The blood congealed in my veins.

“I already hate them,” Jay mumbled, making Tisha laugh.

“You hate everybody.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Doesn’t he, Rue?”

I nodded absently, eyes stuck on the fourth Harkness man like a bird caught in an oil spill. My head spun and the room ran out of air, because unlike the others’, his face was familiar.

Unlike the others, I knew exactly who he was.

2

VERY WILLING TO LET HER CONTINUE

ELI

THE PREVIOUS NIGHT

She looked even more beautiful than in her picture.

And she’d looked pretty fucking stunning in that, too, standing in front of a painfully familiar UT Austin sign. Not a selfie—a regular old-school photo, cropped to cut out her companion. All that was left was a slender, dark-skinned arm slung lazily around a shoulder. And, of course, her. Smiling, but only faintly. There, but remote.

Beautiful.

Not that it mattered much. Eli had hooked up with enough people to know that a person’s looks had a little less impact on the quality of casual sex than what that person was looking for. Still, when he arrived at the hotel lobby and spotted her at the bar, sitting straight on the tall stool, he stopped in his tracks. Hesitated, even though his meeting with Hark and the others had run behind, and dropping home to check on Tiny had put him a few minutes late.

She was drinking Sanpellegrino—a relief, since given their plans for the night, anything else would have given him pause. Her jeans and sweater were simple, and her posture was a thing of beauty. Relaxed, yet regal. Spine unbent, but not on edge. She didn’t look nervous, and had the easy air of someone who did this often enough to know exactly what to expect.

Eli remembered her pertinent questions and straight-to-the-point answers. She’d messaged him the day before, and when he’d asked, Where would you like to meet? her response had been,

Not my apartment.

My place doesn’t work either. I can book a hotel and cover the cost.

I’m okay with splitting.

No need.

Works for me, then. FYI, I’ll share my location with a friend who has my login info to the app.

Please do. Would you like my phone number?

We can keep messaging here.

Sounds good. Whatever made her feel safest. The dating app game could be dangerous. Then again, the app they were using wasn’t for dating, not by any correct meaning of the word.

Eli glanced at the woman one last time, and something resembling the anticipation he used to be capable of rose inside him. Good, he told himself. This is going to be good. He started walking again but stopped a few feet away.

When another man approached.

Some poor asshole hitting on her, Eli originally figured, but it quickly became apparent that she already knew him. Her eyes widened, then narrowed in a one-two punch. Her spine locked. She shifted back, seeking more distance.

An ex of some kind, Eli thought as the man spoke urgently. A hushed conversation began, and while the elevator music was too loud for Eli to pick up the words, the tension in her shoulder blades wasn’t a good sign. She shook her head, then ran a hand through her dark, glossy curls, and when they swept to the side, he caught the line of her nape: stiff. Stiffer as the man started talking faster. Inching closer. Gesticulating harder.

Then his hand closed around her upper arm, and Eli intervened.

He was at the bar in seconds, but the woman was already trying to pry herself free. He stopped behind her stool and ordered, “Let her go.”

The man glanced up, glassy-eyed. Drunk, maybe. “This is none of your business, bro.”

Eli stepped closer, bicep brushing against the woman’s back. “Let. Her. Go.”

The man looked, really looked. Had a brief moment of common sense, in which he estimated, correctly, that he had no chance against Eli. Reluctantly, slowly, he unhanded the woman and raised his arms in a peacekeeping gesture, knocking over her glass in the process. “There’s a misunderstanding—”

“Is there?” He glanced at the woman, who was rescuing her phone from a puddle of Sanpellegrino. Her silence was answer enough. “Nope. Get out,” he ordered, at once amiable and menacing. Eli’s entire professional life relied on his ability to find something that would motivate people to successfully do their jobs, and in his expert opinion, this shithead needed to be scared a little.

It worked: shithead glared, ground his jaw, glanced around as though searching for witnesses to join him in denouncing the injustice he was being subjected to. When no one stepped forward, he scuttled angrily toward the entrance of the hotel, and Eli turned toward the woman.

Electricity jolted through him. Her eyes were large and liquid, a dark blue he wasn’t sure he’d encountered before. Eli stared into them and briefly lost track of his question.

Ah. Right. It was something very complex, something along the lines of “Are you okay?”

Instead of replying, she asked, “Do you often engage in vigilante bullshit to compensate for whatever your issues are?” Her voice was tame, but her glare blazed. Eli noticed that her upper lip was slightly fuller than the lower. Both were dark pink. “Because maybe you could just buy an infantry tank.”

His eyebrow rose. “And maybe you could choose better men to spend your time with.”

“That’s for sure, since I came here to spend time with you.”

Ah. She’d recognized him, then. And she wasn’t a fan.

Eli didn’t blame her for thinking him a brash, hotheaded jerk, but the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. She clearly didn’t want him around, and that had him feeling a small tinge of disappointment. It swelled larger as he looked at her lips one last time, but he shrugged it off.

Too bad, but not that bad. He gave her one last nod, turned around, and—

A hand closed around his wrist.

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” She screwed her eyes shut tight. Then took a deep breath and smiled the faintest smile he’d ever seen, which sent a new, heated wave of interest vibrating through him.

Eli was no aesthete. He had no idea whether this woman was objectively, scientifically beautiful, or whether her face simply came together in a way that seemed to work perfectly for him. Either way, the result was the same.

A big fucking turn-on.

“Eli, right?” she asked.

He nodded. Fully turned to her.

“I’m sorry. I was still in fight-or-flight mode. I’m usually way less defensive about . . .” She gestured vaguely. Her nails were red. Her hands graceful, but trembling. “Being helped. Thank you for what you did.” Her hand dropped from his wrist to curl into her lap, and he followed every inch of that journey, mesmerized.

“You didn’t mention your name,” he said, instead of you’re welcome. On the app, she’d just used one initial: R.

“No, I didn’t.” She didn’t elaborate, and her uncompromising tone was a thrill all by itself.

Rachel? Rose. Ruby turned to watch the entrance, where the man still loitered, giving them resentful glances. When her throat bobbed, Eli offered casually, “I could go scare him off.” His brawling days were over—had been since high school, when his life had been hockey practices and detentions and lots of rage. Still, he knew how to deal with assholes.

“It’s okay.” She shook her head.

“Or call the police.”

Another shake. Then, after a moment of reluctance, she added, “But maybe you could . . .”