PROLOGUE
MADISON
Nine Months Ago…
His hands grip my waist, firm and possessive, as he presses up behind me. His nose skims my jaw, a slow, teasing touch that sends a shiver down my spine. He moves my long blonde hair over my shoulder, his fingers brushing my skin as he tilts my neck to the side, giving himself better access. I drop the knife and forget the limes I’m cutting. My eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping my lips as goosebumps break out across my skin.
“Fuck, these tiny shorts and knee-high boots are killing me.” His voice is low and rough.
I move back against him, deliberately slow, feeling exactly what I’m doing to him—hard and straining behind the zipper of his jeans. A coy smile tugs at the side of my mouth.
His fingers dance along the sliver of exposed skin between my shorts and the black Whiskey Cove shirt. I want to feel more. I want his fingers to dip, to explore, but then my eyes flick open, and the bar snaps back into focus, theglow of the warm lights hanging over the pool tables, and the fresh citrus scent from cleaning hits me, clearing my head and reminding me why I can’t have more.
Moving out of his hold, I look at Hunter. His pale blue eyes stare back at me with an intensity I’ve never felt from anyone before. His high cheekbones lift with a lazy smirk as he takes a step toward me.
My hand shoots out, stopping him. “Hunter,” I warn in a low tone.
“Madison,” he echoes, his voice teasing but edged with something darker as he closes the distance again.
“We can’t keep doing this.”
His hand wraps around my waist, pulling me in. My palms press against his chest as I try to hold him back. I should push him away—I want to—but he is my weakness, and when it comes to Hunter, I will always give in. I can’t help it. I’m drawn to him; my heart leaps when he’s near, but he’s not ready for me. Not ready to commit, and I need him to be. I won’t take anything less. The stolen nights are weighing down on my heart enough as it is.
“I know,” he sighs, rubbing his hands up and down my back. “I just, fuck, Madi…”
Giving him a sad smile, I turn away, picking up the knife and going back to cutting the limes for tonight’s shift. The moment, heavy and unspoken, lingers between us.
Behind me, Hunter sighs—the sound quiet with defeat. I glance over my shoulder, watching him retreat to his office. His head dips, his hand grips the back of his neck. I feel him, the way he feels me. We’re in a standoff. Both wanting each other, and knowing that should be enough, but as cliché as it is, sometimes it’s not; sometimes it is the right person, wrong time kind of moment.
“Madi, my girl.” Connor slides up beside me, ice bucketsin hand. “Think we’ll finally get to meet Hunter’s sister tomorrow? I can’t believe he didn’t let us meet her tonight.”
Slicing the last lime, I cover the container and put it into the fridge beneath the counter. Popping back up, I turn to Connor, watching him tip the ice into the ice bins.
“Are you pouting, Con?” I ask, a half laugh slipping out.
“What?” he asks, all wide-eyed. “I think she’s gonna be good for him. He’s been worried sick for years, unable to do anything other than run this bar and live a shallow life with us. He tries for us, but she’s his missing piece.”
He’s right. It’s the reason why I can’t give him my all. It’s the part of Hunter I can’t touch.
He’s not whole.
Not yet.
He needs to mend this bridge with his sister, and now she’s here.
“I hope you’re right, Con.”
“Yeah, and then maybe…” he says, backing up toward the other end of the bar, a mischievous look in his eyes, “you two can finally sort your shit out.”
Oh, he did not.
I scowl at him, but he laughs, lifting his hands in surrender as the doors swing open and the night kicks off.
“I know you said we can’t keep doing this. I know I can’t fully have you until I’ve worked through my shit.” Hunter leans down, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His breath brushes over my skin as his nose drags down the side of my neck.
“One last night,” he groans, voice low. “Please?”
The desperation in his tone short-circuits my thoughts. Electricity hums through my body, every nerve ending sparking to life. I can’t think straight. I can’t do anything but crave more of the way his touch burns, the sounds that slip from his mouth when my body responds to his. I pull away before I lose myself completely and walk toward his truck, waiting for him to lock the back door of the bar. When he reaches me, I press a hand to his chest, stopping him from coming closer. His chest rises and falls, following the rhythm of my own.
