Catch Me When I Fall: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

Book 2: Falling Stars Series

by A.L. Jackson

Genres: Family Life; Sagas; Contemporary Romance; Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

I’m Royce Reilly.

Mylton Records A & R exec.

Rich. Talented. The world at my feet.

I have one goal in mind, and I won’t stop until I get it – sign the country-rock band Carolina George.

Only I never expected her. Emily Ramsey, Carolina George’s lead singer.

Our chemistry is instant. Combustible. Something neither of us can resist.

Our one night together was the biggest mistake of my life. I never should have touched her. Never should have taken her.

Falling for her will only ruin my carefully laid plans. There’s too much at stake.

Before I know it, she’s under my skin. A perfect, seductive itch.

Only she doesn't know who I really am or what I’m after. Will she forgive me or will this betrayal cost us everything…

Release date: May 28, 2020

Publisher: A.L. Jackson Books Inc.

Print pages: 376

Sample

Prologue

Royce

 

Red and blue lights whirled through the deepest night, reflecting against the heavy clouds that hugged the city in a hazy glow.

I raced down the dank alley, my footsteps pounding through the black puddles and dirt and debris. Maybe if I ran hard enough, I might be able to escape.

Jagged panting rose into the dense air, aggression and fear and hatred a pulsing ache in my arteries.

Thunder rumbled, a dark, ominous warning that twisted through the heavens, and I lifted my face to the tiny droplets of rain that began to pelt from the sky, burning cold against my heated skin.

What had I done?

I pushed harder, desperation seeping all the way to my bones as the sound of sirens grew louder.

Agony clutched my spirit, time slipping as I darted through a tunnel of hopelessness that I knew led to a dead end.

I skidded out of the alleyway and hit the sidewalk.

My ribs were gripped in a searing blaze of pain from the blows I’d sustained.

I sucked for breath. For relief.

It didn’t matter. It had been worth it. There’d been nothing that could have stopped me from seeking this revenge.

The taste of vengeance still danced on my tongue.

Violence lighting a path through my veins.

Whirling lights closed in from behind, and another cruiser came at me from ahead. Blocking me in. Nothing left to give, I dropped to my knees in the middle of the street.

I tipped my head up to the rain that began to pound harder, and I roared.

Roared in surrender and anguish.

But with it was a shout of victory.

Blood dripped from my mangled, torn knuckles like evidence signed on the pavement.

I had no place to go.

No place to escape.

I’d already been convicted.

The reason didn’t count.

None of it mattered, anyway, because I’d do it all over again.

A thousand times.

Give up everything like an offering.

Condemning myself was the one sacrifice I could make.

 

 

one

Royce

Present Day

 

I crossed an ankle over my knee where I sat in the high-backed leather chair situated on the far wall of the office, focusing on readjusting the cuffs of my button-up rather than the rage that blistered across my skin.

Tension radiated through the massive room that was as pretentious as an eighty-dollar bottle of water, all carved wood and original first editions and the pungent stench of arrogance and BS.

I angled my head at the man who sat on his pompous throne on the opposite side of the desk.

He wore a suit and a tie, as per usual, hair perfectly styled and parted to the side, though his stomach was beginning to paunch, like it was trying to keep up with the pride that overtook his conscience.

Karl Fitzgerald.

Owner of Mylton Records.

Prick extraordinaire.

My piece-of-shit stepfather.

Yeah, my mother hadn’t had hearts in her eyes. She’d had dollar signs.

“Royce,” he said, like he was giving me permission to speak.

I cracked a grin. “Father. So nice to see you.”

The words dripped with sarcasm and disdain.

I couldn’t stand the sight of the bastard, which was an unfortunate circumstance considering he was my boss.

But it was all part of the plan.

You know what they say—Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Believe me, I was right on his tail until the moment I overtook him and trampled him underfoot.

He’d stolen everything from me, crushed it in his fat, greedy fist.

I couldn’t wait to return the favor.

“I just wanted to be sure we were clear on the situation. I wouldn’t want there to be any further . . . mistakes,” he jeered. 

“I think you made it plenty clear.”

“Did I?” he shot back, angling his head. “You failed the task the first time. I won’t accept a repeat.”

Incredulous laughter rumbled in my throat, and I turned my attention out the window to the sprawling grounds of his estate, the lawn meticulously manicured and a negative-edge pool stretched over a cliff like it touched the tops of the skyscrapers in the city below.

