Prologue
EIGHT YEARS AGO
EVEREST
Vegas, baby!
We’re at the blingy-est club I’ve ever stepped foot in, and we’ve got fucking bottle service. Bachelor parties are the fucking best, and I’ve seriously gotta find myself more friends who are getting married.
Except, this isn’t my friend’s bachelor party. It’s my future brother-in-law’s, and he didn’t technically have to invite me. Jeremy’s cool, though. He’s super chill and even offered to pay for my trip without me asking. Don’t worry. He can afford it—he’s some fancy banker dude on Wall Street.
Me? I couch surf from one beach town to the next, searching for the next big wave. The whole staying in one place and holding down a job thing isn’t really for me. Who wants that kind of responsibility? Not this guy.
The other dudes in our group are alright. They’re all Jeremy’s friends from work or school. All older and loaded, which means I’ve barely had to pull out my wallet since we stepped off the plane.
The only guy here that I can’t fucking stand is Jeremy’s brother—Owen. See, even his name is so fucking pretentious. Owen, ugh. He’s uptight, arrogant, and just fucking rude. I don’t know what the hell I did to him, but Jesus, if looks could kill, I’d already be six feet under.
The fucked up thing is, the guy hates my guts, but at the same time, I keep catching him staring at me. Like, it’s not enough for us to just ignore each other for the weekend. Nope, he wants me to know that he hates me. He wants me to feel how much he hates me.
Like right now. In the middle of the club, the champagne’s flowing, everyone’s hyped up, the music is pumping, and we’re here to celebrate!
But Owen’s sitting in his little corner, glaring at me like it’s my fault he’s not having a good time.
What-fucking-ever. His idea of a good time is probably sitting at home reading a fucking textbook.
About animal parts. Snort. Yeah, he’s in veterinarian school. Gonna be an animal doctor. He’s already got everyone calling him “Doctor Owen.”
Doctor Owen, my ass.
“Ev-er-est! Ev-er-est! Ev-er-est!”
I chug down the pint of beer and slam the heavy glass on the table in front of me.
Jeremy and his friends explode into cheers as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
I can feel the heat of Owen’s stare on the side of my face, like he’s trying to burn through my cheeks with his laser eyes. I ignore it and reach for another pint.
“Not so fast.” Jeremy grabs the glass from me. “I promised your sister I’d look after you.”
“What? It’s only my third pint!” I try to snatch the glass back, but he holds it out of my reach.
“Yeah, and the night is young. Besides, you’re only twenty-one.”
I roll my eyes. “Right, and I haven’t had a drop of alcohol before this,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jeremy pushes me toward the edge of the booth. “Go dance for a bit. Then come back and you can have another.”
I give him an unamused look. “And here I thought you were kinda cool.”
He laughs and takes a sip of my beer. “I respect your sister too much to care about cool.”
Well, fuck if that’s not sickeningly sweet. Ugh.
I let Jeremy shoo me out onto the dance floor.
The music is thumping and the bass is so low and loud that the floor reverberates with each beat.
I slip into the crowd, and the temperature rises a couple degrees with sweaty bodies pressing in on all sides.
An arm brushes against mine, an ass presses against my hip, a pair of boobs graze my back.
Someone drags a hand down my front, but in the flashing lights of the club, it’s hard to see who it is. Another hand palms my ass cheek, but it’s there and gone so quickly, I barely have time to turn my head.
Blood pumps through my veins in time with the music and my head grows a little fuzzy with the high. I raise my hands into the air and drop my head back, letting out a whoop as the beat drops and the dance floor erupts.
The entire time, I can feel the steady, unwavering focus of a pair of eyes on me.
The hair at the back of my neck lifts and goosebumps break out across my skin.
It’s fucking creepy, the way he watches me like he wants to hunt me down and—I don’t know—tear me apart or something.
And yet, there’s something tempting about it, like a giant wave I know is too dangerous, but I’ll still paddle out on the off chance I’ll be able to ride it, to tame it.
The spotlight tracks around the club and for a split second, it lands on Owen.
He’s sitting at the edge of the booth, one ankle propped up on the opposite knee.
A glass tumbler is balanced in one hand and the opposite arm is slung across the back of the booth.
His eyes are shaded, but I know they’re trained on me.
His lips are pressed into a straight line.
Arrogance pours off him, fueling this strange itch that’s been growing inside me.
