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“It most certainly is,” he replies. “But until then, you’re going to have to behave yourself, Grace.”

The way he says my name—slow, intimate, like a dirty little secret—sends heat rushing straight through me.

“I need you to do that for me,” he adds, almost sweetly.

I hang up before he can say anything else, my hand shaking as I drop the phone onto the carpet.

The absolute nerve of him.

Does he actually think I’m so desperate I’ll throw myself at him the second we’re alone? That I can’t control myself?

He’s wrong.

I close my eyes and drag in a slow breath, trying to ignore the unwelcome pulse throbbing low in my belly. But the memories sneak in anyway—his hands gripping my hips, the rough groan he made when I sank down onto him, the way I completely lost control.

No.

I press my thighs together and clench my jaw.

I can resist him.

Of course I can.

6

GRACE

The next day, I only make it until ten before the walls start closing in.

I’m completely isolated. None of my friends have answered my calls. I have no social media. Dad’s at the office, Finn’s on his business trip, and even if he weren’t, I’d rather chew glass than spend time with him.

I can’t breathe inside this house anymore. So I do the only thing that feels possible—I leave.

I slip into my favorite white off-the-shoulder knit top, the one that clings just enough and slips artfully down one shoulder. Paired with a sharp black-and-white plaid mini skirt that makes my legs look endless, and tall white knee-high boots. I add some simple diamond studs in my ears, and my hair falls sleek and glossy straight down my back.

Then I’m out the door. I sprint down the front steps, slide into my Porsche, and peel out of the driveway like the devil is on my heels.

Dad told Drew to accompany me whenever I leave the house. He never said I had to announce my plans first. It’s not my problem if he can’t keep up.

The drive to the spa is a small, private victory. I have the windows down, music loud enough to drown my thoughts, and the warm spring air whipping through the car. For the first time in days, I almost feel free.

I kill the engine in the shaded parking lot and grin to myself. Then a silver Aston Martin glides into the spot right beside mine, its low growl cutting off with a satisfied purr.

My stomach drops.

The tinted passenger window slides down.

Drew looks unfairly composed, like he stepped straight out of a luxury watch campaign. Charcoal suit tailored to perfection over his broad shoulders and hard chest. The top button of his crisp white shirt is undone, revealing a teasing hint of tanned skin. One arm rests casually on the steering wheel, while the other drapes over the gear shift. His dark hair is perfectly tousled, and those sharp eyes lock onto me.

“We could have carpooled,” he says, flashing a lazy grin. “You really should think more about the environment, Grace.”

Part of me wants to scream. The other, more traitorous part can’t stop noticing how stupidly good he looks in that suit.

I ignore him and head for the entrance. He follows.

The second I step inside, he’s right behind me, broad chest brushing against my back. Heat rolls off him, and my skin tightens in response.

“What are you doing?” I snap, spinning halfway around.