Jane

“…he asked me to move in with him.”

“He…oh my god!” Jane plugged her fingers into her ears before Amanda began screaming. Her best friend was all over the place, as if Jane had told her that she won the lottery to pay off their joint college loans and credit card debts.

Amanda rushed over to her bed side, grabbing her hands. “Tell me you said yes!” She squealed. “Tell me you said yes?”

Jane said nothing.

Her best friend's enthusiasm fell from a thousand to a zero as she blinked rapidly. “You turned him down?”

She hadn’t.

Not yet, at least.

She didn’t buy his whole speech about being indebted to her, as tempting as he made it sound. Because she really wanted to wipe the smug off his face.

But she wasn’t sure she could stand him long enough for her to think of the best way to revenge for the global humiliation.

Amanda slumped against Jane’s shoulder with a devastated sigh. “You don’t know how many people would kill to be in your shoes.” She looked up, her bottom lip jutting out. “I spent thousands of dollars on raffle tickets to attend his fan signing.”

Jane scoffed quietly. “Did you get in?”

“No.”

“How many times did you try?”

Amanda raised a finger. Then two, then five. Then both hands, with all ten fingers open. “That was just last year alone,” she mumbled.

Jane patted her back. “Sorry for your loss. But,” she added firmly and resolutely, “—I’m not moving in with some stranger, handsome or not. I could ask him on your behalf, though. We could trade places.”

Her best friend waved her arms frantically. “Absolutely not. I’ve gotten close enough to smelling his cologne and getting his autograph. That’s good enough for me.”

Jane was confused. “You literally have his pictures plastered all over your bedroom walls. You had his face on your twenty-first birthday cake.”

“That’s how being a devout fan works,” Amanda told her. “You love them so much, but you know that you can never and should never cross the line.”

It sounded like horseshit.

“He’s not a random person either. He has over ten million followers and he posts everything he does online. You’ll be perfect—” she grinned, “—safe.”

“And,” she joined the tips of her index fingers together, wriggling her brows, “if you’re there, then I could use you as an excuse to get closer to him. Within the boundary, of course.”

The answer was still no.

“Remember the promise you made to me?” Amanda said, making a pleading face. “And you have that project, remember? The one with the documentary?”

Shoot.

She’d forgotten about that. She was about to enter her final year of college, studying journalism. One of her projects was to document how relationships formed.

“There’s no relationship between us, ” she argued, even as his roguish smile, with his messy, gorgeous hair, flashed through her mind.

Amanda shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be romantic. He caused your fall, you ended in the hospital and now he’s offering to take care of you. You’re also…” she tapped her chin, searching for the right word, “…polar opposites. He’s a popular biker, a heartthrob and you’re…”

“Normal?” Jane quipped sarcastically.

Her best friend nodded eagerly. “Exactly. It’s perfect. It’s A material.”

It was trouble, that’s what.

But her best friend had a point. She could either spend the semester searching for the right materials—couples, friends-or she could use Marcus Wolfe as her muse.

“Mm?” Amanda nudged her.

A wild idea popped into her head. Wild, scandalous and exciting. It was the way to get her revenge.

A wry smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She shoved her fingers in quickly, muting Amanda’s ear-piercing squeals and wincing as her best friends threw her arms around her neck. “This is going to be the best summer break ever!”

Oh, it was.

Because Jane had a plan.

She was going to make Marcus Wolfe fall in love with her in thirty days. And then she was going to dump him, on camera, for the world to see.

That would be the perfect revenge.

***

A black Mercedes-Benz sprinter was waiting outside the hospital doors when Jane was wheeled out by a nurse, with Amanda by her side.

Her best friend had ignored her decision to stop by her studio apartment—and rushed there herself—to pack a bag.

A man in a clean-pressed suit and black shades got out of the driver’s seat, walked over to them. He took off his glasses as he nodded curtly. “Miss Forrest?”

