“Is it a gift?” I asked as I instinctively reached for the tissue paper to wrap.

“Yes thanks.” The woman at the counter answered without even looking up from her phone. Most of the people coming into Homeward Bound were picking up a gift, bringing back a touch of the Hamptons in the form of a nautical-themed pillow or blown-glass vase.

I wrapped and tied it all with a wide, yellow grosgrain ribbon. On the counter next to me, my phone lit up for the 90^th time this morning with a text from a friend. The phrase “I’m at work” didn’t exactly register with my crew. Work was a foreign concept, something distasteful they’d heard about but never wanted to experience firsthand.

“It is a super cute shop,” my friend Penny had agreed when I’d told her that I’d be spending 20 hours a week working at the quaint little store that sold odds and ends for home decorating. But even she had asked on more than one occasion, “Why are you working there?” Everyone knew I didn’t need the money.

“My mom wants me to” was the stock answer I gave any who asked. And that was true. Lynn, the shop owner, was good friends with my mom and had promised to keep an eye on me over the summer. I’d lived with my mom practically full-time since age ten, and she wasn’t thrilled when I’d told her I wanted to spend the summer out on the Hamptons at my father’s house. Mainly because she knew he would rarely be there to keep a watchful eye over me.

Nor would any of my older brothers, even though I had three of them. Ash was out in California doing his rock-star thing. Heath was holed up in a cabin in Vermont, solidly and determinedly off the grid. They were doing it in different ways, but both were effectively raising their middle finger loud and proud to my corporate father. They wanted nothing to do with our family and, sadly, that meant me as well.

Even my oldest brother, Colt, who had, in every sense, embraced the Kavanaugh name, legacy and family business, wouldn’t be around much. He told me he’d be in the Hamptons on weekends to check in on me, but I knew he’d be the same as my father. A weekend of plans would evolve into “caught in some meetings, running late” which would turn into “need to reschedule.” I’d seen enough of it to not get disappointed any more.

In fact, this summer, the prospect of lots of time to myself without any watchful eyes felt positively liberating. Living with my mother and stepfather in their sprawling estate in Southern Connecticut, I’d been given the best but I’d been kept on an extremely short leash. I’d attended the very best private girls school, learned to play tennis and golf at the very best country club, and ridden my horse at stables used by visiting European royalty. As long as all my actions followed a narrowly prescribed path, everyone was happy, and I was a pleaser above all else. I did not break the rules. My mother worried about me, her youngest, and when other kids headed into the city to party all night, I stayed in and watched sappy movies with girlfriends.

Heading down south to attend Vanderbilt was about as rebellious as I’d gotten so far, but even by my parents’ standards it was hard to call my freshman year there wild. I’d joined the sorority I was expected to rush and went to the parties I was expected to attend, only drinking a polite glass/plastic cup or two max. I’d gone on dates with eligible young men, always the types who would meet the expectations of my parents. And just as reliably, I’d always frustrated them at the end with barely a kiss good night. It wasn’t hard to be good when you felt no temptation to be bad.

At least that had been my experience up until now.

The shop door opened, the bell above giving a soft tinkle and my attention darted over. Could it be him? Of course not. An older woman and what looked like her daughter strolled into the shop, our typical customers. Rough and tough Dom would not be the type to head into our home decorating shop to poke around for gifts and ideas.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I didn’t know what had come over me at the party the other night. I was never forward with men, going over and asking breathy questions about whether it was dangerous to be next to them. A blushing heat stole up into my cheeks just thinking about it. How cheesy of me.

I’d actually reached over and copped a feel of his solid forearm, veins and muscles running along its powerful length. It had been worth it. He’d felt so good. It was all I could do to tear myself away from him and head back into the party. He’d dismissed me several times, with his body language, with his actual words, telling me to leave him alone. Yet I almost couldn’t do it. Everything in me wanted to scoot closer, then closer still until I got so close I could feel his heat and strength and maybe, if I got lucky, get near enough to those full lips so I could taste.