I tapped my tattooed fingers on my knee that was bouncing at the speed of light, agitation curling through my senses and setting fire to my veins.

Slowly, I swiveled my focus back to the man who overshadowed this family like a wraith. A monster at the helm.

“There was a . . . difficulty.” I refused to gift him with more information than that.

He scoffed. “A difficulty? Your job is to eradicate difficulties. Your job is to seal the deal. Get it penned in ink, in blood, or whatever the fuck it takes. Taking no for an answer is not acceptable.”

Bitterness tightened my chest in a fist. Of course, he would think no wasn’t a sufficient answer. Money the solution to every obstacle. To every reservation and fear and question.

To every crime.

Cover it up with a little dough.

I just wondered how deep it went. The depravity. The sickness he poured into the world.

Slowly, I pushed to my feet, unable to stop the aggression that lined my bones. I prowled across the floor until I was standing at his desk and planting my hands on the gleaming wood. “I am very aware of my job description. But I do it my way, and I’m fucking good at it. You have a problem with it? Feel free to cut me loose.”

He wouldn’t.

He needed me. I’d seen to it that it was a fact. That I was the best.

Indispensable.

Didn’t mean he liked me for it.

Redness colored his ears and hatred darkened his eyes. “You’re standing here today because of me. Don’t forget that.”

I leaned in closer, spitting the words, “I’m standing here because you need me. I never asked for any favors. Don’t pretend like I did.”

My position was the one thing my pathetic mother had offered. She’d done it out of guilt. I’d jumped on it, salivating at the mouth as I’d plotted for revenge.

Venom fueled his smile. “So angry, aren’t we? A hothead getting ready to snap.” He tsked like the smug old bastard that he was. “Maybe they should have left you locked up after all.”

I grinned. All teeth. “You never know. Maybe they should have.”

Air huffed from his nose, and he rocked back in his chair.

I cocked my head. “Are we done here? Because I have work to do.”

He gave me a tight nod, and I turned on my heel, my dress shoes echoing on the marble floor as I left him sitting there.

“Don’t come back here until it is finished.”

I froze when his voice hit me from behind. I tossed a glance at him over my shoulder, anger seething in my blood, disgusted that we both wanted the same fucking thing though it was for entirely different reasons.

“Trust me. This deal is as good as done.”

“That’s my boy.” He said it with a derisive gleam in his eye, like he’d ever given two fucks about me.

Without giving the prick the credit of a response, I turned and strode out into the foyer.

I stumbled a step when I saw my baby sister, Maggie, pacing at the bottom of the stairs. Mahogany hair, two shades lighter than mine, swished from the ponytail she wore it in, the girl petite and oozing a fear that I would give anything to hold for her.

She took two steps in my direction.

Rage that would never abate thrashed in my spirit when I saw the scar that slashed across her chest. Permanently as red and angry as I was.

Hugging herself, she angled her head, an innocent petition written into her expression. “I don’t know why you fight with him. You know it’s not going to change anything.”

I went right for her and pulled her into my arms, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There are some things I can’t seem to control.”

Hating Karl Fitzgerald was one of them.

“You’re so angry. So sad,” she whispered into my heart, the girl so short she barely came to the middle of my chest.

“I’m not.”

“You’re a liar,” she returned. “I can hear it. Feel it.” Affection tightened my chest, the love I had for my sister the only love I had left. The rest used up. Burned to ash. Scorn in its place.

I hugged her tighter. “I’m the last person you should be worried about.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy,” I murmured against the crown of her head.

Fists in my suit jacket, she edged back and blinked up at me. “You know that’s not enough. Not when I was responsible for you losing everything.”

I gripped her by the outside of her arms. “Bullshit.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “You know it’s true.”

Violence flashed across my skin, and I struggled to hold it together. To stop myself from marching back into my stepfather’s office and making him confess whose fault it was.

To end this now.

I had to remember my purpose. That attack I’d been setting into motion for the last four years.

“No, Maggie, it’s not. None of the blame is yours.”

The greedy bastard who was her father made sure the one responsible didn’t have to pay.

I touched my baby sister’s cheek, wiped the tear that had fallen. “I won’t fail you again, Mag-Pie. I won’t. I promise you that.”

“I just want to be safe. For this all to end.”

