Tyler Maddox approached me in a damp and blood-smeared shirt. His eyes and nose were shadowed by his hat. He began to speak, but I gripped a fistful of his shirt and pulled, planting a hard kiss on his mouth. My lips parted, letting his hot tongue slip inside. He reacted like I knew he would—carnal electricity between us—as he gripped the back of my hair, tilting my head up toward him.

I shoved him back, keeping a grip on his shirt. He waited, unsure of what to expect. With a wry smile, I took a step backward, letting my hand slip from the fabric down his arm, and then pulled on his hand. His hands were rough, his fingernails bitten to the quick. I couldn’t wait to feel the coarseness against the soft parts of me.

One side of Tyler’s mouth pulled up into a grin, and a deep dimple appeared on his left cheek. He was the kind of beautiful you couldn’t buy, with his golden-brown eyes and square, scruffy chin—a symphony of perfection only flawless genes could compose. There were plenty of beautiful people in my circles, with access to the best products, stylists, spas, and cosmetic surgeons, but Tyler was real—effortless and raw.

I quickened my pace, climbing the first step backward.

Tyler glanced up from the base of the stairs. “Where are we going?” I didn’t answer, but he still followed. I could have been leading him to his death, but I could tell Tyler Maddox was afraid of nothing. “What’s up there?” he asked, still climbing.

“Me,” I said simply.

He began to move with purpose, his eyes turning from amused to hungry. I twisted the knob of the master bedroom and pushed through, revealing my parents’ California king and two dozen pillows.

“Whoa,” Tyler said, looking around the room. “This house is nuts. Whoever lives here must make bank. Friends of yours?”

“This is my parents’ house.”

“You live here?” Tyler asked, pointing to the floor.

“Sometimes.”

“Oh, fuck. You’re Ellison Edson. Like the Edson Tech Edsons?”

“No, I’m just Ellie.”

“Your dad is like on Fortune 500, isn’t he?”

“Don’t really want to talk about my father right now,” I said between kisses.

He held me at bay. “Sorry about the painting, and the table … and the vase. I’ll replace them.”

I reached down, cupping the hardness behind his jeans. “Stop talking.”

Tyler refocused, reaching down to slide his hands between my leggings and bare skin, his fingers knowing the perfect place to pause and explore. I kicked off my boots, humming while his fingertips glided more easily, slick with my desire for him.