PROLOGUE
SAVVY
Some might say that showing up on a man’s doorstep in nothing but a scrap of lace and a trench coat makes me a walking cliché. I, however, like to think of this moment as an homage to the night I met Alec Hayes.
It was Vegas, and we were both looking for a good time. The night went exactly how you would expect it to—a blur of dancing, drinking, and hot, stolen kisses. The even blurrier moments—the ones just beyond my grasp—were the ones in his suite. All I have from the end of that night are bits and pieces: his lips skimming down the sides of my neck, his big hands gripping my thighs before sliding around to cup my ass, and the delicious weight of his body on mine.
That wasn’t a total blackout night for me, but I still wish I could remember it with more clarity. Which brings me here, to the doorstep of his fancy L.A. mansion. I’m ninety percent sure that it’s not nerves but excitement that has my hands shaking as I extend a finger to press the doorbell.
I hold my breath as the heavy footsteps inside make their way toward the door. I grip the ties on my coat, ready to give Alec a show the moment I see his face.
But when the door flies open, I freeze.
Time and space fall away. I don’t just question if I’m at the right house, but if the last five years ever happened. Because the man looking back at me is not Alec Hayes at all. The man looking back at me is straight out of my past. I haven’t seen him since I was twenty-one years old and he broke my heart.
A smile stretches across Oliver Rhett’s face, and he slowly scrapes his gaze down the front of my trench coat, as if he knows exactly what I’m wearing—or not wearing—beneath it.
“Savannah Downing,” he says, his voice a gravelly rumble. “Holy shit. You’re as beautiful as you were the last time I saw you.”
I could say the same for him. His gray eyes are like the sea before a storm. His dark hair is neatly trimmed but swept back as if he’s been dragging frustrated hands through it. And that body? I might only be able to remember snippets from my night with Alec, but I remember exactly how Oliver’s body felt—the way his hips pressed into mine, the way he’d hold my wrists and my gaze as he slid inside me, how it felt to hear him whisper my name like a prayer before he surrendered to his own pleasure.
I never thought I’d see him again.
My gaze flies to the house number and back to the door, but I double- and triple-checked the address. I know I’m at the right place. “What are you doing here?”
He folds his arms and leans one shoulder against the doorframe, his smile turning crooked. “That’s my line.” He’s silent a beat, then cocks his head to the side. “But from the look on your face, I’m guessing you’re not here looking for me? Do you know Rose?”
Who’s Rose? Is that his wife? Why does the idea of him being married feel like a dull blade in the center of my chest?
“This isn’t your house.” The words are strangled. Too desperate.
“You’re right. I’m here visiting my sister.”
I am a confident, self-assured woman. I won’t let Oliver turn me into a mess again just because this moment makes no sense. How could I come to surprise Alec and find myself looking Oliver in the eye? It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t mattered since he broke your heart and disappeared from your life. I’m here for a man I know would never do that. “I’m looking for Alec Hayes.”
Oliver straightens and drops his arms. All the warm amusement in his expression drains away and he turns as cold as his steely eyes. “I see. And how do you know my brother?”
Brother. Bullshit. There’s no way Oliver could be Alec’s brother. Oliver is hardened and calculating, while Alec is sweet and thoughtful and possesses all the goodness I long ago stopped expecting from men. Never mind that they don’t even share a last name. There’s nothing remotely similar about these two.
Except their jaw lines. Except their smiles.
Fate couldn’t be so cruel, could it? And anyway, wouldn’t Alec have mentioned Oliver? We talked about our families in Vegas. We talked about—
I take a step back. Alec did tell me about a half-brother he can’t stand. Did he ever say his name? Why didn’t I ask?
And Oliver . . . well, Oliver never told me shit about his family when we were together. Because we were never really a couple. That was just my overly naïve perception of a fucked-up situation.
“Is this your idea of revenge?” Oliver asks. “Seems a little petty. And after all this time.”
“What? This has nothing to do with you.”
Stepping forward, Oliver trails a finger across my exposed collarbone. He tips his head to the side. “You’re fucking my brother just weeks after you called me out of the blue, but I’m supposed to think this has nothing to do with me? That I’ll throw myself at your feet to keep you from dressing like”—his eyes blaze as he scrapes his gaze over me again—“like this for Alec?”
Whore.
The word he didn’t say howls through my head like a siren. His father thought I was a whore, and Oliver defended me. But then the truth came out, and any reasonable person could see I’d been fooling myself by believing I was anything more to Oliver than a means to an end. Love will do that do you.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
So why does my heart ache so much at the sight of those haunting eyes? And why did I make that drunken phone call just days after meeting Alec? Oliver didn’t answer. I left a message. That night is pretty fuzzy, but I think I told him I didn’t ever want to see him again and that I was moving on—though the fact that I’d made the call at all after all these years begs to differ.
“My relationship with Alec has nothing to do with you. If I had known that—”
“You are fucking him.” His mouth curls in a sneer. “Hell, Savvy, if you were that hard up, you should’ve just said so in your message. You know I’m always here to take care of your needs.”
Take care of me. Not love me. Not be with me. Fuck me. Get me off.
But my traitorous body thinks letting him take care of those needs is a great idea. The part of me that remembers just how good it was between us practically purrs at the possibility of going there again. Not that I would—not as long as I have a shred of dignity left in my body.
Oliver slides his cell from his pocket. “I’ll drop my brother a text and let him know you’re here.”
“Don’t,” I blurt.
He cocks a brow. “Don’t text the guy you flew across the country to see?”
I give a shaky nod. “Just forget it. Forget you saw me.”
Whatever Alec and I had, whatever that single night in Vegas started between us, it ended the second Oliver opened that door.
Part One
PRESENT DAY
Two and a half years later
CHAPTER ONE
SAVVY
I’m late.
I hate being late. But the news I got this morning has left me off my game all day.
I slam my car door shut and jog across the street to Smithy’s bar, where I’m meeting my friends.