I pressed my lips to her temple, whispered, “The end is near.”

Then I turned and strode out the door to my car waiting for me in the circular drive. I slipped into the backseat.

“Mr. Reilly.” My driver glanced in the rearview[JG1]  mirror, waiting for instruction.

I sat back in the seat. “Airport, please.”

Releasing the button of my suit jacket, I blew out a sigh and roughed my hands through my hair, trying to calm the riot that was pounding my heart into mayhem.

My driver weaved down the long drive of Karl Fitzgerald’s estate before maneuvering the winding road that led to the bottom of the hill. He headed directly to the airport, taking me to the private hangar where the jet was waiting.

I slipped out of the car, and the concierge gathered my bags from the trunk.

I climbed the stairs, nodding my head to the pilots and flight attendant who were waiting to welcome me aboard. I took a seat, accepted the tumbler of whiskey I was offered, pulled my phone from my pocket when it buzzed with a message.

 

We need you to make this happen.

 

I tapped out a response.

 

I’m on my way..

 

 

two

Emily

 

“Emily!” My brother shouted from behind me, trying to push his way through the group of people that had descended on him the second we’d come off stage.

Backstage, the energy was alive, the way it always was, only dim lights illuminating the wings. Roadies hustled to tear down our gear and set up for the next band, local reporters vied to get the scoop, and fans tried to get a closer look. To brush up against the only world that I knew.

I ignored all of it.

Feet pounding the floor, I fumbled over cords and pushed through curtains and dodged equipment.

“Emily,” Richard shouted again, “would you fuckin’ wait?”

I didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to turn around and see the questions in his eyes.

Without looking back, I pushed myself faster. Fought to get away.

Hide.

As if there were any hope to change any of this.

Fear pulsed like wildfire through my veins, lungs burning with panic and exertion.

Where I was going, I didn’t know.

Searching for a solution.

A safe place, I guessed.

A way to scrape the ugliness that had seeped into my consciousness, this gross feelin’ I couldn’t escape.

Trapped.

And God, I hated it. Hated it so much that I was doing my best to outrun it.

Keeping my face down, I slinked around a group of fans with backstage passes, their excitement a palpable brand of anticipation and suspense.

I said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t recognize me, though I figured they were probably there to see Civil Stone, the headliner on the tour, anyway.

There wasn’t even a rustle of awareness. Thank God.

Increasing my pace, I rounded into a narrow hall that ran along the back of the old club. With every step that I took, my heart rate spiked, amplifying the suffocating sensation that pummeled me in nauseating waves.

I almost shouted in relief when I found a side door, my hands planting on the heavy metal latch as I shoved it open to the waiting night.

It banged against the wall, and I stumbled down the three steps into the dark alleyway, gasping for breath and wondering how I thought isolating myself in the shadows was any better.

Humidity slapped me in the face, clogging my lungs, and the panic only intensified.

Footsteps clamored after me, my brother slowing when he found my hiding place. A shiver of unease rolled across my flesh as he eased down the steps, stopping two feet away.

“What the hell is going on with you, Em?”

My throat grew tight, locking up the confession. One I wasn’t sure I wanted to make anyway. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Richard grabbed me by the wrist and spun me around. “That wasn’t fucking nothing,” he spat.

Frustration and confusion and anger marred his attractive face. My brother was about as handsome as they came. One-hundred-percent masculine with a striking, unforgettable face, the guy was nothing but charisma and drive and a talent unlike any other.

Night after night, he won over crowds, and they worshipped at his feet.

They liked to say I was the face of Carolina George.

I knew better.

It was him. My older brother who I respected more than anything. I still couldn’t believe he’d get mixed up in what he had. That he could be partner to it. I wondered what he’d say if he found out that I knew.

If it would change anything.

“I just . . . I think I’m tired.”

Tired of pretending.

Tired of covering up this hurt.

Tired of being afraid.

Doubt pinched his face, and he roughed a hand through his dark blond hair. “Are you joking right now, Em? You’re tired? You fucking blew the call with the record company this morning, and then you ran off the stage in the middle of our last song . . . because you were fucking tired? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?”

He kept angling closer with each word he shouted, the anger in his voice echoing against the brick walls and pelting against the dingy, dirty ground.

Tears burned in my eyes, and I struggled to hold them back.