My phone blipped with another text. It made no sense that my heart kept leaping over those as well. Could it be Dom? No, it could not. He didn’t have my phone number. I never gave out my phone number to random men, and he hadn’t even asked. But I still got excited every damn time my phone blipped, like a schoolgirl with an impossible crush. Which I’m sure was what I looked like to him.

Last night at the end of the party, he’d been my hero. Some big drunk guy had started bothering me. I’d ignored him leering at me, but then he’d made his way over and slurred some line in my ear about me looking sexy. Before I even knew what has happening, he was pulled away and out the door.

I’d followed behind and saw Dom lead him firmly down the stairs and pack him into the back seat of a car. He hauled the guy off like a ragdoll. The man didn’t even protest. It so easily could have been a scene, but no one even noticed. Dom just managed it with silent, stealthy force.

Jaw set, in charge, commanding the situation, Dom had sent him on his way. Then he’d looked back at the door almost as if he knew I’d be there. When our eyes met, I swear I saw such darkness pass through him, something so fierce and possessive it made me catch my breath. No wonder I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was the most exciting, dangerous, gorgeous man I’d ever met.

On Friday night I wanted to head to the country club where I had a chance of seeing Dom, but Penny thought I was crazy.

“Everyone’s heading to Via Vino, and then Chels has the back room reserved at Oceanside. You know she’d kill us if we didn’t show.”

“She would,” I acknowledged. We’d known Chelsea since middle school and she could get brutal.

“And then you know everyone’s going to end up at the 2am Club.”

“Yeah.” Week two and I was already getting accustomed to the ebb and flow of summer on the Hamptons. House parties and functions at the country club mixed with a whole lot of club-hopping. I could almost see it like a science experiment, with molecules disbanding then forming again to finally all cluster at some late-night hot spot. It was why I’d wanted to spend the summer there, to let loose and have fun and see my friends. Only now a new agenda item had taken top precedence.

I didn’t even know his full name. Was Dom short for Dominic? And what was his last name? I had so many questions. But they were going to have to wait. Tomorrow night we had a function at the club we’d all dutifully attend before setting out into the evening. I’d be there with bells on. But not tonight.

“Zander’s going to be at Oceanside,” Penny began, launching into a dissection of his recent behavior. Zander said this. Zander did that. Sometimes I wanted to club Zander over the head for putting Penny through everything he did. That boy played more games than an extroverted kid at an elementary school birthday party. I let her tell me every single last detail, letting it wash over me in an almost soothingly familiar manner, until she started trying to set me up again with one of Zander’s friends.

“Trevor’s so cute. He’s so into you. You should totally give him a chance.”

“Mph.” I gave her a noncommittal grunt. Honestly, Trevor seemed fine, but I’d never detected the passion Penny claimed he felt for me, nor had I felt anything remotely like it myself. We had an utterly congenial relationship based on similar backgrounds and mutual acquaintances. Entire lives had been built on that foundation, with marriages and children and everything else. Me, though? I wanted more.

We agreed to our usual routine, and Penny showed up with her usual sampling of outfits, and we headed off into our usual merry-go-round of social flitting and flirting. Until late at night when we arrived at the 2am Club.

I was tipsy by the time we got there, wobbling a bit on my stacked heels in my skimpy clubbing dress. There wasn’t much to it with thin straps, ending mid-thigh, but there wasn’t too much to me, either. I was a skinny little thing and I’d always been fine with that, but when I thought about a man like Dom it made me wish I were one of those traffic-stopping sirens with curves that made a man’s eyes pop out of his head. I’d definitely felt a charge between us, but he’d also found it really easy to dismiss me, literally sending me away from him and telling me to rejoin the party. If I had a little more junk in the trunk maybe he would have taken advantage of the shadows and my obvious interest. Maybe he would have leaned down to me and slid his hand along the curve of my lower back.

Like he was doing right in front of me to a sexy skank practically bursting out of her nearly nonexistent top.

“What—?” I stopped short as we exited the car in front of the club, causing Penny and a couple other friends to jostle into me, giggling, like we were a bunch of drunk bimbos. Which, I guess, might not be the most unfair characterization.

