Prologue — Before It All Burns
Jamie
Fast forward six weeks
The penthouse is dark except for the city below. Forty floors of glass and light.
And somewhere out there—someone is trying to kill Chloe Callahan.
She stands at the window with her back to me, barefoot on polished marble, the glow of Las Vegas spilling across her skin.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to lose everything.
The skyline paints her in gold and shadow, the kind of beautiful that gets a man hurt.
Derek Callahan trusted me with his life for fifteen years. I should have been able to trust myself around his sister. Especially now.
I learned that wasn't happening the moment she walked into my casino wearing a red dress and a smile that looked like sin. Now here she is in my penthouse — because I couldn't risk her being out of my sight.
Keeping her safe was the priority. At least, that’s what I told myself.
But with her standing here… the threat isn’t what’s consuming me anymore. She is.
I've resisted her for so long it feels like muscle memory. Tonight, my hands don't get the message. They trace her waist, then slip lower, cupping the curve that’s been haunting me for months.
She glances over her shoulder. Just a quick look. It lands like a punch.
Chloe has always had that effect on me — sharp green eyes that don't soften just because a man is bigger than her, lips that smile like she's already conquered a challenge. Most people see Derek's little sister. I see the woman who's been dismantling my discipline one glance at a time.
"Jamie."
My name sounds different in her voice. Lower. Rougher. Like she's testing it, deciding if she likes it. Like she knows exactly what it does to me.
My radio sits on the table behind us, silent for once. Security feeds scroll across a monitor in the corner — I check them automatically. But none of it matters. Not compared to her.
Chloe stills. "Is something wrong Jamie?"
"No." I silence it without looking.
She turns in my hands, eyes searching mine, checking for the version of me that would step back and put distance between us. The one who would remind her of all the reasons this is a bad idea. That version isn't here tonight.
"You sure?" she asks.
I cup her face, thumb tracing her jaw. "Yeah."
She watches me a second longer, like she's waiting for me to flinch. When I don't, something in her settles. Her hands slide up my chest, and she lets herself lean in.
That's the thing about Chloe — she doesn't give herself permission easily. She fights for every inch, including this. Especially this. It makes everything worse. And better. In the best possible way.
I've craved her longer than I'll ever say out loud.
Long enough that it became a kind of discipline of its own — something to manage, to wall off, to keep from bleeding into the job.
She was off-limits. Derek's little sister.
The one person I had no business touching and couldn't get out of my head.
Every rule that made her forbidden just made it worse.
I pull her closer. I should stop but…I just can't.
She makes a moan against my mouth that I'll hear in my sleep for the rest of my life, and I feel it down my spine like a detonation. Her fingers curl into my shirt as I guide her backward, step by slow step, until the room closes around us.
I pull her closer and kiss her harder, erasing the last inch of space between us.
The soft music drifting through the penthouse disappears beneath the thud of my heartbeat.
Her lips part under mine, and I deepen the kiss, heat rising fast, months of restraint collapsing all at once.
Her hands tighten in my shirt, nails dragging across my skin through the fabric, sending a sharp line of sensation down my spine.
Even through the thin material of her dress I can feel the heat of her body, and it lights something reckless in me. Every cold shower, every night staring at the ceiling trying not to think about her — it all hits at once.
I walk her backward, controlled even as my restraint fractures. Her back meets the wall with a soft thud, and she gasps when I press closer. My hands slide up her thighs and I lift her easily. Her legs wrap around my waist, dress riding up as she grips me tighter.
"Fuck," I breathe against her mouth. She's real. She's here.
"Jamie," she whispers, voice unsteady. "What are you doing to me?"
I pull back just enough to see her face — flushed cheeks, swollen lips, green eyes hazy with want. "What you've been doing to me since the moment I saw you," I say against her jaw. "Every meeting. Every smartass comment. Every time you looked at me like you wanted a fight."
I carry her to the couch and set her down slowly, never breaking eye contact. Something inside me — the control I've built my life around — cracks wide open. I've held myself together for years, and she's the only thing that's ever made me want to come undone.
“Hey, you’re the one that wanted a fight,” she says with a smirk. “And I’m the only one who ever gave it to you.”
I kneel in front of her, sliding my hands up her thighs, pushing her dress higher. Her breath hitches.
"I hate you," she whispers.
"No, you don't." I hold her gaze, waiting. My beard grazes the inside of her thigh, and she breathes out, a sound so soft she can’t hold back.
"Jamie… please don’t tease me like that."
"Say it again."
“Please.” Her voice breaks, and when she looks at me, it’s all want.
I smile slowly.
When I stand again, she's breathless, dress bunched at her waist. I unbutton my shirt deliberately and let it fall. Her eyes track every movement, lingering on the tattoos and scars across my chest.
Seventy-two hours ago, she was off-limits. Forty-eight hours ago, someone tried to kill her. Twenty-four hours ago, I stopped pretending that mattered.
Her eyes meet mine. Waiting.
"Your turn," I say, voice rough.
Her lips curve into a smile— slow and dangerous. “You’re in trouble now...”