I dragged my hands across my face. This room smelled sweet and ancient, like some magic perfume, and it was getting in my head. I relived his bruising touch and gentle words. You’re so goddamn perfect.

Heat seared my gut.

I tore my hands away from my face, staring out the window at a nearly black sky.

That memory is a dangerous drug.

Salty night summer air drifted in through the open window. The sound of crashing waves drew me to it as well as the promise of getting away from the memory of Grayson’s hands and lips on me.

I wove through clothed antiques worth more than I’d made in all the years I’d worked here and groaned out the window. Grayson Crowne was going to think I was like every other psycho girl sending him used panties, when in reality, I want nothing to do with him or anyone like him.

I had hoped to go my whole life without ever being seen by Grayson Crowne. I’d spent years working my way up to Abigail’s girl. I was all but entirely screwed for missing her dressing.

All my life at Crowne Hall I’d lived by a code: don’t be seen. I dressed conservatively so no one paid me any attention. It was the only way to survive. In one stupid, foolish night, I’d made my worst nightmare a reality.

Now he knew.

Now I knew, forever, what he tasted like.

I dropped my head onto the sill with a sigh just as Abigail Crowne ran out onto the sandy grass below, falling down. I lifted my head, leaning out the window, trying to get a better look. Tonight was her sister Gemma’s birthday, and Abigail had a notoriously bad relationship with Gemma. I wouldn’t put it past Abigail to start something.

A few seconds later, a very tall man approached her. He looked familiar, but who was he? I squinted as if that would help.

“I thought I told you not to fucking move.”

I spun around, breath seized. Grayson stood in the doorway, the yellow light behind him making him bolder, greater. He’d been so quiet I hadn’t even heard the door open.

“I didn’t—”

“I definitely didn’t leave you by the window, but if you’re planning on throwing yourself out…” He waved a hand.

My lips parted at the cold words.

He hadn’t spoken with any heat before, and he didn’t now. Whatever sweetness, empathy, or even anger I’d glimpsed before, was gone. There were no emotions at all. Nothing. This was the Grayson Crowne I knew. Apathetic and entitled, smiles that barely veiled his boredom, edged laughter usually at someone else’s expense.

I raised my shoulders slightly. “That isn’t what I was doing.”

He rolled his rose petal lips. “Too bad.”