He was looking at Amanda.

Jane groaned under her breath. Her best friend quickly shook her head, pointing at her. “That’s Jane. Not me.”

The man looked visibly disturbed by his mistake. He lowered his head slightly. “My apologies, Miss Forrest. Mr. Wolfe didn’t give me a description of whom I was supposed to pick up.”

“It’s fine,” she said.

It wasn’t his fault. Nobody would think a celebrity like Marcus Wolfe would be bringing her to his home. Especially when she was wearing a faded shirt she had since eighteen and an equally ugly pair of sweats she bought from a thrift shop.

Amanda handed the bag to the driver as Jane struggled to stand. He offered a hand, helping her into the van.

“Call me when you get there!” Her best friend shouted as the door closed. The last thing Jane saw was her jumping up and down, tripping over the wheelchair and ending up sitting in it.

It made her laugh, at least.

She leaned into the chair, her fingers brushing over the soft leather. It was soft. Luxury. Unlike the car she bought for a few thousand dollars, that picked the days it wanted to work, had two windows that wouldn’t wind down and an AC that shot out hot air.

***

The ride was about thirty minutes long.

The bus came to a stop and the door slid open seconds later. “We’ve arrived, Miss Forrest.” The driver offered a hand again, helping her down. Jane’s mouth parted as she stared at the building in front of me.

It was…huge.

She had no idea what underground racers made, but Marcus Wolfe’s house looked absurdly expensive. The sleek mansion was larger than her entire apartment building, its glowing windows and towering entrance making her feel very, very small.

“I’ll take you in,” the man offered, sweeping his hand out. “Mr. Wolfe had to attend to some business after he left the hospital, but he’s given me instructions for you to settle in.”

Jane nodded and followed him inside.

The mansion was even larger on the inside, with ceilings stretching overhead and every surface polished to perfection.

She tried not to gawk, but it was practically impossible.

A sharp ringing sound cut through the air. The man fumbled as he dug into his pocket. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his face as he stared at the caller ID, his thumb hovering.

“You should answer that,” Jane said quickly, offering a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be fine. Really. Just point me in the right direction.”

He hesitated, clearly torn, but the phone buzzed again. “Third floor,” he said hurriedly, already stepping back. “Main staircase to the right, then left down the hallway.”

The phone was still ringing. “Just…the room with the blue accent walls. I’ll be up shortly.”

Before she could ask for clarification, he answered the call and strode away.

She stood alone in the echoing foyer for a moment, then shrugged.

Blue accent wall.

How hard could that be?

Jane’s crocs squeaked softly as she climbed, the sound swallowed by the sheer size of the place. She passed several doors, some locked and the others she had to open, but none had an obvious blue wall.

After two wrong turns and one very awkward peek into what looked like a home theater, she finally spotted a slightly open door with a faint blue glow visible beneath.

Relief washed over her.

Got it.

She walked in, glancing around. It was sparsely furnished, but the bed looked large and inviting. She kicked off her crocs and plopped face down on it.

The sheets smelled like cinnamon and she burrowed her nose inside, sniffing happily. She didn’t hear the soft click.

Or the sound of barefoot on the floor.

“Well,” a deep voice said. “Either I’ve forgotten that I invited you, or you’re in the wrong room.”

Jane gasped in horror, jolting and tumbling off the bed. She scrambled to her feet, coming face-to-face with the other person.

A man.

With nothing but a white towel secured low around his hips. Her throat went dry as her gaze settled on the water droplets glistening on his hard, chest muscles. His dark hair hung damp against his forehead.

He wasn’t Marcus Wolfe.

They looked somewhat alike, but he had a dark scowl on his face and an entire arm sleeve of colorful tattoos.

“I—” she stammered as her face turned red, forgetting how to breathe. “I’m here to see Marcus Wolfe.”

He arched his brow, his scowl deepening. “You’re one of his groupies, aren’t you?”

