exclusive sneak peek

new series, book 1*

*title reveal coming soon!

As soon as the washcloth touches my skin, I jerk away and curse.    “Sorry,” he says quickly.  “Here.”    

Landon blows a soft stream of air over the wound.  My skin cools; the sting vanishes.    

My heart moves straight into my throat.    

“Better?” he asks.    

I want so badly to tell him no.  It shouldn’t feel better.  Nothing should be better when Landon Dune is in the same city as me, in the same room as me, breath winding down my back with this sweetness like summer but a chill worse than every storm I’ve ever lived through.    

“Yes.  Thank you.”  God, I need to stop whispering.  To sound anything but breathless around him.    

Leaving this tiny space is a damn fine start, so I twist my limbs past him into the hall.  “Tea?” I manage, then beeline for the kitchen and start the kettle before he can answer.    

“Your hands are shaking.”    

If any part of my body was functioning properly right now, my lungs would remember how to gasp when I hear Landon right behind me.  Carefully, he takes the mugs from my hands and nods to the living room.  I know what he’s saying: Go relax.  I’ll do this.    

“I’m fine.  Really.  It...it’s the shock wearing off.  A delayed fear response or something.”  Yeah, that must be it.    

Please, God, let that be it.    

My head swims when I plunk myself down on the sofa, and a sharp wave of nausea rolls through me.  It feels like my system skipped over the whole “sober up” part and went straight to a hangover.    

“Steeping,” he announces quietly when he comes in.  He sets his watch, I assume to go off in exactly three minutes.    

Of course he did, I think.  Mr. Rule Follower.  Mr. Impossibly, Devastatingly Serious.      

While we wait, I steal glances at the cut on his cheekbone that inevitably turn into glances at the rest of him.  Leave it to him to sport formal office attire even while crawling pubs with his brothers.    

Still...there’s something alluring about it all, now that he’s so disheveled.  His hair falls out of its gel over his forehead a bit, and not a single spot on his shirt isn’t wrinkled.  Even the dried blood on his collar draws my stare and keeps it anchored far longer than it should.    

I’d feel bad about it—if I didn’t feel him sneaking glances at me, too.    

His watch beeps.  “I’ve got it,” he assures me, in that steel voice of his that, coupled with sheer exhaustion, makes me sink back into the cushions while he goes to the kitchen.    

I thank him when he returns with our mugs.  My hands won’t hold still; I slosh some onto the sofa and curse.    

“Are you sure you’re okay?”  That solemn face creases with worry.  Worry?  For me?  “Maybe you need a doctor.”    

“Why, so they can charge me two hundred bucks for glorified Benadryl or some other sedative?”  I set down my tea and shake out my hands as I rise.  “I’ve got a much better, much cheaper idea.”    

Landon watches me rummage through the armoire-desk-turned-minibar in the corner, giving what almost sounds like a laugh when I come back with some brandy.  I add a generous splash to my tea, then hold the bottle questioningly over his.    

He hesitates.  It’s quick, but I see his eyes slide to his watch.    

“You’re not sleeping tonight,” I deadpan.  “Might as well relax if you can’t rest.”    

“I’m not the one whose hands are shaking.”  Nevertheless, he holds his mug a little higher, resting it under the mouth of the bottle.  I tip it up and pour until the tea stops smelling like guava, rose petals, and whatever else Roxanne put in here.    

“You really weren’t scared?” I venture as I cap the bottle and set it on the table between us.  “Not even a little?”    

“No worse than a bar fight.”    

“And those don’t scare you.”    

“Go out drinking with Jesse often enough, and you’ll get numb to it too.  He has a real talent for pissing off guys twice his size.”    

I laugh—a real one that floods my chest and, a little at a time, steadies my hands.  The brandy doesn’t hurt.  “Sounds like he hasn’t changed a bit.”    

Landon shifts in the armchair, a flash of tension hanging between us. My statement underscores how long we haven’t seen each other, and the fact I used to be closer than close with all the Dunes, not just him.    

“How’s the rest of the family?”    

For a second, he gives me a glance like I’ve asked for his PIN or Social Security number.   “Uh...they’re good.  Lola just graduated, if you can believe it.”    

“Don’t say that.  Making me feel ancient.”    

Gradually, he cracks a smile.  “Right?  And of course she’s worrying Mom sick, acting like a full-fledged adult already.”    

“To be fair, I’d expect nothing less of Lo.  With Jesse hovering over her like he does, she’s always acted like she needed to prove herself.  Poor thing.”    

We’re laughing and nodding, but I know the tension is back.  I’m dredging up knowledge a total stranger isn’t supposed to have, and that’s basically what I am to Landon now.  That’s what he made me into.    

Problem is, you can’t ever be strangers again.  Once you’re not, all the distance and time and changes in the world can’t undo it.    

