'd return it.

P.S. Good news: mine is bigger. Also a whole lot more fun to ride.

“Idiot!” I mutter, angrily slamming my vibrator into a dresser drawer. I head out, hoping to God he's still asleep, so I won't have to leave more mortified than I already am. Fortunately, he is. It'll be another hour before he wakes Lizzie and they're dressed, making breakfast, heading over to his mother's place to drop her off before he goes to the office.

After the morning ambush, Gannon's orders are actually a relief. They take my mind off the total privacy violation Knox just delivered, the last man on earth who should know anything about my masturbation habits.

We spend our time prepping for the public exhibition tonight. It's been thrown together quickly, ever since Gannon found out several big names from Europe were due in Phoenix. I guess they think there's some creative merit in experiencing a 'real Arizona summer.'

Well, they've picked a perfect time. I'm barely able to walk two blocks to my favorite Mexican grill for lunch.

These are the dog days, broken only by short nights and sudden monsoons. The pavement burns your toes when it's been in the hundred and twenty degree sun. The nicer places have their mist turned on, and I stop at an upscale French place next to the grill, catching the spritz pouring off their patio above.

My phone pings. It's amazing how fast the burn moves inside me, and I forget all about being comfortable when I see the name on the screen sending me the text.

Knox: Still expecting a ride home tonight from the art shindig, or what?

I grit my teeth, tapping out a response, and really hoping this line starts moving because anger makes me hungry.

Kendra: Don't bother. I'll Uber to your place whenever I'm done.

I don't want his help. Sure, he might have Lizzie in the car with him, easing the awkward tension, but I don't know if I can see him today. Not after his nasty little 'good morning' shock.

Knox: The offer stands. So does the chance to get something between your legs that doesn't run on batteries.

Kendra: Not in this lifetime, or the next. You're crazy, crude, and a complete ass.

I flick my screen off, silence its tone, and plunk it in my purse before he has time for more torment. I'm able to eat my burrito in peace and work the rest of the evening, doing some final checks before the show tonight.

“Hey, we're shorthanded.” Gannon taps me on the shoulder an hour before it's supposed to open. “See to the refreshments and snacks, please. Our esteemed guests have no tolerance for vending machines and fast food, Kendra, particularly Mrs. Brunwick.”

Great. Not only am I pulling a double shift for this stupid internship, I'm now I'm a glorified waitress too.

I also can't walk out on him and blow my experience. That would mean even more sucking up to Knox so he'll expedite the rewards he's promised for this insane fake engagement. And after this morning, I'm honestly afraid he'll want me to put my money where my mouth is when the time comes to cash in.

I flash my egomaniac employer a lovely smile, batting my eyes, and tell him I'll make sure the caterers have everything picture perfect.

I'm still working on stocking drinks with the bartender when the gallery opens. Gannon greets his guests at the front door with our receptionist, Lydia, who has her pink hair covered by a hat from the artist's own collection. She does more work than I've seen for months. Maybe ever.

“Ladies and gentleman, I'm honored. Right this way.” He smiles at the gaggle of guests, no more than a few dozen, all wearing more money than I think I've seen outside Knox's wardrobe.

The men look like penguins. The women like a menagerie of strange insects and birds, dressed so fashionably their exotic wear looks downright uncomfortable.

Prowling the tables, they mostly ignore the caviar, pate, and brioche brushed with veal broth, heading straight for the bar to whet their appetites. I listen to them chatter in at least four languages. Gannon's exaggerated laugh pierces the chaotic roar every few minutes.

Dealing with Knox's crap is becoming more attractive by the second. When does this stupid thing end?

We're nearly an hour in before he starts his speech. His guests crowd around, following him through the gallery. He's able to check his ego, at least for as long as he needs to rub elbows with world famous titans who can snap his reputation like a rotten twig.

I watch him, chewing my lip sourly. He leads them on through a mess of prototype dresses and men's shirts we've been working on for weeks. The sweat on his brow is visible under the hot bright lights, specially installed just for tonight.

The other designers aren't impressed by his jewelry, which he pinned his hopes on. I hear a man with an honest to God monocle lean over and whisper to the lady next to him in a thick German accent. “Pedestrian. Where is the life? Imagine wearing that droll medallion – like something out of a Gothic fantasy!”