Groupies? Jane rolled her eyes. She might’ve ended up in the wrong room, but she wasn’t going to take insults from him.

She folded her arms tightly. “Who are you?”

He took a step closer, his towel slipping down a half-inch. Her gaze strayed to the sculpted Adonis line below his stomach and Jane’s face grew hotter.

“Ryder Wolfe. Marcus’s twin brother.”

Her eyes widened as her head snapped back to his face.

Marcus’s twin brother???

Jane

Jane’s brain short-circuited. Gave up on her.

Because standing right in front of her was a man who looked like he had been sculpted out of marble and bad intentions, wearing nothing but a strip of terry cloth that was practically holding on for dear life.

Ryder Wolfe. The twin.

She blinked once, twice, desperately trying to force her eyes to stay glued to his face instead of wandering down to his abs or the swirl of ink covering his arm. Seriously, what was with this family and having absurdly unfair genetics? Did their parents make a deal with the devil or something?

“Well?” Ryder’s voice scraped against the room, deep and rough like gravel under tires. He didn’t look flustered at all. In fact, he looked mildly annoyed that her existence was interrupting his post-shower routine. “You going to answer me, or are you just going to stand there catching flies with your mouth?”

She snapped her jaw shut so fast her teeth clacked together. Heat flared up her neck, hot enough to fry an egg.

“I am not a groupie,” she spat out, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to sound way more confident than she felt while standing in someone else’s bedroom in sweatpants and shoes. “I’m here because your brother invited me.”

Ryder tilted his head, his eyes narrowing into slits of skepticism. “Marcus invited you. Right into my private quarters. Onto my bed.”

“No!” She scrambled back a step, gesturing wildly toward the door. “The driver! The driver told me to come up here!”

“The driver.” He repeated the words slowly, as if he were talking to a toddler who just claimed the dog ate their homework. He took another step forward, unbothered by the fact that he was basically naked. “You expect me to believe Arthur told you to walk into my bedroom and take a nap in my sheets?”

“He said the room with the blue accent wall!” she cried out, pointing an accusing finger at the wall behind his bed. Only now, looking at it with functioning eyesight, did she realize the horrifying truth. The glow coming from beneath the door hadn’t been an accent wall. It was a monitor on a desk that was currently running a screensaver with a clock. The walls of the room were gray. Pitch dark. Not even remotely blue.

Oh, sweet lord. Kill her now. Just open up the floorboards and let her plummet straight into the basement.

“That’s… that’s a screen,” she whispered, her voice squeaking a little at the end.

“Brilliant observation,” Ryder mocked, crossing his arms over his bare chest. The movement made his biceps flex in a way that should honestly be considered a public hazard. “So let me get this straight. You wandered up the stairs, ignored half a dozen empty guest rooms, zeroed in on my door, kicked off your shoes, and made yourself comfortable. And it has nothing to do with Marcus being downstairs?”

“I didn’t know it was your room!” She felt her temper flaring, pushing aside the mortification. Who did this guy think he was? “Why would I want to sleep in your bed? I don’t even know who you are!”

“Everyone knows who we are,” he said coldly. The arrogance rolling off him was different from Marcus’s. Where Marcus was flashy, grinning, and loved soaking up the spotlight like a golden retriever with an ego, Ryder was icy. Like a razor blade wrapped in leather. “And girls like you always have a story. First it’s an accident, then it’s an autograph, and suddenly you’re ‘accidentally’ waking up in our wing of the house looking for exclusive content.”

“Girls like me?” She bristled, stepping closer despite the screaming voice in her head telling her to back away from the scary, half-naked mechanic. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re not subtle,” he shot back, his eyes flicking down her t-shirt and sweatpants with total dismissal. “You think you’re the first overzealous fan who found an excuse to get inside? Slipping on Marcus’s soda, making a scene at the track, getting your face plastered everywhere for clout… and now you’re here. In my room. Snooping.”