“And your mom?”  I study him carefully over the rim of my mug, drinking so fast the tea can’t cool.  The brandy really is helping.  Not just my nerves (I realize now my hands are completely steady, and the nausea’s gone), but the crackle in the air, that awkwardness that keeps rearing its head whenever one of us speaks.  Maybe it’s not fixing it, but it is making it bearable.  “She still has her practice?”    

“Yep, same old.  Superwoman as usual.”  I might be imagining it, but I think he’s drinking faster, too.    

We keep the small talk going.  A little at a time, I notice the distance between us on the couch is shrinking.  Not because we’re moving closer, but because we’re relaxing.  Maintaining our perfect little bubbles of personal space seems less important.    

“Thank you for the tea.”  Landon drains his down to the dregs.  “It’s good.”    

“Courtesy of the secret ingredient.”  I refill his cup with a splash of straight brandy.

“Agreed,” he says, “but the tea itself really is good.”    

“I’ll pass your compliments along to the chef: my roommate made the blend herself.  She runs a tea business on the side.”    

“Roommate?”  Somehow, Landon lowers his voice even more.  “Should I go?  I don’t want to wake her.”    

“You can’t.  She sleeps through anything.”  I pour more brandy into my now-cold tea and let it singe my chapped lips.  “We got robbed last year and she was out cold the whole time.”    

“Shit,” he breathes.  “What’d they take?”    

“TV, stereo...nothing irreplaceable.  I stayed in my room and waited it out.”    

“Smart.”    

“Trust me, it’s not what I wanted to do.”    

He grins.  The sight of it slows my heart, and I don’t know why.    

Grief.  That’s what this feeling is.  More than I ever missed Landon as my friend, I missed him as his real self even more.  I missed his happiness, for his own sake.  Seeing just a fraction of it now is less of a relief, and more of a reminder that there used to be so, so much more.    

“Is that why you carry a stun gun now?” he asks, nodding at my purse on the floor where I left it when we first staggered inside, drunker on adrenaline than alcohol.  Now I’d say the latter’s winning out.  “Giving yourself more...options?”    

“That,” I exhale, “was purchased for nights exactly like this one.”  It’s impossible not to wince when I meet his eye and confess, “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a date end badly.  Though it is the first time I’ve had to actually use the stun gun, so.  Guess that’s something.  No matter how boring or dead-end a date is, it’s still better than ones like tonight.”    

“Wow.  That’s sad.”    

“Uh...okay?  I mean, granted, I’m obviously really bad at picking nice guys, but damn.”    

“Not what I meant.  It’s sad that guys are so statistically likely to be assholes, women have to play the odds and carry stuff like stun guns on dates.  That you count yourself lucky when a date turns out boring, because of how much worse it could be.”    

“Oh.”  My blood returns to its usual temperature.  I see him smirk as I relax.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to...assume.”    

“Don’t apologize.  I was stuck in the dating scene for a while, too.  I know how it goes: everyone making comments like it’s got to be your fault you can’t find someone, because you’re the common denominator.  Puts you on the defensive.”    

I can’t even try to hide how impressed I am at his insight.  “Exactly.”    

Landon picks up the brandy bottle, turning it idly in his hands.  “In case you need to hear it, by the way—it’s not your fault.”    

“Thanks.  I guess I know that logically, but after a night like tonight....”  I sigh and sink deeper into the cushions.  “It’s hard to keep that perspective.  Especially when all I keep thinking about is how I’ve turned down all these dates that, compared to this guy, were practically perfect.”    

“Well,” he chuckles, “that’s the problem with comparisons.  Set a low enough standard, and damn near everyone passes the test.”    

I hear myself laugh too, but my mind’s still caught up on something else he said.    

“You used the past tense.”  I nod towards him.  “You said, ‘I was stuck in the dating scene.’  Should I take that to mean you’ve successfully completed the search?”    

“Not even a little.”  He holds up his left hand.  I pretend the sight of his empty ring finger is news to me—that I didn’t subconsciously search for it, the second he walked to the front of the conference room at Frey.  “Decided to call off the search, at least for a while.”    

“Ah.  Definitely know how that goes.  To tell you the truth, I’m not really searching anymore, either.  Just dating for the sake of se—”    

My voice halts and evaporates.  I don’t know what’s worse: that my brain shut down before I could finish my sentence, or that it let me talk just long enough to give him all the context he needs.    

Sure enough, he shifts in his seat again and clears his throat.  The blank I left fills itself in.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, “don’t feel bad about it.  I’ve been there, too.”    

“Yeah?  Any advice for those of us still in the trenches?”    

“Not even a little.  But if you want my honest opinion, it’s actually harder to date that way.”    

This makes me sit up.  I’ve thought that exact same thing hundreds of times this year, but not a single person has echoed it.    

“Maybe that was just me, though,” he adds, shrugging, and that’s when I realize I was staring at him in motionless silence for a minute straight.    

I blink.  “No, no, I definitely get that.  That’s how I feel.”    

“Yeah?”    

