Simone Brooks decided to take a leap of faith. She’d come all this way to be with Houston Martinez—what was another night or two? For the first time in her life, she’d felt a rush of pure, intoxicating bliss. A secret part of her couldn’t help but feel relieved that Phoenix Robinson hadn’t been her first.

Gathering every ounce of courage, she rose onto her tiptoes and looped her arms around Houston’s neck, her whisper fierce and certain against his lips. “I’m not afraid.”

After all, she’d already wasted seven precious years on the wrong guy, and youth doesn’t wait around.

The hours that followed blurred into something long and raw and electric…

When Simone finally drifted off, her lashes were still wet with tears.

Houston reached for a cigarette, only to find the pack crushed and useless in Simone’s small fist. He studied the delicate woman sleeping soundly beside him, his gaze darkening, turning thoughtful.

The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

His phone buzzed nonstop—over twenty missed calls and a string of texts.

*Uncle, Simone freaked out and ran off to Dublin. I’m worried sick. Since you’re there too, can you look out for her? Here’s her info…*

Without missing a beat, Houston arched an eyebrow, saved the number, and typed back, *Don’t worry. I’ve got this.*

As he scrolled through the rest of the messages, his thumb froze on the earliest one. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he killed his phone, pulled on his clothes, and stepped out into the howling storm.

---

Simone was ripped from sleep by Phoenix’s call.

Groggy and half-aware, she picked up, hearing him fire off questions about her room number. On impulse, she gave it to him—then bolt upright as reality sucker-punched her.

Crap. Her room was actually *across* the hall. She was in Houston’s.

The ding of an elevator echoed through the phone. She exploded out of bed, snatching at her clothes, but her underwear was nowhere to be found. With zero time to waste, she yanked on a slip dress, threw a coat over it, and bolted outside.

Just as she clicked Houston’s door shut and turned toward her own, she realized she’d left her key card inside—right as Phoenix appeared at the end of the corridor.

The moment he spotted her, he broke into a jog, abandoning his suitcase to wrap her in a suffocating hug. “I’m so sorry, babe. A work emergency blew up yesterday—I couldn’t get here sooner. I swear, I’ll never let you down like that again.”

Simone stared at the window at the far end of the hallway, her face carefully blank.

He still thought she was just pissed about him being too attached to his mother.

Phoenix eased back, glancing up at the room number above her head. “This is yours, right? Let’s head in first. I’ll drop my suitcase and we can grab some food. I set up a meet with my uncle.”

Simone blinked, her stomach knotting as she pointed toward the door. “I… I left my card inside.”

Phoenix chuckled, tapping her nose with a playful finger. “Still so scatterbrained. No biggie—we’ll leave my suitcase at the front desk and head out.”

Simone’s pulse hammered. The absolute last thing she wanted was to face Houston without underwear on.

But Phoenix didn’t give her a second to argue, guiding her downstairs like they’d planned it all along.

Luckily, the restaurant wasn’t far, and during the short drive, Phoenix noticed nothing off about her.

By the time they arrived, the private dining room was already packed.

Simone’s mouth went dry at the scene.

She leaned close to Phoenix, barely breathing the words. “I thought it was just us and your uncle. Why are there so many people?”

Phoenix shot her a reassuring grin. “Don’t stress. They’re all my uncle’s coworkers. He’s retiring and moving out to the countryside—his buddies are throwing him a farewell bash. We just happened to catch it, so we’re tagging along.”

Simone Brooks stood stiffly beside Phoenix Robinson, forcing a composed smile as she faced a table full of unfamiliar men who all seemed to be sizing her up. A prickle of discomfort crawled right up her spine.

"Hey, Phoenix, Simone's here! Come on, sit. We've been waiting on you guys," called a sharp-featured young man, about Phoenix's age.

Simone recognized him instantly. Drew Hawthorne had been Phoenix's college buddy. They'd made plans to move out here together after graduation, but Phoenix bailed at the last minute, and Drew went it alone—reportedly crushing it.

Drew steered them to their seats, and as Simone swept her gaze around the room, she locked eyes with a pair of icy dark ones. The man lifted an eyebrow slightly before looking away, like she wasn't worth the stare.

Phoenix apologized to the table, "Sorry we're late. Got stuck on the road. I'll grab three coffees later to make it up."

Everyone chuckled, waving it off like no big deal.

Drew pulled out a chair for Simone and, glancing at her outfit, asked, "Simone, you cold? Need a blanket or something?"

She waved a hand. "No thanks, I'm good."

A strange, prickling weight settled on her, and she flicked a glance at Houston Martinez just as he lifted his mug, his gaze sliding away from her legs. He took a slow, casual sip of his coffee. Wrapped in her coat, most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but Houston definitely knew—she was wearing the exact same thing she'd worn when she knocked on his hotel room door last night.

A hot wave of mortification washed over Simone.

Once seated, she realized Houston was right next to her; that crisp, masculine scent mixed with the faint smoke of his rare-brand cigars drifted over, dragging back memories she'd rather not have pop up here.

Drew poured Phoenix a drink and ribbed him, "Early flight, but you roll in late. Did you sneak in some alone time with Simone or what?"

