Page 7 of Wicked Heat

With great deliberation, I force myself to simply sit there and breathe and try to calm myself enough so that I get home before the hour is up. And without crashing my car in the process.

At the moment, confidence is low.

Somehow, I manage to keep my hand steady as I start the car. And in the exact moment when the engine turns over and my music blasts on, a hard rap lands on my window. A scream rips out of me as I thrust myself sideways, banging my ribs on the armrest.

Outside the window, I see a man’s torso. Then he bends down, and I gasp with recognition as he speaks. “Oh, hell, Bree. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ashton Stone.

For a moment, I can only stare. This is the man I’d seriously—albeit secretly—crushed on when I first met him. A man who’d come to Los Angeles about two years ago with a plan to destroy his father, my boss.

A man with a famous temper and a reputation for facing down danger. For being reckless.

For being brilliant.

A man with the kind of mind that can make millions and the kind of face that dark angels envy. A chiseled face, framed by raven-dark hair, and highlighted by deep blue eyes that conjure thoughts of long, lazy days on a Caribbean beach.

There’s something magnetic about him, and every time I’m near him, I feel that tug pulling me closer.

But he’s not safe. Not for me. Maybe not for anyone. And the last time we bumped into each other, I’d run far and fast out of nothing more than an instinct for self-preservation. An act of cowardice on my part that undoubtedly pissed him off.

All of which begs the question of why I now want to throw open my door and launch myself into his arms. To tell him the horror story that this fairy tale night has morphed into.

But I can’t.

I don’t truly know him.

I can’t really trust him.

And I damn sure can’t break the rules for him.

And as my fingers remain tight around my phone, I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right here. Right now.

His brow furrows as the corners of his mouth curve down. “Bree?” He taps lightly on the glass again. “Brianna, are you okay?”

Shit.

I sit up straight, then I do the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I roll down the window and smile at Ashton Stone. “I’m fine. I was just…lost in another world.”

I try to swallow, but my throat’s too dry. What is he doing here? Surely, he’s not the one who⁠—

“No.” I say the word with such force in my head that it actually comes out of my mouth.

Immediately, his eyes darken. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

A wave of confusion rushes over me, then I realize that he thinks I was answering his question. “I—no. I meant to say that I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

As if to prove that all the press about him being a genius is true, he cocks his head and says, “You sure about that? Because I’m not convinced. What can I do?”

“Nothing. It’s just a fight with my boyfriend.” That’s a lie, but I’m hoping he’ll not only drop the subject, but that the fact that I have a—very fictional—boyfriend will ensure he doesn’t set his sights on me again.

He says nothing. Just makes a low noise like, mmmm.

I wait for him to say goodbye and head into the coffee shop. Instead, he continues to stand there.

I clear my throat, then glance at the clock. I still have time to get home before the deadline to scan the code, but I want a very big window. I can’t miss that scan, and the idea of getting the next message in another parking lot doesn’t sit well at all.

I aim a perkier fake smile at him. “Listen, it’s wild seeing you here, but I really should get going.” I shift Maisy into reverse but keep my foot on the brake.