“Wait, you guys, wait.” A girl in our crew balanced against Penny as she adjusted the strap of her sandal.

Penny slipped her arm through mine as she followed my gaze. “Is that the guy from—?”

“Um-hmm,” I managed to answer, still not able to move my legs. Dom stood next to the door looking even bigger than before in a fitted black T-shirt. It looked like he was a bouncer for the club, but then it also looked as if he had his hands full in quite another way as a woman draped her arms around his neck. When he reached down I saw he had a full sleeve of tattoos. It wasn’t a surprise that he was inked, but it was a revelation to see them, winding around his muscles and drawing my attention to his bulging bicep. Every inch of the man looked hard.

“Do you know that guy?” Another friend asked, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. “He’s scary.” But way she said it didn’t sound like she wanted to run and hide.

“He’s hot.” My other friend finished fixing her sandal and joined in the ogling party, just in time for Dom to look up and see all four of us standing and staring at him open-mouthed. Perfect.

He turned his attention back to the woman draped all over him. Octopus much? I wanted to tell her to back off, but of course I’d never do such a thing. Plus, the woman looked like she’d kick my ass in three seconds flat. She had long fingernails and a tat to match his on her shoulder. It figured that would be the kind of woman he’d go for. Not some prissy little schoolgirl like me.

I looked down as we approached the entrance, feeling like an idiot. He probably wouldn’t even remember me.

“Get you a ride home,” I overheard him saying to the woman as we reached the door. Another gigantic man in a black T-shirt asked for our IDs. Not one of us was 21, but our IDs attested to each of us being well into our 20s. Mine said I lived in Nashville. As always, the velvet rope opened to give us access.

Dom stood next to me though I studiously avoided any more eye contact. But he was right there, and I caught a glimpse of him clearly unwinding the woman’s tentacles. He firmly insisted he call her a ride home as she whined in protest. I couldn’t help but smile.

He leaned toward me just before I walked past. “Watch yourself in there, princess.” I looked up into his dark eyes, unable to hide how happy I felt that he remembered me.

“Hi, Dom,” I murmured, flushing. “Do you work here, too?”

“Some of us got to earn a living.” His words came out gruff, but then he gave me a quick and sexy wink. Oh no. That was it. I was done for.

I made it into the club on Penny’s arm, feeling very much like I either needed a shot of something strong or a bar stool to sink down on. Or both.

“Did he just wink at you?” Penny shout-whispered into my ear. It was loud in the club and I could feel the beat of the dance music pulsing through the floor. I was saved from having to answer by her spotting Zander and drawing us over toward him like a bee toward a flower.

I’d never more desperately wished I were outside and away from a party with all my friends. Surrounded by the people I’d known for years and assumed I would for years to come, the ones I’d gone to school with, whose parents knew my parents and we saw in all the same circles, I wanted out. I wished I smoked so I could excuse myself and slip outside for a reason. My gaze kept drifting over to the door, wondering if Dom would make his way inside, but the moment never came.

Finally, the evening wound down. Closing time arrived, with the usual hook ups and stumbling and weaving toward the door. I’d done a shot, but then ended up nursing a G&T the rest of the night and only felt buzzed by the time I stepped out into the warm summer-night air. It felt good on my face after the dark heat of the club, and I closed my eyes for a moment to enjoy it.

When I opened them, I saw Dom watching me. Arms crossed against his chest, he leaned against the wall. Our group was among the last to leave and no one was causing him any trouble. I doubted many people were stupid enough to start anything with him.

“Party at Brock’s,” Penny told me, squeezing my hand as she climbed into a car with some friends.

“I thought we were headed to Chelsea’s?” I called after her. There was always an after-party, and sometimes an after-after party. Chelsea’s family was never in town and we’d already made a habit of heading there on several nights. After-parties at Chelsea’s ran toward the all-girls, ramen-noodle giggle-fest variety, just my speed. But Brock’s house? Somehow I didn’t see us all changing into T-shirts and sweatpants, putting our hair up in scrunchies and watching Twilight for the hundredth time.