Didn’t he get what I had done for him? What I’d gone through for him? But I knew he didn’t have the first clue, and I had no idea how to tell him. Terrified for him to know what I’d endured. Almost more terrified of what he was hiding.

Wrapping my arms over my chest, I took a step back, as if it could shield me from his anger. Protect me from the pain ripping me apart.

“I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”

Richard grabbed me by the upper arms and shook me. “What the fuck does that mean?”

I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he somehow thought he could shake some sense into me, but it didn’t matter. I felt it like a blow, terror ridging my spine, my nerves racing as my breaths turned shallow.

Struggling for air.

“We’ve spent our whole damn lives working toward this, Em. Our whole lives. And now, everything we’ve wanted is right there, waiting on us to take it. And what? You’re just going to walk away? Give it up? After everything?” His words were a rush of resentment and confusion, as if he’d gotten swept up in my turmoil and didn’t know how to get free of it.

But that was the problem.

We were tied, our success wound up in my decision.

Agony raked my throat, and my voice scraped with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Rich. I don’t know what I want or if I can keep going on like this. I’m so sorry.”

Disbelief pulled through his expression, disgust coming in right behind it. “So, you’re just gonna make that choice for us all?” His green eyes blinked a thousand times, as if he were trying to see me.

As if maybe he no longer recognized me.

It seemed about right because I no longer recognized myself.

“What about Leif and Rhys?” he demanded.

The faces of our drummer and bassist spun through my mind.

My best friends. The two guys who were as close as family and just as important. I was struck with the truth that I was letting every single one of them down.

“They have given their whole fuckin’ lives for this band.” Richard’s voice was low and severe, conveying a message my spirit didn’t want to receive. “What about every fucking mile we spent on the road? Every venue we ever begged to let us play? The nights we went hungry, so goddamn broke we had to choose between food and the gas to get us to the next city so we could play? What about the pact we made that the most important thing to all of us was chasing down a dream? What about that?”

“I don’t know if I can do it,” I whispered, trying to hold myself together and not come apart right there. Trying not to throw the blame at him. To demand that he take some responsibility. But I didn’t know how to form the words. Didn’t know if I could admit what had happened because of it. I was terrified that would be the last fallen brick that sent me crashing.

Richard turned away for a beat, scrubbing his face with his palms and tipping his head to the night sky.

His muscled body vibrated with indignation and ire. Barely constrained. Getting ready to burst.

As if he couldn’t contain it a second longer, he flew back around, fury flooding from his mouth. “You don’t get to do this, Emily. You don’t. This is bullshit. You were all in, just like the rest of us, and you don’t get to walk now.”

“I just . . . I need a little time,” I begged.

Time to figure this out. To fix this. Repair all those broken bits floating free.

“We don’t have any time left. This is our big break. The culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. You have cold feet, Em. That’s it. It’s going to be fine.” This time, it was his turn to plead.

Cold feet.

I only wished.

I backed away another step. “I’m not ready. I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

My brother roared, shouting his disgust and disbelief in the empty, stagnant air. He snatched a discarded beer bottle from the ground and threw it against the brick wall. It crashed, shattering into a million pieces, raining to the ground like the dreams I could feel coming apart around us.

“Fuck this bullshit!” He whirled on me and jabbed his index finger in my direction. “And fuck you.”

“Richard,” I said through the lump in my throat.

He backed away, putting up his palms, his mouth twisting in outrage. “No, Em. Don’t try to cover up what you’re doing with a lame apology. It’s not enough.”

Didn’t he get it?

I’d already given more than I could take. For him. To protect him.

He left me standing there, gasping and bent over. He flew up the steps and disappeared inside. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, a wall that went up between us and left me bitterly alone.

Alone and afraid.

My hands found my hair, and I yanked hard, and I screamed as if it might expel the loathing invading every cell. It just echoed back like a vacant, endless silence.

Unable to remain in it, I ran, racing out of the alley as if I might stand the chance of leaving it all behind. Just more crap tossed into the dumpsters.

I doubted I could run that fast, but oh, was I going to try.

I hit the sidewalk, my wedge heels slapping the concrete, the hazy glow of lights coming down through the dense Savannah summer night and infiltrating the air with an eerie glow.

It was just after ten, and the Historic District was alive, roiling with bodies and voices, a bated disorder that clung to the atmosphere.

I felt hostage to it.

