Jace.
He’s standing near the energy drinks, leaning against the fridge, his head slightly tilted to the side. And there’s a woman in front of him—short blonde hair, a belt for a skirt, and a scarf for a crop top. She’s laughing at something he said, acting like it’s absolutely revolutionary. Her hand rests lightly on Jace’s forearm as she talks, head tilted, lips glossy. Jace isn’t really entertaining her, but he is letting her talk to him.
It’s enough to make something ugly curl inside my chest. My fingers tighten around the plastic handle of the basket just as the girl squeezes Jace’s bicep with awe. And I hate that I’m wondering how it feels under her hand. I hate that I’m still watching, feeling something I’ve never felt before.
I try to tear my eyes away, telling myself I don’t care. I shouldn’t care. But my eyes stay glued on him.
Just as the girl starts to say something else, Jace turns his head. His gaze cuts through the space between us and lands right on me. Everything inside me stills as his grin starts to grow—slow and knowing. Without breaking eye contact, he winks at me. It’s the kind of wink that makes your knees forget they’re supposed to hold your weight.
And then he turns away from her mid-sentence. No hesitation, just a polite nod, and a deliberate step around her. His shoulder brushes past hers, and he walks straight toward me.
I should turn and head the other way. I should move. Instead, I feel something wicked crawl up my spine—hot and satisfied.
He pauses at the end of the aisle to grab something before causally making his way over to me while I pretend to look at a bag of Turkish delight that I don’t even like.
He stops beside me, and my pulse kicks. I look up, and he’s already looking down at me. His eyes shine with amusement, the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk.
“You need something?” I say, raising my chin.
“Only if you provide it,” he murmurs.
I open my mouth to respond, my stomach suddenly full of butterflies.
But I still manage a flat, “Only in your dreams.”
“For now.” He grins before glancing down at my basket and casually tossing the item he grabbed from the shelf inside.
I frown and look down.
Sunscreen.
“You didn’t have any,” he says simply, like this is a conversation we’ve had a hundred times.
“You don’t know what’s in my bag.”
“I know what’s not in your basket,” he counters, voice lower.
“This”—I hold up my basket, waving it slightly—“isn’t my entire luggage.”
“You want me to put it on you myself?” he asks playfully, but still manages to make it sound like a threat.
“You’re not touching me,” I scoff weakly, shaking my head.
He gives me no warning before he leans in, causing me to press my back against the shelves. He lowers his head, his lips a breath from my ear.
“Not until you beg for it,” he murmurs, fingers gently sliding up my arm.
My heart misses a beat, my brain short-circuits, and the throbbing between my legs comes back. I’m so aware of every single movement he’s making, the way his eyes switch between my left and right one, drinking in my reaction. He’s affected just like I am, but I have a feeling I’m the only one falling apart right now.
He pulls back, eyes skimming over me with all the patience of a man who knows he’s already in my head. Then he turns, saunters down the aisle, and disappears.
And I just stand there, heart in my throat, basket shaking slightly in my hand. And I know that this is just the preview.Because now, I’m not worried about spending a few hours in the car with him anymore. I’m worried about spending a week in a house with him—and coming out with my sanity intact.
The convoy of cars snakes down a winding coastal road, the scenery blurring between flashes of turquoise water and bursts of wild Florida green. It’s hot—the kind of thick, humid heat that sticks to your skin and makes every breath feel heavy. The SUV finally turns off the main road and onto a long, hidden driveway flanked by trees. The air shifts into something quieter and wilder.
We slow to a crawl, tires crunching over the private gravel road as the mansion comes into view. And I mean mansion.
I sit forward in my seat, blinking.