“Got room for you in my car.” Right on cue, Brock appeared at my side. Alcohol practically oozed out of his pores. Even sober, Brock’s leering aggressiveness made me shudder. Late at night, drunk behind the wheel to head to his house? Not going to happen.

“Oh, no thanks,” I refused, stepping to the side and away from his large hand trying to grasp mine. I approached the car Penny had entered, but it was already packed. Plus, it was headed to Brock’s.

“Looks like you’re with me.” Brock declared victory and wrapped his hand around my upper arm with a bit too much force.

“No,” I said loudly. In response, he started leading me toward his car.

“She’s got a ride.” A low, commanding voice called out from behind me. “Let her go.”

“What the fuck, man?” Brock’s voice sounded whiney, but he dropped my arm quick. He winced and rubbed his shoulder where my hero had clearly gripped him in a vice.

“You heard her. She’s not going anywhere with you.” Dom took a step and placed his large, intimidating frame between me and Brock. I loved him there, so close and protective.

“Who the hell are you?” Brock sounded wounded, all bark and no bite.

“I’m the one making sure she gets home safe. Now get out of here.”

“Fuck this!” Brock turned tail, kicking a can someone had dropped in frustration.

“I’ll go with you!” I heard a girl’s voice call out. She rushed over to his side, accompanying him to his car. Such was the power of good looks and money. Brock could easily fill his passenger seat. But not with me.

I gazed up at Dom, grateful and relieved.

“You OK?” he asked, cupping my elbow and looking down where Brock had squeezed me. In stark contrast, Dom’s hands were gentle as he held me, his thumb lightly grazing my skin where, sure enough, red marks revealed the likelihood of a bruise the next day. “Motherfucker,” Dom muttered, dropping my arm and turning in the direction Brock had headed.

“Dom, I’m OK.” I reached out and placed my hand on his forearm, corded with muscle and tense with his hand in a fist. Brock wasn’t worth a fight. We stood and watched as he sped out of the parking lot, heading out into the street and flipping the middle finger at Dom as he peeled out.

“He shouldn’t have touched you.” Dom nearly growled, looking like he wanted to chase down the car. I half expected he could catch it, maybe with his bare teeth.

“I’m all right,” I assured him again, stroking his forearm. He looked down at my hand on him, then up with heat in his gaze. I stepped closer, feeling so drawn to him, as if it were inevitable he would wrap me in his embrace, hold me close, crush me against him and kiss me deeply, passionately. Instead he cursed, stepped away from me and ran his hand through his thick, black hair.

“How are you getting home?” he asked, sounding angry. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling awkward. My friends had all left, clearly assuming I would drive over with Brock. Sometimes my life felt so pre-arranged I wanted to scream.

“I’ll get an Uber.” I pulled out my phone and started tapping to open the app.

“I’ll get you home.” He sounded resigned as he spoke, not enthusiastic.

“It’s fine.” I shrugged, wondering how I’d gotten myself into this situation. Even Penny had driven off and left me with Brock.

“Let me get you home, Gigi.” He reached out and touched my shoulder as he spoke. I looked up into his eyes, getting lost in the shocking silvery gray. Damn it, I would say yes to anything he asked.

“Don’t you have to work?” I remembered his words from earlier, implying I was a spoiled little rich girl. And now I stood there, ditched by my friends. He must think I was a real winner.

“Give me a second.” He walked over and spoke briefly with another guy in a black T-shirt. They both nodded and he returned, beckoning for me to follow him to the parking lot with a tilt of his head. After a brief discussion about where I lived—only about ten minutes away, sadly, I wished we had more time together—he stopped at a large black motorcycle.

“Ever ridden one before?” he asked, unzipped a pack on the back and pulling out a helmet. I shook my head no. “You trust me?”

I looked up at him and with no real reason why at all, I answered, “Yes.” Completely. I’d hop on the back of that bike and ride anywhere with him.

I reached out and took the helmet. “Is what I’m wearing OK?” Heels and a skimpy dress, that wasn’t exactly what people wore when they rode motorcycles, was it?

