Текст книги "Afterburn"

Автор книги: Sylvia Day

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Lei leaned her hip against the front of my desk. “Away from Jackson?”

“I’m having dinner with him tonight, actually.”

Something in my tone must have given my thoughts away, because her lips curved wryly. “That should be interesting.”

“You can bet on it.” I exhaled the hurt I couldn’t contain and let the anger spread. Worry followed swiftly. “You don’t have a problem with me seeing him, do you?”

“I haven’t forgotten why I hired you, Gianna.” Lei headed toward her office. “Don’t worry, I’m good and you’ll be fine.”

I would be. But I wasn’t there yet.

* * *

FIVE O’CLOCK ROLLED around and my excitement ratcheted up. Not just because Chad had agreed to head to Atlanta the next day and I was ready to get out of town. The truth: I was ready to see Jax and deal with him. I had to force myself to slow down when I saw him waiting at the curb for me after work, act as if nothing were wrong in my world and I had time to spare.

He lounged against a black McLaren, a car I recognized because one of Lei’s chefs had bought one to celebrate the five-year anniversary of his first restaurant. Jax’s arms and ankles were crossed, his pose relaxed and sexy. Sunglasses shielded his eyes from the glaring reflections cast by the towering skyscrapers around him. He was dressed in black slacks, a white shirt and gray tie. His dark hair was tousled, like he’d run a hand through it and let his styling efforts go at that.

Women stared at him as they walked by, their heads turning to keep their eyes on him even as their feet moved. Men glanced his way and altered course some, instinctively recognizing an alpha male at rest. Jax always had that effect on people. When he entered a space, he immediately took it over.

Squaring my shoulders, I pushed through the revolving doors and walked straight up to him. I wore a black Nina Ricci sheath. It was an elegant, classic piece that I’d paired with the nude peep-toe Louboutins my brothers had collectively given me for my last birthday.

I looked like the kind of woman who would be seen with Jackson Rutledge. Better yet, I feltlike it.

Keeping my stride, I marched up to him, fisted his tie in one hand, and stretched up to kiss him. Hard.

A low rumbling sound was my reward, followed by the rapid unfolding of his big body. He got me before I could pull away, catching me by the nape and hip, holding me to him as he deepened the kiss into a full-blown melding of our open mouths.

Standing on the street, with cars and people streaming by, we kissed as if we were alone.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said gruffly when I broke away to pull air into my tightened lungs. He nuzzled his cheek against mine.

I broke free with a quick twist and slapped him across the face.

His head turned with the blow, his breath hissing out between his teeth. Rubbing his jaw, he looked at me with hot eyes. “I’m guessing you’re not looking to play rough.”

“You fucked me over, Jax. Right after you fucked me literally. Did you take a shower first? Or were you still smelling like me when you made the call?”

“Get in the car, Gia.”

“You’re an asshole.” I tamped down my simmering anger at him. At me. At the entire situation. But mostly at him.

“Always have been,” he agreed grimly. He straightened and opened the passenger door, which involved pulling the door out then pushing it upward. “Took you a long time to figure that out.”

I stood there a moment, staring at him. He stared back, his eyes hidden behind the damned sunglasses, his mouth an unyielding line.

“Don’t lose your confidence now,” he taunted softly.

My mind spun as it had all day. Why did he want me to go with him? Why the flowers and the invitation to dinner? “You angling for a kiss-off screw?”

“I’m not ending things. I want you. That’s not news.”

His brusque, unapologetic attitude made my teeth grind. It was like he was daring me to be the one to walk away.

I slid into the seat and clicked my seat belt into place.

Jax ducked his head down. He looked at me over the rim of his shades. “For future reference, the slap was overkill. You had me down for the count with the kiss.”

He straightened and shut the door.

I smiled grimly. In the boardroom and the bedroom, Jackson Rutledge was going to learn a thing or two about playing with me.

* * *

JAX PULLED INTO the subterranean parking garage of his apartment building and two valets greeted us. As one of the bow-tied guys helped me out of the car, I was struck again by the financial gulf between Jax and me. I wasn’t intimidated by his wealth, but it was possible the disparity was a bigger problem for him.

It didn’t improve my mood to think of it.

