The quiet purr of an engine broke through my thoughts.

My eyes flew open.

Swimming toward the side, I grasped the edge of the pool and watched a shiny black car park next to Ryan’s truck. I didn’t know who it belonged to, but soon enough the door opened and the worst person who could show up stepped out.

A cold sweat drifted through me. Disaster loomed in the distance. More blood. Young, lifeless eyes. No. It wasn’t going to happen again.

I pulled myself out of the pool and headed toward the front of the house, ignoring the itch to go in the opposite direction. Nicolas held a manila envelope in one hand and shut the car door with his other. My skin buzzed with a cool sensation, and my bare feet paused at the end of the walkway.

I stood there in a white bikini, soaking wet, while my heart beat a mile a minute.

When his gaze finally came up to me, he stopped in his tracks. We stared at each other. He was only wearing black dress pants and a white short-sleeve shirt. I swallowed. It felt like he was more underdressed than me. Black ink covered one arm, while the other was smooth tanned muscle. Warmth rushed to the pit of my stomach and spread through me like fire.

My breathing shallowed as his gaze trailed the drips of water running down my body. Each drop that hit the concrete was another match lit in the short space between us. His attention settled on my face, his gaze narrowing.

“Is this how you welcome all your guests?”

I blinked at his rude tone. I couldn’t exactly say I’d ever stood half-naked in front of an unrelated man and had him angry with me for it.

“Some.” I tried for nonchalance, but it sounded more breathless than anything.

He gave his head a shake, letting out a small breath of amusement. He wasn’t amused at all, though, that much was clear by the way a muscle in his jaw ticked. It wasn’t often I was an irritation, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.

When he headed for the front door, ice crept through me. I took a step forward. “Nicolas, wait.”

He stopped, glancing at me sideways.

“Papà isn’t here,” I rushed out.

“Aware,” was all he said while heading for the door again.

My stomach dipped.

Without thinking about it—because I would’ve chickened out—I hurried and stepped in front of him. He stopped short and glared at me.

My heartbeat wavered like a plucked string. Without my heels on, his presence was larger, more intimidating. “You can’t go in. It’s not . . . proper without my papà home.” There wasn’t a chance my father had invited this man over while he was away. How did he even get past the community gates? But I already knew Nicolas did what he wanted regardless of rules, and my papà must have realized that before the marriage contract was signed.

His gaze sparked. “You have a second to move before I do it for you.”

“Be my guest. You’ll get all wet.”

Somehow, I thought that was a great comeback, but it only made us both aware I was half-naked and soaked. The breeze grew hotter, the air denser.

His jaw tightened as he took a step forward. I didn’t move. His white shirt almost brushed my white bikini top. My breasts tingled in anticipation and drops of water tickled as they dripped down my midsection. His body heat was a living thing, sinking into my skin and urging me to step closer, to press my body against his.

I couldn’t breathe when he leaned in, his voice low against my ear. “You’re lucky I have shit to do today.” The rough sound ran the length of my neck, goose bumps following. I couldn’t help but think: What would he have done if he didn’t?

His fingers brushed mine as he slipped the manila envelope into my hand. “Put it on your papà’s desk.” He took a step back, and my entire body burned in the aftermath. “And don’t fucking go through it.” I wished I could say his tone doused me with cold water, but it didn’t.

My gaze narrowed as I looked up at him. The sunlight made his amber eyes even more golden. “Your business with my papà is the last thing on earth I would concern myself with.”

His voice darkened. “Good.”

We stared at each other for another moment. He jingled the keys in his hand and took a slow step back, before turning around and heading to his car. I stood there and watched him, because his back was as nice as his front.

Nicolas opened his car door, calling out, “By the way, it’s Nico. Nobody fucking calls me Nicolas.”

As he backed out of the drive, I reminded myself to keep calling him Nicolas. I headed into the house, dropped the folder on my papà’s desk, but, before I could leave, my gaze was pulled to the small safe in the corner of the room. With a tight throat, I walked toward it and tried the handle even though I already knew the outcome. Locked.

Guilt made me grasp onto the tiniest shards of hope.

I checked each drawer of his large mahogany desk, though, once again, knew I wouldn’t find what I searched for. My papà had all of his private bank information in this house locked down, but one of these days he had to trip up.

One of these days this family would pay restitution for the innocent life they’d taken.

I walked out of his office to watch Adriana shuffle Ryan out the front door.

I crossed my arms when I saw her swimsuit top tied awkwardly to the side, her bottoms on inside out. While I was saving her ass, she was having sex? What a little . . . ugh.

When he was gone, she leaned against the door, looking pale and relieved.

I pursed my lips in disappointment, turned around and chimed, “Lemon,” as I headed up the staircase.

“Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.”

—Marilyn Monroe

I STOPPED SHORT IN ADRIANA’S doorway and closed my eyes in disbelief.

“Papà is going to kill you,” I told her.

“Good,” she muttered, adding a long arc with her paintbrush to the canvas that leaned against the wall. The painting would be a rainbow if it wasn’t all black.

My sister had been brooding since Ryan came over. She went to her classes, but otherwise stayed in her room. The week crawled by with her casting a black cloud over the house with her emo paintings and sappy music. I was beginning to feel guilty again, but there wasn’t a part of me that wanted to put myself in her place. I’d rather have a husband who wasn’t so rude, wasn’t such a womanizer as I’d heard, and truthfully less handsome. Maybe that sounded odd, but to me it made perfect sense.

Laughter filtered up the stairs, and I closed my eyes once more. Adriana’s engagement party had started five minutes ago, and she currently sat cross-legged on her floor in overalls, covered in paint.

I could see Papà’s temper not far in the distance, and I would feel its heat just because I was such an easy target. Adriana never reacted when our papà raged at her, and it annoyed him, so he turned it on me.

“What on earth could you be thinking right now?” I headed toward her closet, not looking forward to digging through costumes to find the rare dress she could wear.

“That I hate my fiancé. He’s rude, and you’ve seen him, right? Can you even imagine us having sex, Elena?”

I paused, gave my head a shake, and continued pushing clothes on hangers aside. “Um, no. I’m not going to try to imagine that.”