Gannon clears his throat, and maneuvers them on toward the front, skipping the sequined 'black swan' dresses worn by the row of manikins, all in different shades of ebony and gold.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may, I'd like to set you free to peruse at your leisure and wrap up our tour early. You've been very gracious. But first, allow me to introduce a little secret I've been slaving over between other projects. This, my friends, is the future. Radiance, clarity, and fairytale whimsy.”

Wow. He's staking a lot on this.

Gannon stops at the small table next to him, eyeing the ceramic black lid over the top. With a nervous flourish, he peels off the cover.

My heartbeat triples ahead of the crowd erupting in a fascinated rumble.

Gannon's royalty lift their drinks. Gesturing in awe, their hurried whispers double. They're absolutely delighted, and it's all thanks to my glass Cinderella slippers.

The same ones Gannon hasn't spent a second working on for weeks.

“You okay, Kendra? Looking a little flushed.” Lydia flashes a knowing smile, amused by the sudden twist in tonight's drama.

I give her a killing look. “Did you know this was coming?”

She looks down at her nails, sipping a cocktail she's stolen, careless about drinking on the clock. “Oh, yes. He's been talking them up a lot lately. Thought he'd save them for the grand finale, but it seems he's bumped up his schedule. Be grateful, I suppose. You're finally getting some recognition.”

The last vicious blow to my ego today hits like an uppercut. I turn, stomping off to the room in the back, covering my face before hot rage leaks out my eyes.

I've been robbed.

Pride? Shattered.

I've run out of people to trust.

How much can a woman take? How much should she, before something gives?

I don't know. But I've already decided I'm done being dissed.

My revenge won't wait for morning. I can't live with myself if I have to suffer one more deprecating smile for this wretched thief.

* * *

I wait for the steady chatter to fade before I make my move. The gallery is quieter now. People move more freely, half of them hanging close to Gannon. They all want a chance to shake his hand, prostrating themselves to the new 'visionary' they've discovered in the unlikeliest place.

I hear 'dirty, backward, sun-choked' town more times than I can count. Apparently, even the lingering heat after Phoenix's sunset is too much not to melt their tender sensibilities.

They have no idea. The fire I'm lighting will be infinitely worse.

The crowd slowly circles the gallery, trailing Gannon like puppies. I wait until the last few stragglers are done marveling at the slippers I designed. Then, I snatch them off their podium, place them on the floor and change my shoes.

Someone discarded a glass of wine after only a sip on the small bench nearby. I reach for it, too.

No one sees me coming. I have to walk through the narcissistic herd several times before their egos soften enough to notice what's on my feet.

The glass taps staccato notes on the gallery's cherry wood floor, creating a resonate echo that only grows as they quiet down, staring in horror. The bloviating idiot hasn't noticed the commotion yet.

“Ah, my muse? You wouldn't believe how it came to me. I've had the book sitting on my shelf for years, a gift from my grandmother, as fate would have it. They called it The Little Glass Slipper then. First edition. I hadn't read it since I was boy when I picked it up on a whim late one night. The moon splashed across its pages, and my eyes lingered on every word. I felt this in my bones. I sat down and began working like a maniac the very next day, throwing everything aside, devoting my life to –“ Gannon stops mid-sentence.

It takes three heart-stopping seconds for him to process what's happening.

I'm coming toward him, mid-stride, still a couple feet away. His fawning guests lose their smiles as they notice me. There's a gasp, worried whispers rising, a stifled laugh in the corner that could only be Lydia's.

Oh, it's funny, all right. Like, ha-ha-oh-my-God-you-thieving-fucking-asshole hilarious.

Now for the punch line.

I don't say anything. Stopping a couple feet from Gannon, I watch the sweat soak through his collar. He clears his throat, putting his eyes anywhere but mine, blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Eric, forgive me, but what is the meaning of this?” An exasperated woman with guts steps in front of us, asking the collective question.

“Bravo, Ms. Sawyer.” He begins to clap, anger slamming his hands together. “Please, everyone, join me in giving my lovely assistant a hand. It's performance art, you see. I simply couldn't let you admire them inanimate. My creation is meant to be worn, to dance on the body like the vibrant light it catches, and – wait, where are you going?”

If he didn't sound deranged, he might have pulled it off. But the crowd sees through it. The most sensitive ones are leaving in mass, peeling away.