Reaching for my hand, Jax linked our fingers and led me to an elevator. I’d half expected him to fly us out to Virginia or D.C., and realized abruptly that I had never allowed myself to consider the likelihood of him living at least part-time in New York, too. But of course it made sense that he would have a place in the city, which was the financial center of the country.

The elevator doors closed behind us, and he immediately pulled me into him. I let him. He leaned back against the brass handrail, spread his legs, and urged me to stand between them, his hands running up and down the length of my spine.

It’d been so long since I’d been held with such intimacy and tenderness.

He’d been in New York the whole time....

I closed my eyes and absorbed the warmth of his body, the smell of his skin, the soft caress of his breath against my temple. I’d denied myself the comfort of a man’s touch for too long.

“How was your day?” he murmured.

“Busy. How was yours?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I closed my eyes, holding fiercely to my wrath. It was a harder task than it should’ve been.

He laid his cheek against my temple. “I’m sorry, Gia.”

“For what? Helping Pembry screw the deal I was working on?”

Jax sighed. “You knew the score. We talked about this.”

“That doesn’t excuse you. I don’t accept your apology.”

“I don’t blame you, but you’ll find a way to handle it. This is a minor setback you’ll have no problem overcoming.”

I met his gaze. “You’re damned right.”

The elevator dinged, announcing our arrival on his floor. When I turned around and saw a small foyer and double doors, I realized Jax lived in a penthouse apartment. Which explained why the elevator hadn’t stopped in between the parking garage and what I now knew to be the top floor.

Grabbing my hand again, Jax led me across gold-veined marble tiles and unlocked the door by placing his palm against a wall-mounted security pad.

“I bet your dates love this James Bond stuff,” I said as the thick walnut door swung open automatically. I managed to say the words casually, but envy ate at me as I imagined him with other women.

“What do youthink of it?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Ah, well, I’m a simple girl at heart.” My gaze raked over the sunken living room with its snow-white carpet, black-leather-and-chrome chairs and sapphire-blue area rug. A sterile, bluntly masculine bachelor pad.

I frowned. “This isn’t you.”

The door shut behind us. “No?”

I’d expected warm colors, varied textiles, colorful modern art—decor that reflected the vibrant, slightly rough-around-the-edges, occasionally quirky man I loved.

Stepping deeper into the room, I struggled with a profound sense of disappointment. Had I really been so wrong about him?

“Would you like a drink?” he asked quietly, coming up behind me. He stood so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Definitely.”

His dimple winked at me. “You won’t throw it in my face, will you?”

“I’m tempted, I admit,” I said dryly.

His hands came to rest on my shoulders. “Remember that night at the Palms?”

My hands fisted. “Low blow, Jackson.”

I would never forget standing on the fifty-fifth floor’s outdoor sky deck with Jax wrapped around my back and a glass of white wine that we shared in my hand. The city and desert stretched for miles, the glow of the neon lights fading into inky darkness.

What a view,I’d said, leaning into him, feeling happier than I ever had. I was dating the perfect guy, a man who made my toes curl at night and my days bright. He’s going to change my life,I’d thought. He’s going to changeme, for the better.

It seemed ridiculous now. Making changes was my responsibility. Having a great guy was just a bonus.

I started to pull away, but he held me in place.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

I tugged a little and he let me go, freeing me to face him. “Then why did you do it?”

“Why do I do anything?” he said gruffly, his eyes dark and hard. “Because I’m a Rutledge. We fuck people over, Gia. That’s just who we are.”

“That’s a cop-out,” I snapped.

“That’s the truth.”

I walked away, my gaze roaming.

“If you want to walk out,” he said quietly, “I won’t stop you. But I’d like you to stay.”

I paused. Turning, I confronted him, hating how his features gave nothing away. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want meto end things. Piss me off, get me to storm out. It wouldn’t be a quiet breakup and it’d certainly be a little messy, but quick and final nevertheless. Just the way you like it.”

“I’d hate it, but I’m no good for you, Gia.” He passed me and moved into the kitchen.

I tossed my purse on one of the armchairs. “I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

Jax pulled a bottle of white wine out of the fridge, then set it on the counter. The kitchen was as devoid of personality as the living room, with black cupboards and counters, and only a one-cup coffeemaker to show that anyone was in residence. Coming from a family for whom the kitchen was the center of the home, I found Jax’s depressing.