Wanted to get lost in it.

Outrun it all.

Forget.

Or maybe what I really wanted was to remember who I was.

Making a mad dash to find myself.

A familiar neon sign shone from up ahead.

Charlie’s.

It was an old dive bar that we’d played in what seemed a thousand times, back before we’d gotten hooked up with that big-name band that was gonna take us places, and then I’d been taken places that I didn’t want to go.

Swinging open the door, I rushed through it, breaths still heaving from my throat. Inside, it was packed, a crush of bodies dancing at the foot of the stage where a band played, live music the life beat of this place. The round-top tables were surrounded by smaller groups, the plush, darkened booths lining the far-left wall overflowing with obscured faces.

Eyes making a quick sweep, I made a beeline for the bar and slipped onto the one free stool. The young bartender slinging drinks as fast as they were ordered.

The bartender tossed a paper coaster with the Charlie’s logo on it in front of me. “What can I get for you?”

“Two shots of tequila.”

He arched a brow.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat, the nerves and fear and terror that wouldn’t let me be. I wanted to silence them more than I wanted my next breath.

“Make it three.”

I guessed he saw the way I was trembling because he dipped his head really quick and lined up three shot glasses that he rimmed in salt. He poured the bottle over them and garnished each with a lime.

I didn’t take the time to prime my taste buds. I just slammed one back, then the second, then the third.

Fire burned down my throat and pooled in my belly, and my trembling spirit began to calm.

I didn’t care that I looked like some kind of lush.

The only thing I cared about right then was forgetting. The desperate need to feel something different than hopeless, the way I’d been feeling the last three months.

I wanted to reclaim.

Salvage the pieces that had been scattered.

Maybe I was going about it the wrong way, but I had to take a step before I went and lost everything.

I lifted my finger in the air, indicating one more. There was no missing the look of worry that passed through the bartender’s expression. “Can I call someone for you? Looks like you’re having a bad night.”

Humorless laughter rolled out. “I’m just fine.”

Lies.

All lies.

But who was I gonna call? I could call Mel, but then she’d be pissed at Richard, and the last thing I needed to do was get our assistant who was also my best friend mixed up in this. After all, her future was riding on me getting my shit together, too.

All of them were. Reliant upon me.

Oh God.

Another round of regret and hurt and bitterness went stampeding through my senses, and I slumped over, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth in an attempt to keep the sob bottled in my throat from gettin’ free.

The bartender eyed me, questioning his judgement before he grabbed another shot glass. “One more for you, gorgeous, then you’re done.”

Redness clawed. God, ten minutes in, and he thought he needed to cut me off.

Apparently, I needed an intervention, but not the type the guy was thinking.

“Thank you,” I told him with a shaking voice, trying to play it cool, as if I couldn’t feel the warmth of the alcohol gliding through my veins, warming me from the inside out, at odds with the cold, stark loneliness that covered me from the outside.

He slid the glass my direction. “No problem.”

He turned away to focus on other customers.

“You don’t have anyone to call, I’d be glad to take your number.” The slimy pickup line came from the stool to my left, and I lifted my eyes to the guy who was leering at me. Ratty, unkempt beard and stained tee shirt.

Awesome.

“Thank you, but I really want to be alone right now.” I tried to turn away, but he leaned forward, forcing himself into my line of sight.

His brow lifted in suggestion. “Huh, you sure look like you could use some company. Why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap, and I’ll make it all better?”

He grinned a vile, disgusting grin.

Nausea churned in my belly, revulsion and fear flickerin’ through my senses that were barely dulled by the liquor.

Maybe I should have thought better about this.

I was still wearing the dress I’d worn onstage, red and short and cut deep between my breasts. Much more provocative than anything I’d ever pick for myself—my wardrobe was completely in the hands of Mel, considering I’d probably be wearing sweats up there if the decision were left to me.

And God, I didn’t have my phone.

This was stupid.

“I’ll pass,” I said, dread crawling through my being.

He set a hand on my knee. “You sure about that?”

I sucked in a staggered breath at the unwelcome contact, trying not to gag.

Then my heart fully seized in my chest when I felt the dark cloud descend from behind us.

A voice that could only be described as menacing rumbled into the space, “Only thing sure around here is you’re about two seconds from losing your throat if you don’t take your hand off her. Got me?”

