Prologue

Friday

RUBBING damp palms on his denim-clad thighs, Hunter stood in front of the door of the bathroom Kata had retreated to and let out a deep breath. It didn’t help; every muscle remained clenched. If there was another fucking way . . . But there wasn’t, and he knew it. This was it.

His heart pounded as he pushed into the room. The fragrant, humid air wrapped around him. Everything smelled like her: spicy amber, sweet lilies. Beyond arousing. Like always, he turned hard and aching in an instant.

God, he loved this woman.

Seeing him, she gasped and scrambled for her towel on the basin. He grabbed the damp terry cloth first, loving the hell out of her in nothing but a lacy, baby blue thong. Her smooth olive skin and lush breasts with those tight, rosy brown nipples tempted him like nothing ever had. The dark ropes of her wet hair dripped down her back, framing her freshly scrubbed face. He couldn’t wait to get back inside her, to hold her again. Yesterday, she’d been dealing with too much, so he’d backed off, hadn’t pressed his way into the snug, silken clasp of her pussy.

Tonight, all bets were off.

Realizing that he wasn’t going to give her the towel and that he blocked the path to her clothes, Kata faced him squarely, chin raised. “What now? I’ve told you how I feel and what needs to happen. If you’re here to stop me from leaving, you can’t.”

Ah, that stubborn streak of hers that intrigued him so much. Normally, he’d argue until he wore Kata down or seduce her until she gave in with a well-sated cry. This situation was far from normal. Until dawn, his most important role was to keep her safe. Nothing mattered more. Hunter had only one way left to do that . . . and give her what she wanted.

It was going to tear his fucking heart out.

He had no illusions; he’d never be the same. He’d be every inch the miserable bastard his father had been for the last fifteen lonely years, that Logan was now. Hunter had always sworn he’d do whatever it took to hang onto the one woman meant for him.

Goddamn it; in a handful of hours he’d have no choice but to let her go.

Hunter crossed his arms over his chest, restraining the urge to embrace Kata, stroke her tempting flesh—and never stop. “First, if you go home, you’re not only putting yourself in danger, but your family, too. You might not know everything about this asshole threatening you, but he knows you. Why wouldn’t he come after those you love?”

Kata’s stubborn chin rose, but she nodded. Though she didn’t want to, she saw his point. Now he had to put all his cards on the table, even though he had the losing hand.

“I have a proposition, honey: Today, I’ll do whatever it takes to neutralize the threat against you. Tomorrow, you’ll be free in every way.” He clenched his fists. “I’ll sign the fucking divorce papers.”

As soon as he choked out the words, Hunter wished he could take them back. For him, she was it—had been since the moment he laid eyes on her. He wished he could make her understand, but unless she came to love him in return, accept his needs and her own, they were doomed.

Surprise flashed across her face, along with something else—regret, maybe . . . or was that his own wishful thinking?

She smoothed out her expression. “Th-thank you for finally being reasonable.”

Reasonable? In five seconds, she wouldn’t think so. “I’ll do that, if you spend tonight with me.”

Chapter One

Saturday, six days earlier

THE first thing Hunter Edgington thought when he saw the laughing brunette across the crowded Vegas hotel suite, champagne in hand, was that he couldn’t wait to fuck her.

His next thought was that it was a damn shame the curvaceous bombshell belonged to his former boot camp buddy, Ben.

“Does she know?”

Ben leaned against the wall and took the last swig of beer from his bottle, then yelled over the deafening party tunes. “Nope. Big surprise. She wanted to come to Vegas for her birthday and have her fantasy fulfilled. After the shit she’s been through lately, when she requested . . .” He let loose a beer belch, tossing his brown hair from his unfocused eyes. “I delivered.”

Maybe, but Hunter suspected Ben hadn’t spilled the whole story. He’d spent the last half-dozen years as a Navy SEAL and was still alive because he always listened to his gut. “You’re okay with this?”