I stand, a human fixture, hands on my hips, waiting for the room to clear. I never take my eyes off the ruined idiot who thought he'd get away with fraud. He misjudged me as a total pushover.

It's eerily quiet once everyone is gone. He looks past me, giving Lydia a death glare. She gets the message and scrams, running through the back door. It's so desolate we hear her car start a moment later.

“Have you lost your goddamned mind?” Gannon speaks first, coming toward me, eyes hateful black stars behind his icy spectacles.

“Does gross humiliation make you psychic? Because I was about to ask you the same question.”

He's shaking. Spit flies from his mouth, narrowly missing my face when the outburst continues. “Really, you little cur? That's what you say after trampling on my career?”

“Well, if you hadn't stolen my design...” I wiggle my toes, a gesture that's surprisingly elegant in these.

“Bitch, I will ruin you – you're insane! It's like you have no-self awareness, no common sense, no fucking clue who I really am.”

“Wrong. It's easy to see, Gannon, and I'm kind of glad I could show the world tonight. You're a petty, burnt out, patronizing fraud and –“

He hits me across the face. Hard.

I go down, senses spinning, bringing my hands out before I hit the floor. It barely softens the blow. My ribcage shakes my entire body, but I wince the hardest when my ankle twists, causing the glass heel to bang the floor with a noticeable thwack.

Incredible. I'm more worried about the precious slippers on my feet shattering than a broken ankle.

I smile, tasting blood, wondering in my delirium if Knox will still tease me tonight when I drag myself home. If I get a chance to go home ever again.

Gannon breathes heavy. The brute looks around the room. He's either panicked because I'm not moving, or contemplating a way to finish me off.

Get up. Move. Try to get away, before he –

“You again!” Gannon freezes near the wall, his eyes wide, hands on a bust resembling Prince in purple geodes. He created it last year to commemorate the musician's death. “No, go away! I'm telling you, fool, you're about to make a massive mistake if you –“

A huge shadow power slams him into the floor. Knox.

Gannon's scream chokes off after a second, the wind knocked out of him, too lost for words to continue begging for mercy or making idle threats.

I'm dizzy, but barely able to sit up on my hands. The ex-marine, the mercenary, the piece of my life I can't figure out shows his full power. All of it, or enough to change our lives forever. He shifts from slamming his knee into Gannon's ribs to clawing the back of his head, smashing his face into the floor.

“I give the orders now, prick. Do. You. Understand?”

“Knox...” I try calling his name, but it's happening so fast, and he's too determined to break the bastard who hurt me, if not murder him outright. “Knox!”

He stops and looks over, taking a five second breather from his savage retribution. “Let me handle this, Sunflower.”

“Knox, no!” I'm standing up, wobbling on my feet, the full horror of the situation hitting me like a hangover. “Don't hurt him any more. Please. I hate what he did to me, but if you don't stop now, you're risking everything. Lizzie...”

Hearing his daughter's name tames the hateful flicker in his eyes. He's reluctant to stand up, ungluing himself from the creep groaning on the floor, but at least he's detaching. I walk over, throw my arms around him, and practically collapse. It's hard to walk in this cracked shoe with my head throbbing, the universe on a non-stop carousel spin.

“Call the police and get him an ambulance,” I whisper. “Leave the explaining to me.”

He grabs my chin, gentle and firm. “Darling, you're hurt. I'm taking you home. Fate gets to decide whether this piece of shit ever walks again.”

I look over at Gannon. He's moving, breathing choppy, making painful sounds. He'll live, probably, if he doesn't have a serious concussion.

“At least let me call Lydia, and promise you'll file a police report. We need something on record, a statement, before he twists the truth.”

“Five minutes, Sunflower. You make the call. That's all you get before we're leaving, even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the truck. Countdown's already begun.”

He's true to his word. I leave Lydia a frantic message, and wait for her to call back a minute later. She says she's still in the area, draining a stiff drink before she heads home for the night. I tell her to make sure Gannon has a ride to the hospital. I also make sure she knows I'm done, I'm keeping the shoes, and charges will be pressed if he dares to so much as talk to a lawyer about my fiancé's self-defense.

I hope it sinks in.

I'm even more hopeful I'll find some way to hold onto the anger over the stupid vibrator incident this morning, instead of staring into his eyes like I'm absorbing my personal hero. Knox lifts me up, carries me to the passenger seat, and hooks my belt for me.