“You’ll be fine,” he assured me, helping me get the helmet on properly, slipping my clutch into a zip pouch then putting a helmet on himself. He showed me the pipe I shouldn’t touch with my ankle in case it got too hot. Then he straddled the bike, turned to me and extended his hand. “Climb on.”

Hesitant and shy, I did my best to hop on without flashing the entire world. Then I placed my hands awkwardly along his waist.

“Hold on tight.” He pulled my hands fully around him. I scooted closer on the bike and my bare thighs pressed against his jeans. My skirt rode up and I was sure I was a sight, but all of a sudden I didn’t care. I wanted him to take me for a ride. He started up the engine with a roar, and we sped off into the night.

The rush of adrenaline coursing through me had something to do with the night air, the speed, the exhilaration of my first motorcycle ride. But it had more to do with being pressed so close against Dom, my arms and legs wrapped around him. I knew it was naughty, but I swear between the warm vibrations of the bike and the pressure against him, by the time he pulled up at my front gate I was practically panting. It felt so good, rushing through the night, following his lead, clinging to him.

“You got a code?” he asked after he killed the motor.

“Oh right.” I’d become so enraptured, so caught up in him and our ride together, I’d forgotten we’d need that for entry. He stepped off the bike with more fluid grace than I might have expected possible from a man who probably weighed close to 200 pounds, then practically lifted me up and off. He kept his hands around my waist as I got my feet underneath me, literally and figuratively. I steadied myself, hands on his biceps, my eyes wild and pulse racing.

He unfastened my helmet, helped me out of it and asked, “You all right?”

“That was so amazing!” I couldn’t help exclaim, knowing I probably sounded like a kid who’d just gone for an amusement park ride. I should probably try to play it cool, act like it was no big deal. But I couldn’t. I was me.

“Yeah?” He gave me a lopsided smile after he removed his helmet. I gushed about how exciting it felt and how I’d loved it and he watched me, seeming to enjoy my reaction but not saying a word until I remembered he was probably waiting for me to open the gate so he could drop me off. I approached it, slightly uneven on my feet, but he was right there by my side to steady me.

I entered the code, the gates swung open and I offered him the opportunity to leave if he wanted. “So…thanks!” I said, brightly.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he insisted. He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked by my side along our driveway.

Would he want to come in? Should I invite him in? No one was home but me. I shouldn’t, should I? I didn’t really want to say good night, but I didn’t actually know him at all.

“What kind of security do you have here?” He eyed the property, not seeming to like what he saw around our expansive, perfectly-manicured estate. “Who do you have keeping an eye on this place? You’re not alone here, are you?”

“I am this weekend, but my father and brother are around sometimes.”

“You’re by yourself in this house?” He sounded appalled. How romantic, he was dismayed by the idea that he might have me to himself.

“Well, we have a caretaker. And a housekeeper. They’re around almost every day.”

He shook his head. “Not right now they’re not.”

“I’m fine.” Frustration crept into my voice. Didn’t he find the thought of getting me alone even slightly appealing?

“Sure you’re fine.” He shook his head at my vulnerability. “Just like you were fine when some shitfaced asshole almost pulled you into his car tonight.”

“I was not going to get into that car with him.”

“Next time you go clubbing you should drive yourself,” he insisted. “Then you don’t have to rely on some jerk. You stay sober. You get yourself home.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I rolled my eyes. This had to be the least flirtatious conversation I’d ever had. Too bad it was with the sexiest man I’d ever met. Stupid me, I kept on talking. “I don’t even know how to drive.”

Where was the ability to rewind in real life? We stood there in front of my front steps, him looking at me like I was a complete idiot and me feeling like one. Why the hell had I just confessed that to him?

“You don’t know how to drive?”

“I’m going to learn this summer!” I protested, defensive and embarrassed. “I haven’t gotten around to it yet. But it’s not like… I mean, I can just call a car when I need…” I trailed off, feeling too self-conscious to continue. Words from one of my favorite movies flashed through my mind—Alicia Silverstone in Clueless protesting “everywhere I want to go has valet!” Was I that spoiled and clueless?