He watched me step out of my heels.

When I reached up to release my hair, I warned him, “I’m going to match your backstabbing move and raise you one round of angry sex.”

His lips parted when I reached under my dress to shimmy out of my panties. “Gia.”

“I can play this game.” I tossed my underwear at him and smiled tightly when he caught them. “And I can win.”

Chapter 10

JAX POCKETED MY underwear and came to me, abandoning the unopened wine.

He cupped my face. Lowering his head, he kissed me, his lips clinging sweetly. His hands moved to my shoulders, then down my back, his fingers deftly lowering the zipper on my dress.

I went to work on the knot of his tie, letting the anger simmer and blend with my lust into a raging desire. I focused on him. On us. On the feel of him beneath my hands, the beloved scent that was his alone, the way his breathing deepened and his heartbeat quickened as the hunger grew between us.

I never noticed things like that with anyone else, which made it so much harder to accept that maybe Jax and I weren’t meant to be together.

“Did you have this place when you came with me to Rossi’s?” I asked.

We’d stayed in a hotel during that trip. If he’d had an apartment in town at the time, it shed a whole new light on his feelings for me. After all, how much could a guy care about his girl if he’d rather bang her in a hotel than his own bed?

“No. I bought this place last year. Gia—” Standing there with his shirt open and parted, his golden torso on display, his body so beautifully hard and defined, his dark eyes so warm and tormented...

I caught his hand and pulled him out of the kitchen. Anticipation thrummed through my veins, along with something darker. And more wicked.

* * *

JAX’S HAND CLAWED at the sheet, his stomach clenching as I mouthed the plush head of his cock. He was hard and thick, so aroused that precum streamed from the crest to coat my tongue. I fisted him at the root, milking him with my hands and mouth, relishing the curses and moans that spilled from him.

“Jesus,” he gasped as I licked along a thick, pulsing vein. Running my parted lips up and down the side, I teased him, kept him on edge, driving him to the point of no return.

“Don’t play, Gia,” he growled. “Suck me or fuck me. Make me come.”

I smiled, my gaze lingering over the tight lacing of muscle that crossed his abdomen. He was sheened with sweat, his gorgeous face flushed and eyes bright. With his gaze on me, I wrapped my mouth around him and sucked, taking him to the back of my throat.

“That’s it,” he said hoarsely, his neck arching to press his head into the pillow. “God, that’s good. Your mouth...”

I owned him in that moment. Jackson Rutledge was mine.

His fingers pushed into my hair, gliding over the damp roots, brushing the strands back from my face. “Ah, Gia. Keep sucking me like that, baby.”

He throbbed against my tongue, his flavor and desire intoxicating me. I loved it. Loved giving him so much pleasure his body quaked with it.

“Going to come so hard for you...” he groaned.

Pulling off him, I sat up, then slid off the end of the bed.

“Gia.” His heavy-lidded gaze caught mine. “Damn it. Finish me.”

“It’s tough when you’re working toward something...when the excitement builds and you can almost taste it...then someone takes it away from you, isn’t it?”

Snarling, he jackknifed upward. “Get back here.”

I smiled and snatched his shirt up from the floor. “I think you need to cool off a bit first.”

“I think you should get your gorgeous ass back in this bed first.” Jax rose from the bed like an orgasmic dream come to life, all hard rippling muscle and golden skin. His cock was thick and long, curved upward and so stiff it barely moved as he walked toward me. He was so perfectly proportioned, so boldly masculine.

It was damned hard resisting jumping on the bed and letting him fuck the hell out of me.

He reached for me, and I sidestepped quickly, laughter in my throat.

The doorbell rang.

Jax didn’t care. He stalked me with single-minded determination. I danced away, struggling to thrust my arms through his shirt. The fabric smelled like him. I liked that a lot.

“You should get that,” I told him.

“Gia,” he said, in a low warning tone. “If you want to be comfortable when I fuck you, you better get on the bed. Otherwise, I’m pinning you to the nearest flat surface.”

The doorbell rang again as I darted out of his reach. “Someone’s at the door!”

“They can wait.” He fisted his cock, stroking it. “This can’t.”

I feinted to the right, then the left, using moves I’d perfected on basketball courts. It amazed me that he could be naked while chasing me and still look both tempting and formidable. His abs glistened with sweat; his gaze was avid and hot, his body taut with muscle.