Dark and cold, the words penetrated the din of the bar, and the guy who’d had his hand on my knee glared behind me, clearly getting ready to spout out something aggressive, and then froze, words dying on his tongue. I was pretty sure it was fear that took hold of him as he slowly removed his hand and slipped off the opposite side of the stool.

Unsettled, I kept my attention trained on the tiny glass still clutched in my hand.

The man who’d sent the asshole running slipped into his place.

Was it the ground shaking or the slosh of alcohol beating through my brain that made me feel as if I were tipping sideways?

I was almost afraid to look that way, not sure of what to make of the feeling that crawled over my flesh.

I stole a peek at the man.

My belly tipped.

Capsized.

Tossing me into an ocean of instant fascination.

The eyes of what had to be the most intriguingly beautiful man I’d ever seen were trained on me. Eyes so dark they were the color of onyx, though somehow, they glinted like cracked, black ice that held a seething ball of white fire within.

Anger and fury raving in the depths.

His sharp jaw was clenched, and his full, full lips were set in a grim, threatening line.

“Are you okay?” he demanded. His voice rang like the lash of a raging song. Heavy and grating and seductive.

“I . . . I—” It was all a stammer as I contended with the lump that had grown thick in my throat, all of my attention trapped, snared by the face that glared back.

I couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol because the man was prettier than any soul had the right to be. His eyes so deep, burning with a thousand wicked secrets, lips nothing but seduction, body so intimidating that it made my heart thunder out of control.

He faced me where he sat on the stool, one hand clinging to the back of the seat and the other planted on the bar.

His hair was just as black as his eyes, wild and disordered, and I got the distinct sense that he’d been roughing agitated fingers through it the entire day.

“I . . . I . . . thank you,” I managed, my voice raw and unsure and riddled with attraction. A spark fired in my chest. I was sure, sitting there, it was the first time I’d felt alive in months.

Dressed like some kind of powerful CEO, he wore a perfectly fitted white button-up and gray suit pants that hugged all the lean, sinewy strength that oozed from his body, though somewhere along the way, his jacket had been discarded.

But it was the way every exposed inch of his flesh was covered in designs and colors, shapes and shadows, that held me rapt.

All of him.

Arms and hands.

Chest and throat.

I felt as if I were looking at a mysterious painting and had been charged with deciphering the meaning.

The man written in opposition.

Rebel and ruler.

Contradiction and conflict.

A bottle of discord and mayhem and destruction.

A very expensive brand of sin.

Something you didn’t dip your fingers into without signing a waiver, accepting the outright risk.

And somehow, I was stuck there, throat dry and eyes devouring him as if he might be the one to remind me exactly of who I was.

He edged forward, intensity fierce. His attention skated over the three empty glasses sitting in front of me, lingering on the one I still had clutched in my hand.

“Drowning your sorrows doesn’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Those eyes swept back up to me when he murmured it, and there was no amusement there.

My heart thudded in my chest, emotion fisting tight, and my gaze roved his face, trying to get a read on this man who’d stepped in to save me and looked like he could destroy me in the same breath.

“It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?” A tremor filled my words.

“Doesn’t it? It looked like you were a couple seconds away from regretting it to me.”

Unease twisted through my body, a flush rising up my neck and hitting my cheeks.

He was right.

But I was feeling desperate. Trying to fill the hole that couldn’t be filled.

I dropped my head, staring at the amber in the glass before I mustered the courage to look back at him, where a wayward lock of raven hair cast one side of his gorgeous face in shadow. “I wasn’t askin’ for that . . . for that . . . jerk. Just because I’m sitting here by myself doesn’t mean that man had the right to touch me that way.”

Dark eyes flashed fury. “You’re right. It doesn’t. I should follow him out of here . . . show him the cost of touching what isn’t his. Say it, and it’s done.”

Anger radiated from him. Fierce and ferocious. As if he were my protector and standing guard over me was his job. A wraith that would lay waste to any threat. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, why I suddenly felt safer than I had in forever. At the same time, I was one-hundred-percent certain I was standing at the shore of a stormy, churning sea.

Wrought with danger.

The man written in peril.

And there I was, wanting to wade deeper, reach out and dip in my fingers, pull a little of it into my mouth to wet the thirst growing by the second.

God, what was goin’ on with me?

I didn’t do this.