Phoenix's eyes darted uneasily. "What're you talking about? Our luggage took forever, and traffic was a beast. We haven't seen each other in ages, but I can get sweet with my girlfriend anytime. Why make a fuss?"

"For real?" Drew's face was all exaggerated disbelief. "You both look like you lost a fight. Especially Simone—she looked like she's struggling to walk straight."

Phoenix turned to check out Simone's legs at that, and she tugged her coat tighter, smiling a little too brightly. "Yeah, it's a bit chilly."

Simone's nerves were cut short when someone across the table pulled Phoenix's attention away. "You two are cracking everybody up. One looks completely wrecked, and the other just plain frustrated."

It was obvious the first dig was playing off Drew's jab at Phoenix, while the second was aimed dead at Houston. Every eye swiveled to Houston, who stayed stone-faced, calmly tipping back his coffee.

Phoenix laughed, shooting Houston a look. "My uncle here has been 'unsatisfied' since forever. I've never seen him with a woman. If any of you know some killer single ladies, hook him up. The family's been on his case hard."

"Hey, Houston, sounds like your nephew doesn't know you at all. Tell him about your conquests—your list of women is taller than the Alps," another friend joked.

Houston didn't flinch. He replied flatly between sips, "Is there no food here to keep your mouth busy?"

Simone bit her lip to hold back a laugh, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening.

"But seriously," some other guy added, "last night, I heard a woman in your room, Houston. She was loud, too. I thought I was dreaming some wild crap. It went on from maybe nine till two or three in the morning before it got quiet. Made the night feel like a year."

Simone's head dipped lower. Nine o'clock was exactly when she'd walked into Houston's room.

Simone Brooks had used the excuse of insomnia to ask Houston Martinez for a glass of wine, and after she'd downed it, they'd ended up doing something that went on and off for hours. She couldn't quite recall when it finally stopped, but she guessed it was around the time someone had mentioned earlier.

At the mention of it, the table erupted in lively chatter. Phoenix Robinson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I always thought Uncle wasn't into women, so I kept my distance all these years."

He'd cleverly defended Houston, affirming the man's interest in women while casually explaining why they'd kept their distance.

Houston set his coffee cup down with a deliberate clink, curling his lip. "Truth is, I do find women bothersome—they're expensive." He put extra weight on the last word, his gaze flicking briefly to Simone.

"So what? Last night's lady was on the house?" one of the friends laughed.

Without missing a beat, Houston raised an eyebrow. "Strictly speaking, she was the one who hired me."

"Ooh!" The group couldn't hold back. "Where was she from? How'd she hire you? What did she look like?"

Houston ignored most of the questions.

Then another buddy chimed in, "Since it was free, would you introduce her to us? We haven't had fun like that in ages."

Simone choked on her coffee, coughing.

Houston dropped the bite of pasta he'd been about to eat, then lifted his gaze casually. "This pasta isn't that great. I'll take you somewhere better next time."

Though his words seemed to be about the pasta, everyone caught the drift. If the flavor was so disappointing, he sure had savored it for hours last night.

Phoenix chuckled, adding, "If the flavor's not great and you still indulged for hours, imagine what a better dish would do—you might stay all night." He cracked the joke while draping an arm around Simone's shoulders, completely oblivious that he was poking fun right at her expense.

Houston had zero desire to keep the topic going. He swept a cold glance around the table. "Are we eating or leaving?"

Simone felt like she was sitting on pins and needles. She pushed Phoenix's arm away and stood up. "I'm going to the restroom."

Once she was out of the private dining room, Simone could finally breathe. Another minute in there and she might have suffocated.

She headed toward the restroom, pulling out her phone to text her friend Haisley Gutierrez about the absurdity of sitting commando at a table full of men.

Haisley must have been busy because she didn't reply right away.

Simone sent a voice message. "Do you think there's a chance Houston has some weird kink, like keeping his partners' underwear? How else would mine go missing in such a tiny space?"

Right after she sent it, Haisley's message popped up: "I think you should go buy a pair of underwear right now."

A light bulb went off in Simone's head.

She shut her phone and stepped out—the restaurant was conveniently located in a mall, which meant there had to be a place selling underwear nearby.

But as she exited the restroom, there was Houston, dressed in black and white, casually leaning against the entrance railing and leisurely smoking a cigarette.

Beneath the glow of the massive crystal chandelier, his broad shoulders and narrow waist were thrown into sharp relief, making him appear even more striking.

Simone froze, wanting to duck back, but Houston spotted her immediately.

This time, his gaze didn't waver. He watched her as if he'd been waiting for her to come over and say hello.

Simone forced a smile and walked over, blurting, "What a coincidence, Uncle Houston. Taking a smoke break too?"

The instant the words left her mouth, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. Smoking too? What did she mean, 'too'?

A spark of interest lit up Houston's calm eyes. "Not a coincidence. I was waiting for you."

Simone was thrown. "Waiting for me? Why?"

Houston stubbed out his cigarette, flicking it precisely into the trash bin opposite, and with hands in his pockets, he loomed over her. "Why are you still wearing last night's clothes?"

She'd expected that question. Simone pretended to pout. "What else could I do? I left my room key in your room. Couldn't get back to change."

Houston's eyes narrowed. "So?"

He nodded toward her legs. "Is that why you went out in neutral gear?"