He really cares. Asshole that he is sometimes, there's no denying it. Makes it hard as hell to hold onto the crumbling ice barrier between us.

“Two takedowns in a week,” I say, amazed it's barely been twenty-four hours since he ran off the spy Victor sent after us. “Is that like a new record?”

“Here in the States, maybe. Overseas nah. Can't say I like so much piling up on home turf.”

“No Lizzie tonight?” I whisper, once he's in the driver's seat, guiding us out of the parking lot.

“She's sleeping over at grandma's. I figured we'd need some privacy to talk after my stunt this morning, after I chose to ignore you for shooting down my ride home. Didn't expect to find you half-knocked out by that fucking imbecile.”

I cock my head, studying him slowly. “I'm glad you showed up.”

“And I want you to know I'm sorry,” he says, a low growl hanging in his throat.

“What? Look, if it's about this morning, I can forgive –“

“Sure is, but that's not why I'm apologizing. Truth is, I was wrong. Never should've waited until morning to fuck with you, Sunflower. If I'd had my wits last night, I'd have hid that thing in my pocket after we got home, and broke it out while you were wide awake. Should've put it to good use when I had you against the wall, never breaking that kiss. Should've let my lips bring you home.”

Home. The tender, unexpected weight in one word cuts through my confusion. He takes my hand when I put it in his lap, a low rumble in his throat. He pushes it against his jeans.

His bulge is scary, exciting, enthralling all at once.

I don't even know what this is anymore, or where it's going. But I'm not afraid.

Nothing frightens me more than the thought this insanity could be temporary, and the ring on my finger might go up in smoke as easily as Gannon's career.

* * *

When we're home, he doesn't drop the caveman thing. I'm in his arms again once he parks the truck, thinking he's carrying me to my room.

It's an escort in the strongest arms I've ever had around me, all right, but the spacious guest room where I sleep isn't where we're going.

In all my time here, I've never seen Knox's room. His unmistakable masculine scent serenades my nostrils the second we're inside, and deepens when I quicken my breath, going gently down on his bed.

He lays me there softly and disappears. When he returns, he's carrying a glass of water and a couple aspirin, a thoughtful shortcut to soothe the dull throb behind my eyes.

It feels good laying here in the darkness. Even better when he climbs in, wraps his strong arms around my waist, and holds me like he's making up for the times he let go.

“Sleep, darling. I'll be here through morning. If you're up when I am, I'll make breakfast.”

“Knox, you don't have to –“

His thick hand presses gently against my mouth. “You deserve a good meal after the bullshit tonight. Rest, and I'll have one ready in the morning.”

My eyes are so heavy. I'm slipping deeper into the sweet nothing my body craves, a need that's only slightly more powerful tonight than the one he ignites when we're pressed this close.

It's miraculous, really. There I am, in his bed, snug against this beast who's taken me between heartbreak and heaven more times than I can count. I want to do more, but I don't know if I should, and the broken pieces rattling around inside me after Gannon's antics just make me more tired.

Sleep. That's what I'm after to de-fog my mind, and maybe once that's done there'll be more clarity for my bruised heart.

If Knox ever lets me go through the length and darkness, I never know it. I fall sleep in his arms, snug against his chest, bristling while his delicious heat envelopes me.

It's grace, it's strength, it's a calm I didn't know he even had. He shows a boundless patience for my pain. His chiseled biceps squeeze me tighter, whenever I stir in my sleep, as if to say, you're safe, Sunflower, and I'll be fucked if I let you go anywhere there's suffering.

My subconscious wants to go to a thousand dark places each time I bob toward waking, every time my eyelids flutter, and I'm forced to remember for a brief second how I got into his bed.

But the true, relentless darkness never comes. Knox is my shield and my flame.

He is fierce. Dogged. Omnipresent.

His protection blunts the chaos my life was just plunged into. His eyes shred it and banish the vicious pieces from stabbing my soul, at least for one gentle, silent night I'll never forget.

I'm amazed he doesn't take this further when my body is so damn ready against his.

When I wake, it's just after dawn, and he's gone. I swear his warmth lingers on my skin.

He's left me a fresh towel and a change of clothes, carried from my guest room. When I clean up, change, and pad down to the main floor, sizzling bacon scent wafts up my nose.