Fumble all over a stranger. Wonder what it might be like to have his massive hands takin’ possession of my body. Those were the last kind of thoughts I should have been entertaining.

“I appreciate you steppin’ in, but I would have been okay.” I didn’t even know why I was trying to front that assertion. Because I was shaking. Shivering all over the place. Runaway nerves that didn’t know where to go.

The fact that I wasn’t okay abundantly clear.

But I was pretty sure if I sent this man on that kind of mission, he would end up in jail.

“Would you really?” he challenged, still so close that I was breathing all his breaths. He smelled like whiskey and cedar and the faintest vestiges of cigarettes.

I should have been repulsed.

I wasn’t even close.

Intrigue and attraction had me parting my lips, wanting to inhale him, suck him down.

Experience something profound.

To get zapped by the current I could feel running a circuit between us.

“You think I didn’t see you come running in here, looking for a place to hide?” His mouth brushed my jaw, his words just loud enough to be heard over the roaring din of the bar. “Right out in the open. Is that what you wanted, to be found?”

A wicked sort of seduction was falling from his tongue.

Entrancing.

Mesmerizing.

My gaze flickered up to meet his, wavering and returning, wanting him to see me and terrified that he might discover who I was at the same time. “I think that might depend on who it was that found me.”

Onyx eyes flitted over my face, as if he were tracing the lines, as if he were peeling me open and getting a good look at what was hidden inside.

“Is that so?”

I chewed at the inside of my cheek, feeling so out of sorts that I no longer understood up from down.

“And who was it you were hoping would find you?” he pressed, his tattooed throat bobbing as he swallowed, his lips moving slow.

Hypnotizing.

I gathered up all the courage I had, and the words came rolling out like a plea. “Maybe I came here hoping for you.”

A rough chuckle rumbled up that thick throat, and my eyes got stuck on the action, my mouth going dry.

“I’m pretty sure I am exactly the opposite of what you’re looking for, beautiful.”

He said it to repel, a clear-cut warning, but the only thing I could really process was the fact that he’d called me beautiful.

“I think maybe you are exactly what I need right now.” I didn’t even know how I’d managed to get it out, but it was true.

I needed him.

For a moment.

For a night.

Even if he used me up, I knew it would feel right.

“You don’t have the first clue what you’re asking.”

There it was again.

Another threat. A risk I wanted to accept. This was one time where I was happy to sign on the dotted line.

“Maybe I want whatever it is you can give me.” God, I sounded like I was beggin’.

A smirk ticked up at the corner of his delicious mouth, and he angled in closer and lifted a tattooed knuckle to trace along my bottom lip.

Shivers raced.

“Do you want to know what I think?”

Did I?

“Yes,” I whispered, my gaze jumping around, not sure where to rest my eyes, wanting to take in every inch of this compelling man.

He let a fingertip traipse down the side of my jaw. “I think you’re feeling reckless. I think you’re looking for someone to take away the pain you’re drowning in. I think you’re itching to experience something different . . . to dip your pure, cute little toes into something dirty. Is that what you want . . . to get dirty?”

A shockwave of need slammed over me, and my belly twisted into a thousand knots.

I swallowed around the lump he had wedged in the base of my throat, going for brave when my knees were knocking so hard I wasn’t sure how I remained sitting on the stool. “You say that like it’d be a bad thing.”

He dipped down faster than I could process it, his lips brushing mine. Chills zapped and energy flashed and a rush of dizziness swept through my head.

“It would be a very, very bad thing.”

He edged back, and I could feel the space between us simmering with something mysterious.

“I’m not scared of you,” I murmured, wondering just who it was that I was tryin’ to convince.

“You should be.”

A frown pulled at my brow. “You just saved me. Stepped in and stood up for me.”

“I touch you, and you won’t ever forget it. I’ll wreck you, beautiful. Looks to me like your heart is banged up enough.”

“I’m not broken,” I whispered in a rush.

“Are you looking to be?”

“I . . . I . . .” All I could do was blink at him, trying to make sense of this. Of this attraction.

Because he felt like instinct.

I believed in love at first sight. With all of me.

But this wasn’t close to being it.

This was fascination. This was climbing a mountainside with the sole purpose of diving off a cliff. Risking everything to experience a free fall.

“I don’t think my coming here was a mistake.”

His voice lowered. “Watch yourself because those are the only kind of choices that I seem to make.”