Her jaw dropped. The sheer audacity of this man. She had a concussion! She had bruises on her hip from falling down concrete stairs! And he thought she orchestrated the most humiliating moment of her entire twenty-two years of life just to get close to his brother?

“I was not snooping!” she practically shrieked. “I had a concussion! I fell because your reckless idiot of a brother decided to walk into me! I didn’t ask for any of this! I don’t want his money, I don’t want his fame, and I definitely don’t want to be in the same zip code as your giant, inflated egos!”

Ryder didn’t flinch. He just leaned back slightly against his desk, unimpressed by her outburst. “Cute speech. But you’re still standing in my bedroom.”

“Because you’re cornering me, you psycho!”

“Ryder, what the fuck is going on in here?”

The loud, familiar voice cut through the tension like a switchblade.

She whipped around toward the open doorway. Marcus was standing in the threshold, still dressed in his jacket, keys dangling from his index finger. His hair was a messy halo around his head, but the easygoing, playful smirk he usually wore was nowhere to be found.

His eyes took in the scene in half a second flat—her, flushed red and breathing heavily, standing two feet away from his twin brother, who was dripping wet in a towel.

Marcus’s jaw tightened until a muscle ticked beneath the skin. The temperature in the room plummeted by about twenty degrees.

“Get away from her,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a low, territorial growl that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

“Tell that to your little pet,” Ryder countered smoothly, not looking bothered in the slightest. “She’s the one who broke into my room.”

“I told Arthur to put her in the guest suite at the end of the hall,” Marcus said, taking three long strides into the room and immediately stepping directly between Ryder and her. His shoulders blocked her view of his brother. He glanced down at her, his eyes softening just a fraction as he scanned her face. “You okay, Jane?”

Hearing him use her name so naturally felt weirdly disarming, especially after the verbal beatdown she’d just endured.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms even tighter. “Your brother just happens to think I’m an undercover stalker.”

Marcus turned his head slightly, glaring sideways at his twin. “She’s my guest, Ryder. Back off.”

“Your guest?” Ryder let out a short, humorless laugh. He stood up straight, abandoning his casual lean against the desk. “Since when do you invite random charity cases from the track to stay at the house? Have you lost your mind? Lorraine is already looking for any excuse to stir up shit, and you bring a stranger through the front door?”

At the mention of the name Lorraine, Marcus’s expression darkened even further, a shadow of irritation flickering across his features before he smoothed it away.

“What I do in my house is none of your business,” Marcus snapped. “She got hurt because of me. She’s staying here until she recovers. End of story.”

Ryder didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he slowly shifted his gaze past Marcus’s shoulder, locking his eyes directly onto hers.

The cold dismissal from moments ago was gone. In its place was something else. Something dark and calculating. He looked at her not like an annoying pest to be swatted away, but like a complex puzzle he hadn’t anticipated—a threat he suddenly needed to analyze. His eyes traced the outline of her face, lingering on her mouth, before meeting her gaze with an intensity that sent an uncomfortable jolt straight down to her stomach.

It felt like he was peeling back layers, trying to figure out what game she was playing.

If only he knew. The irony was almost hilarious. She wasn’t here to be Marcus’s adoring fan. She was here to ruin him. But standing under Ryder’s stare, the thirty-day bet felt a hundred times more dangerous than it had twenty minutes ago.

“Come on,” Marcus murmured, his hand gently settling against the small of her back.

The heat of his palm seared right through her shirt, sending a tiny shock through her skin. He guided her firmly toward the doorway, physically shielding her from his brother’s line of sight. “Arthur put your bag in the right room. Let’s get you out of here before my brother gives you an infection with his terrible personality.”

She didn’t protest. She practically tripped over her own feet hurrying out of that room.

As they crossed the threshold into the hallway, she heard Ryder move behind them. A low murmur drifted through the air, so rough she almost missed it.