“Yeah,” Ben slurred. “Fuck, she’s hot in bed. Passionate. All that Latina blood.” He leaned in and grinned. “She’s a screamer and scratcher.”

Ben’s words created a visual that had Hunter stone hard: himself with her, naked, slick with sweat. Her fuck-me mouth gasping his name. Her red manicured nails digging into his shoulders as he nuzzled her lush breasts. While pounding her swollen pussy relentlessly deep with his cock.

He wanted that—and would do whatever necessary to make it happen.

The brunette was deep in conversation with a slightly older Hispanic woman and two twentysomething twigs in stilettos with fake blond hair and equally fake breasts. They made him yawn. But she . . .

As if sensing his stare, the gorgeous woman looked up. Their gazes locked. Oh, yeah. She exuded sex appeal with all the subtlety of a flashing red light.

Instinct jabbed his gut with a full-throttle attraction that raced through his veins. Damn, she was beautiful. Tangling his hands in her dark silk hair as he claimed her mouth and body—all while cuffing her helplessly to his bed—would be worth whatever it took to get her there. Even twenty feet apart, they generated combustible heat that singed him down to his balls. It was beyond chemistry. At thirty-two, Hunter knew the difference. He didn’t merely want her; he wanted to unravel her, figure her out, possess her.

Why was that?

She looked at her companions briefly, then back to him. Hazel, mossy green laced with deep brown. Stunning against her hint-of-olive complexion. Another shock of awareness blasted through him. Her wide smile fell slowly. She held his stare, drew in a trembling breath. Her pulse fluttered at her neck. Her pink tongue peeked out, swiping across her plump lips.

Everything about her breathless expression told him that she felt the heat between them. Good. Because this goddamn searing lust made him wonder if he could ever sate his hunger for her, much less in a single night.

“What’s her name?” He had to know, ached to.

“Kata.” Ben slurred. “Short for Katalina, but she hates it. I call her that when she pisses me off, but then she calls me Benjamin and—”

“Got it.” Hunter didn’t need to know the ins and outs of Ben and Kata’s relationship. He already envied the bastard like mad. “Boundaries?”

“Nah, man. Whatever she wants.”

Idly, Hunter wondered if Ben realized that, without limits, he was going to be fucking lethal. Requesting leave from his team after being shot, Hunter had nothing more to do for a week than rehab his shoulder and devote himself to seducing Kata. But since he and Ben hadn’t spoken much in the last few years, it was clear the guy had forgotten his ruthless side.

And why warn the competition? Hunter suspected he might lose a buddy over this girl. Poaching wasn’t his style, but for her, he’d bend the rules.

He gazed across the room again at Kata, who sneaked another glance at him from beneath a thick fringe of lashes. Her nipples beaded as she held his stare. Satisfaction rippled through him.

Last warning ... “You’re a very generous boyfriend. Are you sure you want to share?”

Ben reared back in surprise, staggering drunkenly. “Kata’s not my girlfriend, dude. She’s just a friend with benefits. She knows I fuck other girls.”

Evil glee wound through Hunter’s system. Just a friend? Hunter vowed those benefits Ben received now would be very short-lived. He would be more than happy to start scratching Kata’s itch.

“She fuck other guys?”

Lurching over to the six-pack on the nearby bar, Ben grabbed another brew and pried it open. “Not lately. Too busy.”

This just got better and better. “Doing what?”

“She’s a probation officer for Lafayette Parish. Works fuckin’ terrible hours with the dregs of society. Been dealing with death threats lately, she thinks from a foot soldier in the Gangster Disciples. He got probation for a first-time drug trafficking charge, and she reported him for not checking in.”

Hunter’s gut clenched. Hearing about anyone being unduly threatened pissed him off, and it took a special kind of chickenshit to threaten a female. This particular asswipe made every combat-trained cell in Hunter’s body want blood. “They arrest the motherfucker?”

Ben shook his head. “They got a warrant out. Kata’s tough.” Ben sent him a lopsided grin. “And she looks hot in a business suit with all that long hair in a prissy twist . . . Hmm.”