“You should know how to drive,” he declared.

“I know,” I acknowledged. So much for a romantic moment with my hero. This kept getting worse and worse.

“How old are you?”

“18.”

He exhaled and swore, as if I’d just said I was 13. “Almost 19,” I hastily added.

Glancing away and looking pissed off, he sounded as if he regretted it even as he said, “I’ll teach you.”

“What?” I couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“I’ll teach you,” he repeated, sounding resigned but meeting my eyes again. “Sunday morning. We can go out to an empty parking lot. It shouldn’t take long. Give me your phone.”

I handed it to him, still feeling somewhat stunned. The tattoos, the muscles, he had bad boy written all over him, but here he was expressing concern over my safety and offering to teach me to drive? Who was this guy?

After he entered in his number, he gave me back my phone. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Um, thanks?” My gratitude had a whole lot of confusion in it.

He shook his head, looking down at me in front of my front door in the moonlight. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to drive.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m 48. I’m 18!”

“I could drive at 13.”

I looked up at him in disbelief. “But that’s not legal.”

He cracked a smile at my naiveté. I blushed and looked down, but he brought his hand under my chin, tilting my face up again, caressing my cheek softly with his large thumb.

“How old are you now?” I managed, my curiosity strong enough I could still form words even though his touch felt so good a large part of me just wanted to purr and nuzzle my face into his palm.

“A lot older than you.”

“How old?”

He kept caressing my cheek lightly with his thumb, gazing down at me, his fingers weaving into my hair. “I’m 23.” His voice sounded husky and deep.

“That’s not too old.” My words had a bit too much of a pleading quality to them, as if trying to convince him there didn’t have to be so much separation between us. But it was how I felt, as if he kept putting up barriers between us and all I wanted was to be in his arms.

He leaned in slightly closer, but he murmured, “Yes, it is.”

I swallowed and my eyes flickered closed for a moment, his touch felt so good, so sure and right as he cradled my head, his thumb traveling down to my chin, then sweeping up along my lower lip.

“These lips look like they’ve never been kissed.” He spoke in a hushed whisper, almost sounding reverent.

My eyes opened, defensiveness kicking in again. Sure, I was innocent but it wasn’t as if I lived in a convent. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t kiss me. “I’ve been kissed,” I protested. “Just not, you know…” I met his heated gaze. He knew what I was saying. I’d been kissed by guys, but not by him. Somehow I knew what he could do to me would be like no other.

“You’ve never really been kissed,” he concluded.

I shook my head no, my breathing picking up, a shiver of anticipation traveling down my spine. He made me feel so small, standing next to him, so close I could feel the heat from his hard body.

He leaned in closer. But still he murmured, “I shouldn’t kiss you.”

“Please.” The word slipped past my lips, shameless in my own neediness. With a growl he slipped a hand to the small of my back and claimed my lips with his. Demanding, rough, he didn’t waste time with tentative or polite exploration. My hands up to his shoulders, I moaned into his mouth as he tipped me back. Opening to his tongue, I drank him in, wanting more. He tasted like some dark secret I hadn’t even know I was dying to discover. I could get drunk on this man, his kisses, his hands.

But just as suddenly as he’d started, he stopped. Both hands firmly on my waist, he placed me a few feet away, then took another step back.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. Shaking, I missed his warmth, his lips, his hands on me. I almost started to take a step toward him, but then he barked, “Go inside.”

I froze, rejection stinging sharp.

“Do it now, Gigi,” he insisted, not even looking at me. I made my way up the steps, unlocked the door and headed into the house without once looking back.

Everything about that exchange had been the exact opposite of what I was accustomed to. Usually guys pulled out all the stops to sweet talk their way into my pants while I fended them off, keeping them at arm’s length. They wanted me drunk, would have loved to get me alone inside an empty house. Now here I was with a man literally pushing me away and telling me to get lost and it was all I could do not to run back out there and throw my arms around his neck, bury myself in him and beg him to come into the house and take me, teach me, ruin me in ways I didn’t even know about yet.