I peered at him in an attempt to see through the veil of words he kept tossing at me. “I don’t understand.”

He angled his head, that black hair falling to one side, his gaze so severe my heart rate spiked. “That’s because you’re too good to see what’s staring back at you.”

“Or maybe it’s you who sees himself all wrong.”

A roll of coarse, dry laughter escaped him. “Precious girl.”

He said it like an insult dipped in affection.

God, this man was too much. Too forward and too compelling, and I was contemplating all kinds of things that I didn’t do. Maybe he was right. This was a very bad idea.

“I should go,” I told him.

“Yeah, you should.”

I started to fumble for my credit card in the zipper pocket of my dress, thanking all the stars I sang to that I actually had one along with my hotel key. The last thing I wanted was to have to go crawling back to my brother.

The stranger set a tattooed hand on my wrist.

My attention dragged down to where we were connected. The muscles of his forearm were twitching, the skin covered in shadowy ink that looked like some kind of ripped-up, intricate treasure map interwoven with landscape and faces. It shifted into the portrait of a king on the back of his hand, the image surrounded by roses, fading into the pawns stamped on his knuckles.

The entire scene screamed power and still somehow felt incredibly sad.

I suddenly had the devastating need to climb inside of this man. To touch him and feel him and know him.

He was right. I was a reckless, careless girl.

“I’ve got this,” he grated.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

He looked at me with something in his expression that I couldn’t quite make out. “It’s the least I can do.”

He handed the bartender his card, and I was whispering a wispy, “Thank you. I’m Emily, by the way.”

A twitch of something that looked like disgust pulled at one side of his mouth. “Royce.”

He said it like his name was an issue of condemnation, the man staring me down for a beat, as if he were waiting for something, for a fallout maybe, before he turned to the slip the bartender handed him and signed it.

He returned the card to his wallet and tucked it into the back pocket of his pants.

Unable to remain under the potency of him for a second longer, I fumbled to stand, swaying a bit when I got to my feet.

His hand shot out to steady me. “Watch yourself, Precious.”

A shiver raced over my arms. “I’m fine . . . I’m just . . . going to use the restroom. It was nice to meet you,” I managed, taking two steps as if I possessed an ounce of calm, and then for the second time tonight, I rushed through a crowd to get away.

Though this time it was because I wanted to stay.

Because I wanted to experience those dark waters washing over me.

I shouldered through the crush, fighting the sting of tears.

God, I really was pathetic. But I couldn’t help it. The only thing I wanted was for someone to see me for me. All I needed was one second of truth. A taste of freedom. To be loosed of these chains.

Maybe then I would be willing to give it all away. Stand up and be brave.

Forget and remember.

Accept all the possibilities and reject what had been haunting me.

A surge of power rustled over me from behind, and I sucked in a staggered breath when I realized he was there, right behind me, following me through the crowd. My pulse raced in anticipation, though I increased my pace.

The man did the same.

Royce.

I wondered what the sound of it might be like coming from my tongue.

I stumbled when I broke out of the crowd and into the narrow, dimly lit hall, the decibel of the bar diminishing to a dull thrum. The only sound I could make out was the thunder of my heart pounding in my ears and the man’s footsteps edging up from behind.

“You don’t have to watch over me,” I whispered into the hollow vacancy.

A tattooed hand snaked around to palm the front of my throat.

I felt it like a rough caress to my soul.

“I don’t know how to let you walk away.”

Oh, God.

My knees went weak, and the plea was spilling out, “Then don’t.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, and he was slowly turning me around and edging me deeper into the hall, the shadows swallowing us as we moved farther into the recesses. He backed me into the wall, and a tremble ripped down my spine when he planted both palms over my head.

Heat surged as he covered me in the shroud of his gorgeous body. A whimper of need bled from my tongue.

“Royce.” I murmured his name like it was a dream.

He ran his nose along my jaw, and my chest was heaving, my wayward heart reaching out for him.

“You’re going to regret this,” he grated.

I probably would.

This was so not me.

But tonight—tonight I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was this.

Feeling.

And I wanted to feel with him.

“Please . . . just . . . kiss me,” I begged.

Royce wavered.

Rocking forward then edging back, needy pants ripping up his tremoring throat.

“Please,” I said again.

“Shit,” he muttered, then his mouth crushed against mine.