“Good luck, sweetheart.”

She hesitated for a split second, a chill rippling down her spine. She glanced back over her shoulder just as Marcus started pulling the door shut.

Ryder was standing in the center of the room, water still dripping from the ends of his hair, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes remained pinned on her, unblinking, watching her retreat with cold certainty.

He didn’t just think she was a liar.

He had already decided she was a problem. And by the calculating look in his eyes, he was fully intending to solve it himself.

Marcus

The scent of her lingered in the hallway even after Marcus shut Ryder’s door. It was something soft, like sweet vanilla and coconut, out of place in a house that usually smelled like motor oil, leather, and expensive bourbon.

Beside him, Jane was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Her cheeks were still dusted with a fiery pink blush, her hands balled up into tight little fists inside the pockets of her sweatpants. She looked tiny next to him, soft around the edges in a way that made his hands itch to pull her closer, but she had her chin tilted up like an angry little general ready to march into battle.

Man, she was cute when she was mad.

“Don’t mind Ryder,” he said easily, flashing her his best, easiest grin as he took her elbow to guide her down the hall. “He’s allergic to manners. And people. And fun in general. Basically, if it doesn’t have an engine or require a torque wrench, he wants nothing to do with it.”

Jane jerked her arm out of his grip, giving him a side-eye that could have withered a tree. “Your brother is unhinged. He accused me of breaking and entering. In my pajamas.”

“To be fair, you kind of did,” he pointed out, winking when she let out an indignant squeak. “Though personally, I think you look great in sweats. Very retro. Very approachable.”

“Shut up, Marcus.”

He chuckled, pressing a hand to his chest in mock agony. “Ouch. Right through the heart, Miss Jane. And after I rushed back from the shop just to rescue you from the big bad mechanic?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me,” she grumbled, tucking a loose strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear. “I had the situation under control.”

“Right. You looked super in control when you were staring at his abs like they held the secrets to the universe.”

Jane gasped, her eyes widening in horror. “I was not staring! I was traumatized! A half-naked stranger was looming over me in a dark room!”

“Looming is Ryder’s default setting,” he told her, turning the corner into the east wing of the third floor. “Which brings me to the grand tour. Since you decided to take a self-guided trip into enemy territory, I figured I should actually show you around before you accidentally wander into the indoor garage and get crushed by a hydraulic lift.”

“I don’t need a tour. I just need a bed, a door that locks, and maybe some ibuprofen.”

“You get all three, plus me as your personal concierge,” he said smoothly, leading her past the line of arched windows that overlooked the courtyard below. “Downstairs is the main kitchen and living area. Feel free to raid the fridge whenever you want. The cinema room is on the second floor, along with the gym. Pool is out back, heated year-round. My suite is at the far end of the left wing on this floor, Ryder’s is opposite, and yours…”

He stopped in front of a door and pushed it open with a dramatic flourish.

“…is right here. The actual guest suite. Notice the lack of grumpy, dripping-wet mechanics.”

Jane hesitated on the threshold before stepping inside. The room was massive, painted a cream with windows showing off the sunset over the hills. A bed sat in the center, piled high with pillows, and her duffel bag was already sitting politely on the bench at the foot of the mattress.

She walked around slowly, running her fingers over the dresser, looking like an uneasy cat in a totally foreign territory. “This is… ridiculous. It’s bigger than my entire studio.”

“Only the best for my VIP guest,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his ankles.

“I’m not a guest, Marcus. I’m a hostage to your guilt complex.” She turned to face him, folding her arms over her chest. “And I’m leaving the second my head stops throbbing.”

“Now, now, let’s not rush things,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door halfway behind him. “Which brings us to the ground rules of your stay.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “Ground rules? Excuse me?”

“Rule number one,” he started, counting off on his fingers with a serious face. “No wandering around unattended. As you already experienced, this house is full of hazards. Like irritable twins.”