Oh, Hunter could picture peeling away a hip-hugging skirt and a papery-thin blouse, working his fingers through her hair until it hung thick and wavy as it did now. Tearing away her exterior until all she wore were stockings, stilettos, and a welcoming smile.

But before he indulged, he had to ask the question that bothered him all the way to Vegas. “Why ask me to join you?”

Ben actually looked surprised. “You’re like ice, man. Slick. You always fuck and leave. Perfect for a ménage.”

Yeah, that had always been his MO in the past. Now? He suspected things had changed—in the last five minutes. His gut was telling him that he wanted more from Kata than a good fuck. Figuring out what, exactly, was Hunter’s first goal. Making sure she wanted far more than a single night was his second.

“Ménage is her fantasy, huh?” He smiled. “Game on.”

At least until he changed the rules.

“WHO is that?” Marisol asked, raising a dark brow as she stared at the tall, hard-bodied stranger Ben talked to.

The stranger who kept staring.

Katalina Muñoz had wanted the answer to her sister’s question since he walked in the door as dinner ended a few minutes ago.

Nervously twisting her silver ring on her finger, she tore her gaze away, back to her older sister. “You don’t know? You didn’t invite him?”

Marisol shook her head. “The only person I invited myself was Mamá.”

And they both knew that their stepfather, Gordon, would never allow their mother to leave the house merely to have fun. Why wouldn’t she divorce the controlling son of a bitch?

“The way that blond guy looks at you, I can tell he’d like to know you much better,” her friend Chloe murmured. “Damn, he’s hot. He looks built, like he could kick even a pro wrestler’s ass.”

In total agreement, Kata stared at him some more.

Guys like him—gorgeous, well built, carrying an aura of danger that made her shiver—rarely went for girls like her, a little tall, a little on the plus side. But he’d hardly looked at anything or anyone else since stepping into the room.

“Will Ben be angry?” her sister asked in worried tones.

How did one tell her conservative, very married older sister that she and Ben were merely fuck buddies? Nope, not going there. “We aren’t exclusive, Mari.”

“I’d like to get to know that guy.” Chloe sighed. “But clearly, you’re the only woman he’s interested in tonight. Happy birthday to you, chica!”

Amen. Almost twenty-five, single, and happy, why shouldn’t she enjoy a few hours with a guy like him? Sure, Ben was here, but given all the girls he nailed, he would understand. And have no problem finding companionship for the night.

Unless Ben had invited this stranger to her party for . . . Oh dear God.

Even the possibility made her heart pound and everything below her waist want to tango.

“So no one knows who he is? This is my specialty. I’ll get deets,” her other friend, Hallie, promised with a sly grin. “Be right back.”

Kata downed the last of her champagne and met the stranger’s blue stare again, repressing a shiver. She knew just by looking at him that, whatever his reason for being here, he had sin on his mind.

As promised, minutes later, Hallie returned after working the room, and she looked ready to burst. “OMG! You will not believe this.”

Kata’s stomach danced with anticipation. Was he married? A male stripper? “What?”

“I don’t know why he’s here. Still working that angle. Apparently, he met Ben in boot camp eons ago. His name is Hunter. He’s from Texas, and he’s a Navy SEAL on leave after being recently injured. A real badass, by all accounts.”

She had no trouble believing that. His don’t-fuck-with-me air reached across the room. He had sharp eyes and an unforgiving chin, made more rugged by two days’ worth of stubble. Dark blond hair cut military short, harsh jawline, corded neck, veined forearms and wrists. Everything about him conveyed stark power.

Damn, he filled out the shoulders of his gray T-shirt like nobody’s business. The bulges of his pectorals and the ridges of his abdomen stood out, tempting her to tear the shirt off and run her fingers, her tongue, all over that amazing flesh. Jeans hugged his narrow hips and long, lean thighs. And in between . . . She swallowed. Even across the room she could tell he was hard. And still staring at her.