“Totally.”  The tea’s made my tongue feel thicker, clumsier, but the alcohol’s loosened it.  That, and the adrenaline hangover I’m certain I now have.  I angle myself on the sofa to face him.  “Everyone tells you it’s simpler, dating just for sex.  Less frustrating.  You pick someone you’re attracted to, and that’s that.  No worrying over compatibility, shared goals, a–a spark....”    

While I speak, Landon nods almost imperceptibly.  

Almost.    

“But what nobody tells you is, you’re still going to look for those things.  Always.  Just in case they’re there.”  I let my head flop onto the back cushions, my arm stretched out underneath for support.  Distantly, I’m aware of how close my dangling hand is to his arm, also draped over the back of the sofa.    

“As long as there’s the possibility of those things existing,” he says, “you can’t help but search for them.”    

“Exactly.”  I point at him.  The very tip of my nail brushes his wrist.  “And then you end up losing that attraction, because now the person can’t check all those other boxes you weren’t even supposed to screen for.  So it’s like, the only real solution is—”    

“To choose someone who couldn’t possibly provide those things.”  

Landon finishes my sentence quietly, but confidently.  His eyes stare vaguely at our knees, drawn closer on the sofa than I remembered.     I go quiet.  

That isn’t what I was going to say: my solution, in fact, was to do exactly what he did.  Call off the search.  Wait for the spark to find you, if ever, instead of chasing it down in some app.    

“If you know from the start that someone can’t give you compatibility, or common goals, or a spark,” he goes on, seeming to talk to himself more than me, “you won’t look for those things in them.  That's the only way to make just-sex arrangements work.”    

“Huh.”  I sit up and right myself on the sofa, re-establishing a little of our distance.  Maybe it’s the buzz building in my brain...but he’s making a whole lot of sense.    

“Okay,” I challenge, “how do you find someone like that, then?  Without screening a person for those things, how are you supposed to learn whether or not they can’t possibly give them to you?”    

“You wouldn’t.  You go backwards.”    

I feel my brow furrow, then smooth when it all clicks.  “You don’t screen the people you find attractive,” I finish quietly, finding myself nodding.  “You try to find physical attraction with the ones you already know are undateable.”    

“Bingo.  And, theoretically speaking, that should be easy.  Everyone knows multiple people like that: ones they’d absolutely, never, ever end up with.”    

My throat’s gone dry again.  I finish my drink and stare at the leaves and dried fruit pieces clinging to the sides.  “But what if they’re looking for those things in you?”    

“They won’t.”  He gives me a quick glance, and the straightest face.  “A spark only happens both ways.”    

I can’t help my laugh.  “I’ve coached too many friends through breakups to agree with you on that one.”    

“True sparks,” he clarifies.  “Anything unrequited, that’s not a spark.  That isn’t love.  It’s a crush—just something to get over.”  He pauses and gets quiet again.  “No matter how much they feel like the real deal.”    

The air has that charge again.  I feel it travel to every filament of my hair, all over my body.    

“That’s what you screen for,” he says, folding his arms and sitting back, exhaustion softening his features.  “Someone who’s in it for the exact same reasons you are.  Just sex.  A connection from the waist down, and nothing more.”    

“Sounds like us.”    

Damn the liquor burning up my veins.  Damn this late, soul-draining night for making me so honest, and a generous dose of say-it-like-it-is from my father.    

Damn Landon’s mathematically perfect face and those eyes that make me act like I’ve never seen blue before.    

I wish I could fold my tongue up into origami and lock it away where it couldn’t cause any more damage, but the way he stares at me nixes that plan.  I start rambling.  “I meant...not that you find me—  It’s just that you’d fall into that category, for me at least, of knowing nothing could ever....  But I guess that’s a bad example, really, because of the history there—”    

“No, that’s...that’s a good example.”  Landon sits up straight and clears his throat again, pushing his hand through his hair.  I’m glad he grew it out since high school, even if I wish I didn’t notice how much better it suits his face.  How it almost softens all those harsh, calculated lines.  “You and I wouldn’t end up together, for a lot of reasons, one of which is simply that...we wouldn’t want to.”    

He looks at me again, and it takes me a beat too long to realize he’s waiting for my agreement.  I nod a little too eagerly.    

“So,” he finishes, “it’d just be a question of sexual attraction.”    

“Hmm.”  I nod again. A good example. But not a good idea.    

So why is it starting to feel like one?    

Landon would be a god-awful boyfriend.  All rules and protocol and painful memories I still can’t make sense of.  He wasn’t even a good friend, by the end of things.  And what I know of him now, none of that has changed.    

As for the sexual attraction element...I could see that.  I could definitely see that.  He's achingly attractive—emphasis on “ache,” because it physically hurts to look at him and ignore the burn between my legs, and that crash-cart flutter in my chest.    

I don’t want Landon Dune.  He doesn’t want me.  That will never change.    

And that’s exactly why he’d be the perfect guy to get in my bed.  

tentative release date:

late September 2021