prologue
. . .
Jake - The Fourth of July
“You’re staring.”
Natalie Cruz doesn’t even look at me when she says it. She’s leaning against the railing of my deck, watching the fireworks explode over the Hollywood Hills like she has all the time in the world. The display paints her skin in shifting shades of red, blue, and gold.
“I’m appreciating the view,” I counter, moving to stand beside her.
She turns her head toward me, her dark eyes sharp and assessing, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Is that what you’re going with?”
“I could lie and pretend I haven’t been watching you all night.”
“I prefer the honesty.” She takes a sip of her champagne, her gaze steady on mine. “It’s refreshing.”
Below us, my backyard is packed with people. Music thumps from the speakers as laughter carries on the warm night air. I’m supposed to be hosting, mingling, and makingsure everyone has what they need, but instead, I’ve spent the last two hours tracking Natalie’s movements.
We’ve crossed paths before at industry events and mutual friends’ parties. Each time, there’s been this pull between us. This awareness. But she always slips away before I can do anything about it. Until now.
Tonight, she came to my party.
“You want to get out of here?” The words come out before I can second-guess them.
She arches an eyebrow. “That’s very direct, Mr. Reyes.”
“Jake. And I thought you appreciated honesty.”
“I do.” She sets her champagne glass on the railing, then turns to face me fully. “Lead the way.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs as I guide her through the house, past clusters of people, and up the stairs to my bedroom. I close the door behind us, muffling the party noise below, and then back her against it. The scent of her hits me. Jasmine and something darker, woodsy. Sandalwood, maybe. It’s been driving me insane all night, every time she laughed at something I said, every time she leaned in close.
I trace my thumb along her jawline, watching her eyes flutter closed. “I’ve been thinking about this. About you. What you’d taste like. The sounds you’d make. How you’d feel.”
“Jake?” My name comes out breathy, needy, and something primal sparks in my chest.
“Yeah?”
“Less talking. More action.”
I kiss her hard and deep and claiming. She melts against me and slides her hands up my chest, scraping her nailsacross my shirt. She tastes like champagne and apple pie. Sweet and sharp and addictive.
My hands find the zipper at the back of her dress. I drag it down slowly, feeling the fabric loosen under my fingers. She gasps against my mouth, and I smile.
“Patience,” I murmur against her lips.
“I don’t have any.”
“I can see that.”
The dress pools at her feet, and I pull back to look at her.
Jesus Christ.
No bra. Just black lace panties and expanses of smooth skin. She’s lean but curvy in all the right places. Small, perfect breasts with pink nipples already hard. And there’s a delicate tattoo of a crescent moon with wildflowers twining through it on her ribs. Witchy and feminine and absolutely her.
“See something you like?” she asks, but there’s no self-consciousness in her voice. Just heat.