“I can walk down a hallway by myself, thanks.”

“Rule number two,” he continued, ignoring her. “All meals must be eaten with me. Can’t have my star patient starving to death on my watch. I make a killer breakfast.”

“I can cook my own food.”

“Rule number three,” he stepped closer, dropping his voice an octave as he looked down into those gold-flecked eyes of hers. “You have to let me take care of you. Doctor’s orders, remember? You took a nasty fall because of me. The least you can do is let me pamper you a little.”

Jane didn’t blush this time. Instead, she let out a dry, unimpressed scoff that cracked his ego right down the middle.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoon?” she asked, tilting her head back to look him dead in the eye. “Because let me break something down for you, Marcus Wolfe. I am not Amanda. I don’t care about your follower count, I don’t care about your shiny bikes, and your cheap bad-boy charm doesn’t work on me. At all.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

God, she was exhilarating.

Every girl he met tripped over themselves trying to laugh at his jokes, agree with his opinions, or slide into his bed. They played the game so predictably it made him want to scream from sheer boredom. But Jane? Jane looked at him like he was a slightly irritating gnat she wanted to swat with a rolled-up magazine. She pushed back against every single word out of his mouth, immune to the smile that usually got him whatever he wanted.

It didn’t deter him. It did the exact opposite. It lit a competitive fire in his veins that felt dangerously close to the rush he got when the starting lights flashed green on the track.

He leaned down slightly, bringing his face just inches from hers, close enough to catch the faint scent of that sweet coconut again. “Cheap charm? Ouch, Janie. You wound me. But don’t worry… I’m a patient guy. We have plenty of time for you to change your mind.”

“Keep dreaming,” she muttered, though her breath hitched just a tiny bit. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to lie down before my skull splits open.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender as he took a couple of steps backward toward the hallway.

He reached for the door handle, fully intending to leave her to rest. But as his fingers wrapped around the knob, the memory of Ryder standing half-naked in his room, looking at her with that strange, calculating intensity, flashed behind his eyelids.

It was weird.

Ryder didn’t look at women like that. Honestly, Ryder barely looked at women at all. When groupies hung around the paddock after races, he ignored them like they were invisible. When girls hit on him at the club, he gave them a cold glare until they walked away feeling stupid. The guy was married to grease, metal, and their bank accounts. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t date. He sure as hell didn’t pay attention to girls wearing t-shirts.

So why had his eyes locked onto Jane like she was an engine he needed to tear apart piece by piece?

Marcus paused with his hand on the door, glancing back over his shoulder at her. Jane was already unzipping her duffel bag, looking thoroughly exhausted.

“Hey, Jane?”

She sighed, not turning around. “What now, Marcus?”

“Just so you know,” he said, letting a half-joking, casual chuckle slip out, though his eyes were tracking every microscopic twitch of her face. “My brother doesn’t usually pay attention to anyone. Ever. So if he acted like a prick… you must’ve really rattled his cage.”

Jane froze for a second, her shoulders stiffening before she turned her head toward him. A flicker of something flickered in her eyes—confusion, maybe a quick flash of defensiveness—before her usual mask of annoyance snapped right back into place.

“I didn’t rattle anything,” she replied flatly. “He’s just an arrogant jerk who thinks the world revolves around him. Must run in the family.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he pulled the door open. “Maybe it does. Get some sleep, Janie. I’ll check on you later.”

“Don’t bother,” she called out as the door swung shut.

Marcus stood in the hallway for a beat, staring at the panels.

Ryder’s reaction was definitely unusual, but he brushed the thought away with a scoff at himself. There was no way his twin would ever go after Jane anyway. Ryder didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, and his flirting skills were practically nonexistent. Besides, she clearly despised both of them.

Which only made him want her more.

Grinning to himself, he turned on his heel and headed downstairs, already planning how he was going to crack that stubborn shell of hers by tomorrow morning.