Page 1 of Wicked Heat

Prologue

You can’t truly know anybody. Not your friends. Not your neighbors.

Not your lovers.

Not even yourself.

I learned the last one the hard way. Harsh? Maybe. But once you truly understand how brutal the world is—how quickly the ground can be ripped out from under you—the easier it is to get from one day to the next.

You keep a tight lock on your heart.

You hold your secrets close.

And you look out at the world from behind a wall of glass bricks, so thick it’s almost shatterproof.

Almost.

That’s the tricky word. The hard lesson that nearly broke me.

Because despite everything I thought I knew—despite every rule I’d set for myself—I let him in. I let him get close. A man whose hands have caressed me. A man I fear I don’t know at all. Who may have betrayed me in the most brutal of ways.

He is a mystery, and yet I let him hold my heart in his hands.

Now, I am fully at his mercy. And all I can do is hope that he is truly the man of my dreams… and not the tormentor who still hides in my nightmares.

One

My cheek muscles are sore from smiling so much, but I don’t care because—hands down—this is the absolute best day of my life. “Do you want it signed to you?” I ask, taking the copy of Reveries at Dusk from the outstretched hand of the last reader in line—a wide-eyed blonde in a UCLA tee.

“Are you kidding? Of course.” She pushes a lock of hair out of her eyes, then spells her name for me. Her copy of my first—and so far, only—book is already open to the title page.

It’s now fifteen minutes past closing time, and while there are a few people still mingling in the store, she’s the last person in line. As for me, I may look like I’m seated, but I’m really floating on a cloud, not quite able to believe that so many readers had come to The Ripped Bodice—an incredible bookstore in Culver City—to meet me and get a signed copy of the book.

And not just that. Before settling at the table stacked with copies of Reveries, I’d done a Q&A in front of dozens and dozens of readers.

Seriously—Best. Day. Ever.

Even better than the day my agent called to tell me my book, a steamy women’s fiction novel with magical elements, had made the top ten of the USA Today bestseller list.

I finish my inscription, then sign my name—Bree Bernstein—below where it’s printed on the title page.

When I pass it back, the smiling blonde hugs it to her chest. “Thanks so much. I’ve read it twice already, and I can’t wait for the next one. I have to know if Ace comes back.” She holds a hand over her heart and swoons.

I know how she feels. Ace is far-and-away my favorite character. Not too surprising considering who I modeled him after. But that little authorial tidbit is meant only for me.

I offer a benign smile. “Ace died.”

She cocks her head. “Please. There’s no way Bethany is letting death keep her from her love.”

“Is that what he is? What about Dirk?”

She presses her fingertips to her temples and groans. “Oh, man. You’re killing me.”

I laugh. “I promise it’s not meant to be torture. Thank you,” I add. “It means a lot that you love them as much as I do.”

We chat a bit longer, then she asks for a pic with me before heading over to the counter to pay for the stack of books she’s collected in the store—with mine right on top.

I wait until she’s done, then hurry to the checkout area and start spewing out my thanks to the owners, Leah and Bea, even as I tell them that I hope I was okay. This was my first ever Q&A as a published author.