It’s like there’s something restless expanding in my chest, reaching out through my arms and down into my legs. It’s pressing on my insides, seeping into every nook and cranny, looking for a way out. It’s weird. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and honestly, I’m not sure I like it.
The spotlight swings across the spot where Owen’s sitting, except now the booth is empty. He’s not there anymore. He’s gone.
Where is he?
Lights flash in my eyes and white spots appear in my vision. Bodies press into me, pushing me left and right, farther and farther away from our booth. Music blares in my ears, so loud it’s disorientating.
Where did the fucker go?
I struggle through the mass of elbows and shoulders and toes, feeling like I’m swimming against the current just to get to the edge of the dance floor.
When I finally get there, I scan the club, looking for that head of dark, neatly trimmed hair, shoulders clad in a perfectly tailored white dress shirt, narrow hips filling out a snug pair of dress pants. I don’t see him.
I start toward the restrooms. I don’t know why I’m doing this—looking for fucking Owen.
I don’t care where he is or what he does.
It has nothing to do with me, and seriously, the less I know the better.
But still, my feet take me down the narrow hallway, lit only by a weak line of light running along the middle of the floor.
The men’s room is at the end of the hall, and I weave my way past the line of girls waiting for the ladies’ room. I’m halfway down the hall when a hard body crashes into me from behind, plastering me face-first against the wall.
“Are you following me?” a voice growls next to my face.
Owen’s lips brush the shell of my ear. His breath is hot against my cheek. A shiver runs down my spine and every drop of blood in my body rushes to my dick, leaving me lightheaded and at a loss for words.
He’s a couple inches shorter than me, and I thought he was kind of scrawny, but the body pressed up against mine is hard and solid and strong.
He has no trouble keeping me pinned against the wall, and for some crazy reason, my groin tightens with arousal.
That itchy, too-big-for-my-skin feeling melts away, leaving me soft and pliant as the heat of Owen’s body seeps into mine.
He shifts and something long and stiff pokes me in the ass—his cock. Owen’s hard cock. The realization makes my dick throb in my jeans and a whimper escapes my mouth.
A hand slides down my back and around my side to my hip. Without thinking, I cover it with my own. Then taking ahold of it, I drag it around and curl his fingers around my aching bulge.
“Fuck.” Owen drops his head forward onto my shoulder and his hips buck, grinding his cock into my ass. “What are you doing to me?”
Before I can ask him what he means, the weight on my back vanishes. Disappointment hits me hard, like an unexpected wave, then suddenly, I’m being dragged back through the club toward the exit.
“What are you doing?” I yell at Owen’s back, but he doesn’t hear me over the loud music and screaming crowds. Or maybe he does and he’s ignoring me. “Where are we going?”
Owen’s grip on my wrist is so tight I don’t think I’d be able to break out of it. But instead of trying, I let him lead me out of the club and along the crowded sidewalks toward our hotel.
My heart is racing just as quickly now as it was in the middle of the dance floor.
If anyone looked, they’d see the obscene bulge in my jeans.
I feel like I’m adrift in the middle of the ocean, at the mercy of the wind and the currents.
And the only thing keeping me from floating away is Owen’s fingers curled around my wrist. If he lets go of me now, I think I would drown.
How messed up is it that I’m happy he doesn’t let go? Not when we get back to the hotel. Not while we ride the elevator up to the twenty-ninth floor. Not when he pulls out his keycard and unlocks the door.
The door isn’t fully shut before Owen pushes me up against the wall again.
Facing him this time. We’re nose-to-nose, lips an inch apart.
He smells like old, worn-in leather, rich and earthy and just a bit sweet.
The scent fills my senses and wraps around me like a deliciously weighty hug.
My eyes flutter shut and my lips part as I sink into the feeling.
“Motherfucker.”
That’s all the warning I get before Owen crushes his lips against mine so hard I think I cut my lip on my teeth.
The shock of his attack makes me gasp and he takes the opening, plunging his tongue into my mouth. The invasion ripples all the way down to the soles of my feet.
Someone moans. Someone whimpers. I think that someone is me.
His body is hard against mine. He grinds his erection against my hip. My fingers dig into his waist as I hang on for dear life.
At the back of my mind, I know this is Owen—annoying, uptight, thinks he’s better than me. I’m supposed to hate him and he’s supposed to hate me. My sister is about to marry his brother and we’re technically going to be related.