“Good timing, woman. Thought I'd put yours aside to warm up later.” Knox stands by the glass stove top, holding two plates with crisp bacon, hash browns, and the biggest country omelets I've ever seen. “Have a seat.”

He brings me a coffee and orange juice, sliding my plate over at the breakfast bar. I dig in, realizing how maddeningly hungry I am. It's also a wonderful distraction from re-living last night's sideshow.

“Need you to go by Ma's place and pick up Lizzie later, if you're free.” It's sweet that he asks, even though we know full well I have nothing to do now that I'm Gannon's former intern.

“Of course. I'd like to get out of the house,” I say, chewing more food. It's criminally rich, and if I wasn't impressed with him for his many other attributes, his cooking could bring any woman to her knees. “I'll ask around about last night. Find out if Gannon plans to press charges.”

He holds a hand up, sipping off his huge slate gray mug. “Don't bother. He'll listen if he knows what's good for him. Every last word I coughed in that motherfucker's ear. They always hear me, Kendra, or they pay big.”

There's a dark spot in his blue eyes warning me his threats are never idle. They run a chill up my spine.

Proud because he's using his rich, ass kicking, Neanderthal powers for me.

Scary because I wonder what'll ever happen if the worm turns, and someday I'm on the receiving end.

“It's over, Sunflower,” he says again, sliding out of his chair with an empty plate. He rinses it in the sink and clasps the two top buttons he'd left undone during breakfast. “I'm going to the office. Remember Lizzie for me.”

“Knox!” I'm on my feet, calling after him, right before he bolts past me.

He stops, lending a few precious seconds to cross over to him, and lay my lips on his cheek. The tiny hint of business-like scruff burns beneath my lips. He looks, smells, and feels as good as he tastes. “Thank you,” I say, two little words holding a universe.

“Evening,” he growls. “We'll talk more then. Or maybe we won't bother. That bed we shared can do a whole lot more than put us out under the right circumstances.”

“Oh?” Oh. My. God. “I...honestly, I thought it was a one-time thing. Didn't know last night meant we were sharing it again.”

He doesn't say anything. I'm breathless when his hand makes it to the back of my neck, clasps my skin tight, and pulls my lips into his. “Don't forget the rest of our deal. You will be rewarded, and you'll forget about that twitchy prick who ripped you off, Cinderella. That's how this Prince Charming crap works.”

He's gone, shooting one last smoldering look over his shoulder.

I'm a smiling, weak-kneed mess. Until last night, it was hard to believe he had a charming bone left in his massive body.

Now? I'm not sure what to believe.

I just know I need the marble counter to help hold me up, before my racing heart takes the world out under me.

Everything is sped up. It's swift, it's fast, and it absolutely will leave me in Knox Carlisle's riptide if I don't get a grip very, very soon.

* * *

“Oh my God, peanut. You're going to get sick, and then I'll catch hell from daddy.” Jamie swipes a moist, cool towelette across Lizzie's forehead.

Sweat beads off the little girl's skin. That makes three of us.

We chose a melting point day for the zoo, and now we're on the curb after several hours exploring, waiting for our driver. Just because Jamers does the low key student thing when she's out and about doesn't mean she doesn't use certain advantages, including her mother's chauffeur.

“Can you watch her while I fetch a couple waters? Saw a vending machine back there,” Jamie says, heading off before I even answer.

I smile down at the little girl, who looks like she's about to pass out in the shade. Incredibly, she hasn't complained, and still wanted to linger by the lion pit while Jamers and me fanned ourselves. The magic and energy of a child is a force of nature.

We're standing under a palm tree reaching halfway to the sky, a small mercy on a summer day in Phoenix. I uncap my water bottle, holding out the last lukewarm swig to her, which she politely turns her nose up at.

“I take care-a-myself real good, ya know,” she says matter-of-factly, ignoring the soft concern in my eyes. Looks like Knox's tough as nails approach to life is already rubbing off.

“I know, honey. You're handling this better than I am!” I wipe my brow, underscoring the point. “But we need to make sure you're healthy. Drink some more water, please. There might be a coconut smoothie later.”

She's able to pretend my silly bribe won't work for all of ten seconds. Then she snatches my bottle away in her little hands, gulping the last sip. I smile, looking over my shoulder, sighing when I see the huge line Jamers is in.

