They say when life closes one door, another
one opens.
This door happens to lead to paradise.
And a man I can never, ever have.
Still
grieving the loss of her sister who died two years ago, the last thing Veronica
"Ronnie" Locke needed was to lose her job at one of Chicago’s finest
restaurants and have to move back in with her parents. So when a window of
opportunity opens for her – running a kitchen at a small Hawaiian hotel – she’d
be crazy not to take it.
The only
problem is, the man running the hotel drives her crazy:
Logan
Shephard.
It doesn’t
matter that he’s got dark brown eyes, a tall, muscular build that’s sculpted
from daily surfing sessions, and a deep Australian accent that makes your toes
curl.
What does
matter is that he’s a grump.
Kind of an
asshole, too.
And gets
under Ronnie’s skin like no one else.
But the more
time Ronnie spends on the island of Kauai, falling in love with the lush land
and its carefree lifestyle, the closer she gets to Logan. And the closer she
gets to Logan, the more she realizes she may have pegged him all wrong. Maybe
it’s the hot, steamy jungles or the invigorating ocean air, but soon their
relationship becomes utterly intoxicating.
There’s just
one major catch.
The two of
them together would incite a scandal neither Ronnie, nor her family, would ever
recover from.
Forbidden,
Illicit, off-limits – sometimes the heat is worth surrendering to, even if you
get burned.
AMAZON | Amazon Paperback | iBooks | B&N
PROLOGUE
I saw him first.
It shamed me to
think it then, it shames me to think it now.
But that’s what
the truth does to you sometimes. It shames you because it’s only in the truth
that you realize how human you really are. What a raw, devastating thing that
is, to embrace your humanity and learn to live with all your sharp points, the
hollow places, the cracks and the crevices. To be utterly real. To be terribly
flawed.
Those cracks
had always been forming inside me, slowly making their way to the surface over
the years. In my family, there wasn’t much you could do but try and hold
yourself together, to stick glue on your wounds, to paste over the
imperfections. But the cracks still grew, until all of us were held together by
crumbling cement, just statues waiting to collapse.
That was years
and years ago. I was just twenty-two at the time. A baby. I’m still a baby in
the grand scheme of things, but there’s something precious about your early
twenties, where you think you’re so much older, bigger, than you are, where
life is just about to deliver the crushing blows that will knock you off your
feet for the rest of your days. The small things become the big things and the
big things become the small things and you aren’t quite sure when they made the
switch.
But in the end,
I saw him first. He was mine, even before he knew it. He was mine in some
strange way that I still don’t understand. The only way I can think of to
explain it is…
You just know.
There are
moments in your life, people in your life, that when they cross your path and
meet your eye, you know. Maybe it’s all in the chemistry, certain pheromones
that react when they mix together, maybe it’s a smell that triggers a memory,
maybe it’s a glimpse at a future you don’t recognize or a hint at the past, a
life you’ve lived and forgotten. Whatever it is, you know that moment, that
person, is going to shape you for the rest of your life.
That’s what it
was like when I saw him. Standing over by the windows and staring out Lake
Michigan, like he was wishing he could be anywhere but there.
I wished the
same. My mother’s the deputy mayor of Chicago and this was another one of her
fundraisers I felt obliged to attend. It was tradition in my family, for my
father, for me, for my sister, to show up and wave the flag of support. It
didn’t seem to matter that the stuffy politicians that surrounded these events
never paid me any attention. And if they did, it was the wrong kind of
attention, always the sixty-year-old man leering after the young thing with the
nice smile.
Luckily I
didn’t smile all that often. My resting bitch face took over whenever I was
deep in thought, which was pretty much all the time.
But this guy…I
felt a kinship with him. I felt like I knew exactly what he was thinking,
feeling, and that it was completely wrapped up in and connected to everything
that was going through me.
I don’t know
where I found the nerve to go over and talk to him. He seemed so much older,
not quite the sixty-year-old politicians I was used to seeing, but maybe in his
early-thirties. More than that, there was some kind of aura around him. Sounds
stupid, I know. Whatever it was, it was like he belonged in some whole other
universe than here, a star on earth, permanently grounded and yearning to be in
the sky.
