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By:Angela Claire

Chapter One

Evan Reynolds lived in a lighthouse on his own private island. And that wasn’t even the most interesting thing about him. The most interesting thing about him was that he had somehow managed to get past her usual defenses. And he’d done it within five minutes of meeting her.

Andrea Prentiss only hoped that wasn’t because he had thought she was a whore—and treated her like one.

She contemplated the candy in the hospital waiting-room vending machine. Not one to indulge, she nonetheless knew when life merited a chocolate bar. Her powerful boss Michael Reynolds was lying flat on his back from a gunshot wound and her recent hook-up, his brother Evan, was glowering at her in the presence of his whole family—now was certainly the time.

The only pertinent question was nuts or no nuts.

She stared through the glass of the candy machine at her choices but saw only him. Evan Reynolds. He was handsome. All five Reynolds brothers were, in surprisingly different ways, their only similarity being that they were all tall and lean. Unlike Michael, who was black-haired and blue-eyed, Evan had brown hair, mahogany she believed it was called, with green eyes and a healthy tan from what she knew was a life spent a lot of the time outdoors. And he was younger than Michael. No more than twenty-eight or so. If Michael Reynolds emanated stern power, Evan exuded more of a laid-back vibe. When Andrea met him at his father’s party, he’d been dressed in a sweater and chinos, while every other guy there had on a tux. But rather than looking out of place or underdressed, he looked completely at ease and in control. As if he didn’t give a damn. And from what she knew of Evan Reynolds, that was certainly true. Big money on both sides of the family did that to a person. She should certainly know.

Andrea was no more than quietly amused when Evan seemed to think she was someone else at the party. A blind date had been her immediate take on it, although why a man as good-looking as this one would need a blind date was a mystery to her. As he hustled her up the staircase at the Reynolds mansion, though, she detected something more urgent, and blatant, than a blind date. By the time he had her behind closed doors in a guest bedroom, throwing condoms on a table and ordering her to strip, she had figured out what was really going on.

Evan Reynolds had mistaken her for a whore. One he had apparently ordered up to be delivered to the party like a flower arrangement or a tray of petit fours.

It should have made her disdainful, or at the very least indifferent. But it didn’t. Incredibly enough, as she stood there watching him take his clothes off without any pretense, it made her—hot. Something Andrea Prentiss had never in her life been accused of.

On the contrary, she was cold. An ice princess. A dozen guys had called her that to her face and countless more undoubtedly did so behind her back.

But when Evan Reynolds skimmed his long, warm fingers along her collarbone and kissed her, the stab of longing she felt had taken her completely off guard. So much so that he was naked, a huge erection pointing right at her, before she realized how tricky it was going to be to extricate herself from the situation.

And even more shockingly, how much she didn’t want to.

* * * * *

Evan Reynolds could certainly kiss, although she didn’t have much to compare it with, admittedly. Her lips still tingled from the light exploration of his tongue and she was tempted to put a finger up to them just to make sure they were really hers. But the thought came and went as she realized he was naked now. How did a person undress so very fast?

“I haven’t been laid in quite some time and you are just what the doctor ordered.”

She stared, open mouthed, at his naked body and most especially his erect cock. God, it was beautiful. He was beautiful, tanned all over, attesting to the fact that he must sunbathe in the nude on that private island of his. All lean muscle and sleek angles, he looked like some Greek god statue from her long-ago childhood.

Years of erecting a frosty exterior as the “Perfect Miss Prentiss” failed her in the face of something as elemental as this naked man. She wanted to touch him. She had to touch him. Bringing her hands to his slim hips and then in front, she clasped his cock slowly, lightly, looking down at it. Silky, smooth, but so very hard, it pulsed in her hand. He sucked in a breath, the side of his mouth going up in a sexy half-smile, as she instinctively tugged at the head, swirling a bead of pre-cum around it with her thumb, before he batted her hand away with a laugh. “None of that. I can’t take it right now.”

He tore off a condom package from the string and ripped it open. “Take your dress off. I like to fuck naked, if that’s okay with you.” He rolled the condom on, the gesture practiced and no-nonsense but a turn-on nonetheless, and she watched, not quite admitting that she might go through with this but not quite able to stop it. Not yet anyway.