He caught me before I crossed the threshold of the bedroom door. His arms locked around me, hard as steel, his chest heaving against my back.

“Jax—”

“Say no if you mean it,” he breathed roughly. “Otherwise, I’ve got to have you, baby.”

The note of desperation in his voice swayed me, made me long to give in. Being wanted by Jax was one of the major highs in my life.

“Jackson.”

We both stiffened at the sound of Parker Rutledge’s voice in the living room.

“I know you’re here,” he called out. “We need to talk, son.”

Jax cursed. His hand slid into the open lapels of his shirt and cupped my breast possessively, his grip tightening until my feet left the floor.

“Give me a minute,” he yelled before stepping back and kicking the door closed.

I thought he’d let me go, but he turned me instead and kissed me breathless. One hand clenched in my hair, the other gripped my buttock.

When he released me abruptly, I stumbled, my legs weakened by the ferocious passion in his kiss.

He walked to the en suite bathroom and grabbed a black silk robe, belting it angrily. “Stay here.”

“Don’t you want me to say hi?” I asked, my voice tight.

Jax didn’t look at me when he said, “I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”

The door shut with a bit too much force behind him and then I heard the sound of him talking. His tone was far from welcoming and I scrambled to get dressed. I wasn’t going to hide in his bedroom like a naughty teenager.

By the time I’d finished, I couldn’t hear the low drone of conversation anymore. And when I opened the bedroom door, silence greeted me.

I padded out in search of my heels and once I had them on, I felt better prepared to deal with Parker...despite wishing my hair was tied back.

While I waited for Jax and his father to make an appearance, I wandered around the living room, examining it closely for signs of the lover I thought I knew. What I found were only a handful of framed photos, most of them vintage snapshots of a striking blonde whom I assumed was Jackson’s mother.

The photos ranged from fresh-faced black-and-whites to more recent ones in color, and the transformation the pictures documented was startling. Youthful softness had hardened over time, had been polished into a glittering facade, then faded. The upturn of pretty lips gradually migrated downward. One candid shot caught her unawares and staring out a window. The look on her beautiful face conveyed a sense of loneliness.

I picked it up, looking at it more closely, and noted another framed picture lying facedown behind it. I slid it forward, then lifted it, stilling when I discovered a photo of Jax and me.

It was a shot Vincent had captured with his cell phone and forwarded to me. He’d taken it during that first and last family dinner with Jax at Rossi’s. Jax sat behind me, supporting me as I leaned back against him. We were laughing, his arms around my waist, my arms draped over his. I’d sent the photo to Jax and made it the wallpaper on my phone until it became too painful to look at.

I propped the photo back up and returned the picture of his mother to the shelf, my heart racing along with my thoughts.

Where the hell was Jax?

The apartment was eerily quiet. I went in search of him, my gaze sliding absently past the front door, then stopping on the small security video monitor mounted in the wall beside it. Jax and his dad stood in the foyer, Jax with his arms crossed over his chest and his father with hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. As alike as they were in physical appearance, they couldn’t have been dressed more differently, and yet Jax was clearly holding his own.

I studied the distance between them, the way they stood apart and eyed each other warily. Their family dynamic was alien to me, so far removed from the Rossi warmth that nurtured me.

The Rutledges were demanding. I didn’t know all the details of Jax’s upbringing but it was clear he’d grown up in a high-pressure environment. He’d made it obvious he didn’t hold a high opinion of Rutledges, including himself, but he had chosen his family over me—he’d made sure Ian was able to sabotage the Mondego deal—after saying I was the one person he gave a shit about.

Some long-overdue research was in order.

I took off back down the hall, shameless in my search for answers. I figured he owed me something and I’d snoop for it if I had to.

Turning into his home office, I paused on the threshold, seeing a room more in keeping with what I’d expected of him. Although the overall look was modern and masculine, the space was warmed by neutral walls and honeyed woods, with accents of red and gold. Bookcases hugged the walls, filled with a colorful array of hardcover literary volumes and dog-eared popular fiction paperbacks. There was another picture of me on the shelf, this one upright. I was solo. No Jax.

The photo was recent. No more than six months old.