It'll be awhile. I can't say I'm sorry for the wait, though, because as oppressive as the heat is, it's better out here than dwelling on everything at home. It's good being out. I don't need to feel bad about losing my internship with Gannon. And I also don't need to wonder, for the millionth time, what Knox means after he whispered the word evening.

As in this evening. Him. Me. And a bed.

It's butterfly season in my stomach just imagining the insane possibilities. And those butterflies multiply because even after all of his crap, there's a slim chance any of the scenarios involve me saying no.

“Drink, peewee? You look exhausted.” An older man's gravely voice oozes into my ears.

I turn around and come face-to-face with my worst nightmare. Lizzie is running toward a stranger. He's an older, stern looking man in a tuxedo, hanging halfway out the back of an open black Mercedes, a shark-like smile on his lips and a bottle in his hand that looks like flavored water.

“Get away from her!” I'm screaming, running, ready to tear her away from him as all my instincts kick in.

Naturally, Jamers can't hear me over the crowd around us by the curve. She's staring at her phone, oblivious to her niece's peril.

By the time I catch up to them, the man has the bottle to Lizzie's mouth. He wraps her in one arm while he crouches. “What's the matter, young lady? Can't a man surprise his only granddaughter?”

I stop cold, just a couple feet away. So, it's him. The dangerous, unrelenting Victor Wright, a silver fox in a tycoon's suit, elegant in his evil.

“Let. Her. Go,” I snarl between my teeth. His dark eyes take my gaze hostage.

I'm reaching for my phone, ready to leave a messy voicemail because I don't know what else to do.

“Nonsense. I think she's going home with me for the evening.” Wright looks down, his eyes big and full of hope, waiting for the little girl to back him up. “You remember me, don't you, sweetness? Last Thanksgiving? You adored the pecan roll ups my talented chef served us.”

Lizzie stops drinking, shifting uncomfortably in his arms. She takes her mouth off the bottle and wipes it, then gives me a pleading look. “Wanna go home with daddy.”

Wright's face sinks. I watch him look quickly to his left and right, scanning the crowd, mentally doing the math on how fast he'd be able to throw her in his car, and have the driver take off without risking a scene.

I'm ready to give the bastard one if he moves her so much as another inch toward the car. “Don't do this,” I tell him, stepping closer. It's a fine line between getting him away, and not upsetting Lizzie, who already knows this situation is very wrong. “Just turn around and go. She doesn't want to be with you. Leave now, and maybe I won't have to tell Knox.”

That's a bald lie. My finger lingers on my phone, ready to bring up the contacts any second, tell him he needs to drop everything and get here now.

Wright stands, dragging his arms off the little girl. “By all means, tell him everything. He should know I stopped by. Perhaps he'll realize I'm serious about gaining full custody over my granddaughter this summer. It's good we met, Kendra Sawyer.” I stiffen when he says my name. “It seems our delightful little lady has other plans for the evening, so I'll leave her be. For now. Just know I'll be watching. Waiting. You will slip up, dear, and so will he. In fact, it seems – maybe – you already are.”

Victor's gaze flicks to my hand. My heart skips a beat when it hits me how naked I am, the ring stripped off my finger, hidden to avoid any unsavory questions from Jamers. It's a small relief anyway to see him take his hands completely off the little girl, slink inside his car, and shut the door.

She breaks for me as soon as he lets go. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I sweep her into my arms. I embrace her like she might be blown away. God forbid, she could be.

I'm cradling her, trying not to tremble, my eyes closed. I don't even see Wright's car drive off. When another black sedan pulls up on the curve, I'm halfway out of my skin, wondering if he's returned with backup, this time to steal her away for good.

But the man I've seen a few times before during other outings with my best friend steps out of the driver's seat, a huge smile on his face pointed our way. It's the Carlisle's chauffeur, and we're heading home.

“Jesus H. Christ in a chicken basket, what a frigging zoo,” Jamers says, pressing an ice cold water into the back of my arm. I jump, and wheel around, a dirty look on my face. “Whaaat?”

I'm not smiling. She realizes it a couple seconds later, when the frown stays plastered on my face. “Jeez, what'd I miss? Hey, and where the hell did you girls jack the melon water?”

“Get in,” I say, climbing past her into the leather seat as our driver holds the door. “I'll explain on the way home.”