It was usually
Juliet’s job to go around and make everyone feel warm and comfortable at these
events—hell, in every event—but she wasn’t here yet. And though I could have
easily stayed in the shadows, I was pulled to him, like he had a wave of
gravity whirling around him.
I remember what
I was wearing. Strappy flats because I hated wearing heels, a knee-length
cocktail dress in emerald green, sleeveless, high-neck. It made me look older
and I wore it because my mother always wanted me to look like a lady.
With a glass of
champagne in hand, I made my way over to the windows, my heart racing the
closer I got to him. He looked taller up close, well over six feet. His
shoulders were broad, like a swimmer’s, and suddenly I had a vision of him
diving into the lake. The navy blue suit he was wearing looked well-tailored
but he seemed uncomfortable in it, like he couldn’t wait to get rid of it.
I stood beside
him for a moment, following his gaze out the window. He seemed lost in his
thoughts but out of my peripheral his head tilted slightly and he brought his
eyes over to me while I kept staring at that wide expanse of water, stretching
out to the horizon.
“Can’t wait to
get out of here?” I asked, but though my tone was mild, my delivery was bold.
It was as if someone else had taken a hold of my body, forcing me to speak. I
slowly turned my head to meet his eyes.
I was taken
aback for a second. He was staring at me like he knew me, even though I’d never
seen him before. Then again, I was sure I’d been staring at him in the same
way. That feeling of knowing. He knew me, I knew him, and who the hell knows
how that was possible.
His eyes were
brown—are brown—dark with currents of gold and amber, giving them beautiful
clarity. Slightly almond shaped. His brows were also dark, arched, adding to
the intensity of his gaze. He’s the type of guy whose eyes latch onto you, dig
deep, trying to sift through the files of your life, see who you really are.
“How did you
know?” he asked, a full-on Australian accent rumbling through his gruff voice.
It made my stomach flip, my core smolder. How
deed you now, is what it sounded like. Funny how I stopped hearing the
accent after time.
I gave a half
shrug and looked back to the party. More people had flooded the room, mingling
around the appetizers. My mother was in the corner, a crowd of politicians
around her. She didn’t see me. She never did.
“Because I
think I’d rather be in the middle of Lake Michigan too,” I told him, “then be
stuck here with all these people.”
“These people,”
he repeated. My focus was drawn to his lips, full, wide, tilting up into a
smirk. Beneath them was a strong chin and even sharper jaw, dusted with a five
o’clock shadow that seemed permanent, like the man couldn’t get a clean shave
even if he tried. “How do you know I’m not one of these people?”
“Because you’re
over here and not over there. How come you keep answering my questions with
more questions?”
He studied me
for a moment. My blood pounded in my head and I felt a giddy kind of thrill at
how this was progressing. If anything, I was proud for holding my own with this
handsome stranger. He was the first man I ever really felt at ease with.
He cleared his
throat, offered me a quick smile before he nodded at the lake, his hands
sliding into his pockets. “She almost looks like the ocean, doesn’t she?”
“Not quite the
same as Australia, I would imagine.”
“No hiding this
accent, is there?” He glanced at me and stuck out his hand, which I shook for a
moment, warm palm to warm palm. “I’m Logan Shepard. Australian. And the reason
I’m here is because I was invited by a friend of mine. I’m only in town for a
few days and he didn’t want to go alone. He’s over there.” He nodded at a tall
black man in the corner, listening intently to another man.
“Warren Jones,” he said, as if I should know
him. Perhaps I should. He probably thought I was one of them. “He’s local and the key piece to my investment.”
I wasn’t one
for business talk—I never had anything to contribute other than lamenting
student loans—but I wanted him to keep talking. “What’s your investment?”
“Starting my
own hotel,” he said. “In Hawaii. Have you ever been there?”
“Once. When I
was eight. I think we were in Honolulu. I remember a city, anyway. Waikiki
Beach.”
“This hotel is
in Kauai. The Garden Isle. Went there once as a teenager and couldn’t get it
out of my mind.”
I didn’t know
the right things to say. I wanted to ask more about the hotel, what it means
when you have an investor, but I didn’t want to appear dumb. I kept my mouth
shut.
“You haven’t
introduced yourself,” he said. “Protecting a secret identity?”
I smiled,
close-lipped. “Not really. I’m Veronica Locke. American. And I unfortunately I
don’t have much else to add to that.”