From across the room, I stared at it, feeling my palms go damp.

He’d been keeping tabs on me.

The questions kept piling up, but one very important answer was made glaringly clear by the existence of that picture. I couldn’t decide if I felt joy or pain about it. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Jax’s desk was covered in scattered pages and open folders, but I turned my back on them. I’d seen enough.

I headed back out to the living room where I grabbed my purse and set off toward the door. The men outside seemed surprised when I pulled it open. They stopped talking, and I gave a brisk nod to both of them before striding to the elevator with my head held high.

“Gia.” Jax took a step toward me. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll ride down with you, Miss Rossi,” Parker offered, coming up to me with a smile that was far too friendly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Mr. Rutledge,” I replied.

“Call me Parker, please.”

“Dad,” Jax growled, coming closer. “You and I aren’t done talking.”

Parker patted him on the shoulder. “We can pick up where we left off later, son.”

Jax looked at me. “We’re supposed to be having dinner.”

“I’ll need to take a rain check.”

“Don’t do this, Gia.”

I smiled grimly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

The elevator car arrived, and Parker gestured me in before him.

Jax caught me by the elbow. “Give me five minutes.”

“How about I call you later?” I said, realizing I wasn’t even tempted to stay. I was too raw, too confused. I needed some breathing room.

His jaw tightened.

“It’s all right, Jackson,” Parker said quietly. “I’ll show her out.”

Jax turned his head slowly toward his father, his features set like stone. “I meant what I said.”

“You always do.” Parker grinned.

I stepped into the elevator just as the doors started to close again. Parker joined me, but my attention was on Jax, our gazes locked together. His hands were fisted at his sides, his jaw tense and determined. But his eyes...those deep, dark eyes...they made the same promises they always had. I believed them now. I had the proof.

Parker faced me as the car began its descent, smiling. “How are you, Gianna?”

“I’ve been better. How about you?”

“You make it awkward to say it’s been a good day so far.”

My mouth curved. “And a good day for your friend Ian, too.”

“Ah.” His eyes brightened with amusement. “Please don’t hold that against Jackson.”

I shrugged. “It’s just business, right?”

“You’re a very practical woman. Certainly one of the many reasons why he’s so taken with you. Speaking of which...” He rocked back on his heels. “I’d like to get to know you better, Gianna. Would you and Jax come to dinner with my wife and me? Something quiet at our house in the Hamptons, maybe?”

“I’d like that.” I’d like anything that would let me get a better handle on Jax.

“Good. I’ll let Regina know.” His smile faded a little. “Don’t let Jackson talk you out of it. He wants to keep you all to himself.”

“Does he?”

Parker sobered further. “He’s very protective.”

“Is he? What would he have to protect me from?”

“We’re men, Gianna,” he drawled. “We’re not always rational when it comes to women.”

I nodded, gathering that Parker was as much of an enigma as his son. It seemed Rutledges were just naturally inclined to be hard to read and cryptic.

The elevator doors opened into the lobby and we stepped out into a meticulously restored pre-war space that exuded luxury and privilege.

“I have a car waiting,” he said. “Can I give you a ride?”

“Thank you but no.” I didn’t even want to contemplate the look on Parker’s face if he saw where I lived. Compared to the marble-lined lobby of Jax’s building, complete with concierge and doorman, my place would look...not so hot. I wasn’t embarrassed by the loft or my family, but I thought it might be wise to not trigger suspicions of gold digging until the Rutledges got to know me better.

“All right, then, if you’re sure.” Parker hesitated, as if waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn’t, he said, “I’ll let Jax know the day and time for dinner. I’m looking forward to it, Gianna.”

I thought of the man upstairs, high in his tower, a stranger in so many ways and yet one who knew me inside and out. “I am, too.”

* * *

I HEARD MUSIC blaring in the loft before the freight elevator clanked to a stop on our floor. As I got closer, I recognized the vintage Guns N’ Roses riff. “Welcome to the Jungle.” Considering my evening with the Rutledges, I found it fitting.

Sliding the door open, I was hit with the full force of Vincent’s rocking sound system and the sight of him doing pull-up crunches via a metal pole he’d mounted between two supporting pillars. He was drenched with sweat and gritting his teeth, the slabs of muscle on his stomach tightening as he brought his knees up to his chest. He wore his hair shorter than my other brothers, nearly a crew cut, and it suited his classically Italian features.

