Never Sleep with the Enemy (Break the Rules #4)

Chapter 1

1

KATRINA

T he only thing that’s ever made sense to me is music.

The timing. The structure. The way it flows, both on the page and off. An E sounds like an E every time. It just makes sense.

Unlike people. Unlike thoughts and feelings. Moments that mean everything to you might mean nothing to someone else. Words spoken from a tight throat slip in one ear and out the other. To some, a kiss is a gateway. A spark that ignites a thousand emotions, infinite heartbeats. Love and marriage and happily ever after.

To another, a kiss is just a kiss.

It shouldn’t be like that.

But it is.

The elevator opens to an empty hallway, and I hesitate, the golden box swaying slightly beneath my feet. The shift sends a head rush through me, a slow, woozy ripple. I press a hand to the wall, blinking against it.

Is this the wrong floor?

This is the wrong floor.

Groaning, I step back and fish my room key from my pocket, squinting at the number.

Yep. We’re on 23 this time. Not 25, like usual.

We got shuffled around because of the wedding.

Jonah’s wedding.

My stomach clenches as I jab the button for 23. The doors whisper shut, and I lean against the mirrored wall, breathing through the slow churn of wine in my belly. It’s a restless, queasy feeling one can only describe as… ick.

When the doors part again, I step out, focused on one goal: get to my room before someone comes looking. I said I’d only be gone a minute, but the truth is, I couldn’t stand to be there any longer.

At Marla’s bachelorette party.

She’s my friend. She’s Jonah’s chosen.

I’m happy for them.

I’m happy for them.

I’m totally happy for them.

That doesn’t mean I understand it.

“Hey, Kat. You okay?”

My ears prick at the sound of his voice.

Jonah Botsford. Cool and confident, always.

He stands a few feet away, one hand hovering near the doorknob of his suite two doors down from mine.

“Katrina?”

“Yup.” I snap to attention. “I am okays.”

Jonah chuckles. “You sure?”

“Uh-huh,” I murmur, keeping my gaze down, refusing to get caught in his eyes. His smile.

Not tonight.

Not ever again.

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you’re leaning.”

I straighten up, but the motion sends a fresh wave of dizziness through me. “Not drunk,” I say. “Totally fine.”

Jonah steps closer, his laughter warm and effortless. “Come on. Let’s get you to your room. Glad to see my wife’s bachelorette party is going well.”

Wife .

He’s already calling her his wife.

His hands graze my arms—friendly, platonic.

I jerk away from the touch. “I’m fine.”

But he stays close, too well-trained in the art of guiding a drunk Benton around after years of friendship with my brother Knox. He just laughs, his calloused bassist fingers hovering near my elbows. “Come on,” he coaxes.

“Jonah, I’m fine. You don’t have to…” I steal a glance at him. Just one.

It’s a mistake.

His eyes—those rich brown Botsford eyes—hit me like a chord played too hard, too fast, vibrating all the way through me. And his hair. That thick, unruly mess he usually hides beneath a beanie. Not tonight. Tonight, it’s free, falling over his forehead in careless waves.

“Marry her.”

Jonah stills. “I don’t have to… what?”

I force myself to look away. To move. To run.

But I don’t.

I plant my feet. I look up, straight into the warmth of his gaze, and say it again.

“You don’t have to marry her.”

Jonah takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides. “What are you talking about, Kat?”

What am I talking about?

What am I talking about?

“You…” I take a breath, my head spinning. “Me.”

A single blink and his spine goes taut. “Okay,” he says, his voice calm and soothing, like he’s talking down a belligerent child. “Come on, Katrina. We’ll get you to your room, and then we can?—”

I kiss him.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

But my lips barely graze his before Jonah grips my shoulders and pushes me back.

“Katrina, stop.” His hands are firm, holding me at bay, his elbows locked. His gaze isn’t angry. It isn’t ashamed. Just… sympathetic. Pitying.

I hate it.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

My throat tightens against the tears, but I push forward. “Was it ever me?”

His head tilts the smallest fraction.

“Was it ever me, Jo?” I ask again, the words thick on my tongue. I shouldn’t have to explain. I know he understands.

Was our kiss really just a kiss?

Were we really just friends this whole time?

“You shouldn’t be here, Kat,” he says.

“Just tell me.”

“No.” His fingers dig in a little deeper. “I’m sorry. You’re my friend. You’re Knox’s sister.” He shakes his head. “No. It was never going to be you.”

My world tilts.

“Oh,” I say.

His hands fall away, and somehow, I stay standing.

“Look,” he says gently. “How about we head downstairs and get some coffee? Sober you up a bit, and we’ll talk?—”

“No.” My stare drops to the floor. “I’m fine.”

“Kat—”

I spin away, my head light, my chest lead-heavy. My heart is pounding too hard, too loud, drowning him out.

The door across the hall opens as I stagger forward.

A familiar laugh. Addison.

Harvey Moon follows, always a step behind her.

“Oh!” Addison winces. “Hi, Katrina.”

“We didn’t look at each other!” Harvey blurts, referencing that dumb pact they made.

All the happy couples in Criminal Records oh-so-romantically promising to spend the week before the wedding apart in solidarity with Jonah.

All of them have somebody.

All of them are loved and honored and cherished.

But I’m not.

I’m just Katrina.

I’m alone.

The tears spill over.

“Right,” Addison says. “We were just…” She trails off, her voice softening. “Kat, are you okay? Honey, what’s wrong?”

I keep my head down. “Nothing. I have to go.”

She calls after me, but I don’t stop. I push forward, shove through the stairwell doors.

“Jo, what happened?” she asks as the door swings shut behind me.

Go on, Jonah.

Tell them what happened.

Tell them how you and Knox and Bronson saved me.

How you spirited me away in the dead of night.

How you held me. Promised me I was safe.

How you kissed me.

My first and most important kiss.

I run down the stairs. Flight after flight, a seemingly endless tower in the Las Vegas sky. Golden lights blur in my vision, streaking like comets as I burst into the hotel lobby. I don’t stop running. Not until my lungs burn and the cool October air rushes into my chest.

Oof!

I hit the sidewalk. Hard.

The impact rattles through me, knocks the wind from my lungs.

I ran into something.

Some one.

“Hey, are you okay?”

A voice, warm and edged with concern, floats down to me.

Flat on my back, I squint up at the city lights, then at the blurry visage hovering above me. Red lips. Blonde hair, long and curly, framing a sharp but striking face. Gold. Golden locks. Goldilocks.

Goldie Locke.

Drummer from…

The Electrics.

Oh, shit.

She grins in recognition. “Hey, boss!” she calls over her shoulder. “Come check this out.”

Alarm bells clamor in my head, but my limbs are slow, sluggish. No chance of getting up before?—

Another figure moves into view. Tall, lean. Sharp cheekbones. A flash of black eyeliner, a streak of yellow face paint shaped like?—

A lightning bolt.

Oh, no.

Logan Shock.

The grin on his face is downright wicked.

“Hello, kitty,” he says. “Have you lost your way?”