“Locke?” he
repeated, eyes darting to my mother. “Are you the daughter of the deputy mayor,
Rose Locke?”
“One of them,”
I told him.
He nodded
quickly. “I see. No wonder you’d rather be in the middle of the bloody lake. I
bet you have to do this stuff all the time.”
“It’s not so
bad.” I took a sip of my drink so I didn’t have to say anything more and looked
away at the crowd. The bubbles teased my nose, making my eyes water.
I could feel
his gaze on me as he spoke. “I’m sure you have plenty more to say about
yourself though. Where do you work? Student?”
“Culinary
arts,” I told him. “I’m one of those crazy people who dream of being a chef one
day.”
He frowned.
“Why is that crazy?”
I gave him a
look, forgetting that most people have no idea how hard it is. “Because it’s a
long road, long hours, and nothing is guaranteed. People think being a chef is
easy. They see Gordon Ramsey or Nigella Lawson and think it’s all fame and food
and money and they have no idea what it’s really like. I’m not even out of
school and already I feel half-beaten.”
He was still
frowning. He did that a lot, I would soon learn. “Sounds like life to me.” His
eyes dropped to my lips and something intensely carnal came over them, like
suddenly I was the food, not the wannabe chef. “Did you want to get a drink
somewhere. After this? When you’ve done your daughterly duties?”
I swallowed
hard. I didn’t know what a drink meant. Just a drink? A date? Was it sex? I
started going through my head, trying to think of reasons why it was a bad
idea. My legs were shaved, did my bra and underwear match? Did I have a condom?
I had taken the pill this morning, even though my last boyfriend and I had
broken up months ago. I hadn’t been with a guy, let alone a man, in a long
time.
Don’t flatter yourself, I quickly thought. What makes you think he’d be interested in
you that way?
“Yes,” I said
when I finally found my voice. “Yes, I would like that.”
A spark flashed
in his eyes, lighting them up in such a way that made my toes literally curl.
Damn. I was in trouble with this man. “Any way you can get out of your duties
sooner?” he asked.
I couldn’t help
but smile, raising my brow at his presumptuousness, while simultaneously trying
to hide the fact that I was freaking out. I looked around the room and tried to
judge how likely it was that someone would notice if I was gone. My mom was
still surrounded by a wall of people and no one was paying any attention to us,
standing by the windows, already removed.
A sad thought
hit me, sliding past before I could really dwell on it: no one even notices when I’m here.
“If we’re quick
and sneaky,” I told him.
“Being quick
isn’t in my repertoire,” he said, “but I could give it a shot.”
Again. Damn. I
wasn’t one to blush but I could feel my cheeks heating up and hoped my skin
supressed the flush. He was so much older than me in so many ways, the last
thing I wanted was to appear the naïve schoolgirl.
And I didn’t
know what to say to that. He was staring at me with those dark eyes, a look so
intense yet sparkling with charm and something…wicked.
I’d never find
out how wicked they could be.
“Ronnie!” A
melodic, ultra-feminine voice sliced through the moment like an unwieldy
machete, causing me to flinch, my fingers tightening around the stem of the
glass.
Oh no, I thought. Not now.
Logan’s head
swiveled toward the sound of the voice, like a hound picking up a scent. I
didn’t bother looking over, I kept my focus on him, watching his expression
intently. It changed, as I knew it would.
She had walked into the room.
He saw her.
And like it was
for so many men, that look of lust I had thought was for me, was now for her.
That’s when I
knew it was over. Whatever thing I had felt for him, it didn’t matter anymore,
not when she was in the room. Nothing ever mattered as long as she was around.
I might have
saw him first.
But he was all
hers after that.
About the Author
Karina
Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and The New York Times,
Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of The Pact, Racing the
Sun, Sins & Needles and over 25 other wild and romantic reads. She lives on
an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue
pup, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of
books.
Halle
is represented by the Waxman Leavell Agency and is both self-published and
published by Simon & Schuster and Hachette in North America and in the UK.
Hit her
up on Instagram at @authorHalle, on Twitter at @MetalBlonde and on Facebook.
You can also visit www.authorkarinahalle.com and sign up for the newsletter for
news, excerpts, previews, private book signing sales and more.