I’d read books that compared the hero to a face on a Roman coin, but I guarantee none of them had anything on Vincent. Shirtless, shoeless and wearing only running shorts, he was the stuff other women’s dreams were made of. Unlike Nico, Vincent was a serial boyfriend. He had no problem committing, but he never stayed off the market for longer than several months at a time.

“Hey!” he protested, when I turned the volume down.

“You still talk to Deanna?” I asked, referring to the reporter he used to date.

“Yeah.” He dropped to the hardwood floor and snatched up the towel waiting there alongside a bottle of water. “Why?”

I set my purse down on the bench by the door and kicked off my shoes. “I need someone to catch me up on the Rutledges.”

Vincent scrubbed at his hair, scowling. “The guy’s a douche. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I won’t argue with that.” I sprawled across the couch and stared up at the exposed pipes and beamed ceiling. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t be redeemed.”

“Forget the rehab. Find a guy who’s smart enough to know what he has from the get-go.”

I glanced at him, watching his throat work as he chugged the entire bottle of water. “You telling me you never screwed up with a girl and wanted a second chance?”

“Doesn’t count. You’re a Rossi. There’s no excuse for him screwing up besides being stupid,” he said.

“Will you ask her?”

“Fine.” He headed toward the kitchen, adding, “Only because I hope she digs up something that convinces you he’s bad news.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t think you’re getting the favor for a simple thanks.” He tossed his towel over his shoulder and washed his hands. The kitchen was the most finished part of the apartment, with brand-new stainless-steel appliances, chef’s cooktop, double wall ovens and a massive workstation island with sink. “I’ve got a basket of laundry that needs washing.”

I sat up. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Better hurry.” He grinned. “I’m out of Rossi’s T-shirts and my shift starts in two hours.”

* * *

I’D JUST CLOSED the louvered doors that concealed the washer and dryer when I heard my smartphone ringing. I ran to my bedroom to grab it, but missed the call. Didn’t matter, though, because it immediately started ringing again.

It was Jax.

Taking a deep breath, I touched Answer on the screen and said, “Hey.”

“You were supposed to call,” he accused.

“So were you,” I retorted. “Took you two years to get around to it.”

“Jesus.” He exhaled harshly. “Why did you leave?”

“It was time. Your dad invited us to dinner.”

“We’re not going.”

I shrugged. “I’ll go without you.”

“The hell you will! Damn it, Gia. You’re swimming with sharks and acting like you’re on vacation.”

“I’m definitely seeing things I’ve never seen before. Like those pictures you’ve got framed in your pad. How long have you been following me? Creepy, by the way.”

He cursed. “You’re fucking a Rutledge. Surveillance and invasion of privacy come with the territory.”

“I wasn’t fucking you at the time that picture in your office was taken.”

“You were in my office? What the hell, Gia?”

My mouth curved grimly at his inadvertent admission that there were more photos I hadn’t found. “I’m going to be in every aspect of your life—get used to it.”

Jax was silent for a long minute, then quietly asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m processing the fact that you’re in love with me, Jax.” I heard his breath catch and felt a surge of pleasured triumph. “Still, you bailed on me. And now you’re sabotaging my work and your own chances with me.”

“Gia—”

“I’m on to you, Jackson Rutledge.” My voice was low and hard, unwavering. “I’m going to figure you out.”

“I’m an open book,” he retorted.

“You’re a head trip.” I ignored the waiting suitcase on my bed and sat at my desk instead. I woke my computer with a shake of the mouse. “And your mystery-man days are numbered.”

I hung up, shut off the ringer and started my research.

* * * * *

Sexy, contemporary romance stories for today's fun, fearless women.

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About the Author

Sylvia Day is the #1 Sunday Timesand #1 international bestselling author of more than a dozen award-winning novels sold in forty countries. A reader favorite across several genres, there are millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She has been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Author and her work has been honored as Amazon’s Best of the Year in Romance. She has won the RT Book ReviewsReviewers’ Choice Award and been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award twice. Visit the author at sylviaday.com, facebook.com/authorsylviaday, and twitter.com/sylday.

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AFTERBURN

Copyright © 2013 by Sylvia Day LLC

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.