CHAPTER TWO

CRACKS

All the years I've known Camille, she has adored her father, unlike most daughters. I heard him in almost every conversation, and among the list of the people she loved, he was number one.

But I had never met him until that moment he drove into the beach house.

Twenty-four hours in this house, and Alexander Moreau existed only in fragments, annoyingly so. A closed door at the end of a hallway, a car that appeared and disappeared, and Camille's casual mentions.

Dad's in Nice today.

Dad's flying back late.

Dad's already left for his run; you just missed him.

Just missed him. Like I was keeping track when I wasn't keeping track.

Except I absolutely was.

Lying in bed at midnight, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop my brain from wandering.

Did he always look that sinful, or was yesterday a special occasion? Are his eyes that blue, or was he wearing contact lenses? What's the size of his palm compared to mine? What would those lips taste like?

Stop it.

I grabbed my phone, scrolled to Julien's contact, and pressed call before I could think better of it.

He answered on the fourth ring. "Isabella? It's midnight."

"I know, I couldn't sleep."

There was a pause, and I could picture him frowning at his watch, calculating lost sleep hours.

"Everything okay?"

"Just wanted to hear your voice."

A longer pause. "I have an early presentation. Can we talk tomorrow?"

My chest tightened. "Sure. Go back to sleep."

"I'll call you tomorrow." A beat. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Forty-three seconds. That's how long my boyfriend of two years had for me. I stared at my phone until the screen went dark. Then I grabbed my robe and stormed to Camille's room.

She was awake, of course she was, scrolling through her phone in the dark, and took one look at my face before patting the bed.

"You okay?" She asked, popping a grape into her mouth from the bowl on her nightstand. "You look like a train ran right through you."

"Just tired."

"Bullshit." She sat up fully, pulling her knees to her chest. "This is me, Izzy. Talk."

I wanted to. God, part of me wanted to spill everything. The way I keep replaying his voice, the way my skin prickled every time I saw him, and the fact that I'd dreamed about him and woken up feeling guilty and hungry all at once.

But what was I supposed to say? Hey, I think I'm weirdly attracted to your forty-seven-year-old father? No big deal, right?

"I think Julien's mad at me," I said instead.

It wasn't even a lie. Just not the whole truth.

Camille snorted. "He's an asshole."

"You don't even know what happened."

"Don't need to." She popped another grape into her mouth. "With Julien, it's always the same thing. You reach out, and he pulls back. You need warmth; he gives you spreadsheets. The man has the emotional temperature of a houseplant."

I laughed despite myself. "You've called him that before."

"Because it's true." She tossed a grape at me. I caught it. "What did he do this time?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. I called because I couldn't sleep, and he made me feel like an inconvenience for existing."

"Mmm." She chewed thoughtfully. "You know what your problem is?"

"Enlighten me."

"You're too loyal. You've been with him since college, so you think you have to stay. But babe-" she grabbed my hand-"staying somewhere just because you've been there a long time? That's not love. That's a lease agreement."

What the hell is she saying?

"Also," she added, grinning now, "you need to meet the guys in this town. Julien won't stand a chance."

"Are you teaching me how to cheat?" I asked with raised eyebrows.

She ticked, raising her index finger and moving it sideways. "I'm teaching you how to be free. There's a difference."

My stomach flipped. "Camille-"

"I'm just saying. Ninety days of sun, champagne, and zero emotional constipation. It's going to recalibrate your standards." She squeezed my hand. "Just go to sleep, and tomorrow we can go men-hunting."

I went back to my room and lay there, closing my eyes and trying to sleep. Closing my eyes didn't work, so I opened them and stared at the ceiling.

At 2:47 AM, I gave up. I need a drink or something.

The hallway was dark and silent. Camille's door stayed shut as I walked past it, tiptoeing not to wake her light-sleeping head. I needed to move, to shake whatever this was crawling under my skin. Maybe I could do that with a cup of coffee.

The kitchen was dark when I pushed through the door. I felt for the light switch and found it. But when I turned it on, I froze.

The man that had taken over my thoughts like it was his birthright was standing at the counter, glass in hand and backlit by the moon through the window.

Alexander Moreau was in pajama pants, barefoot, and bare-chested. Silver at his temples catching the faint glow. And his eyes-God, his eyes-were exactly as blue as I first saw. It wasn't a lens, and it was even... Bluer.

Winter sky and midnight and something else, something that locked onto me the second I walked in.

The light was on now. We both knew I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen him. He didn't move, and neither did I. The silence stretched between us like we both knew something we weren't ready to say or admit.

Then his lips curved slightly into something that looked like a smile and a smirk mixed together.

And I knew I was already in trouble.

Eighty-eight more days, and I'd just walk into his kitchen at 3 AM looking like this.

His eyes dropped to my robe, paused, and lifted back to mine.

"Isabella," he said quietly, my name rolling off his tongue like a practiced music note.

I forgot how to breathe.

CHAPTER THREE

PLAYING WITH FIRE

I forgot how to breathe.

Alexander Moreau stood three feet away, bare-chested in the moonlight, and my lungs simply stopped working. It was like my lungs had decided oxygen was optional now that he was in the room.

His eyes hadn't left mine.

"Isabella," he said my name again, slower this time. "It's three in the morning."

"I know what time it is."

"Then what are you doing here?"

I should have lied and mumbled something about water and fled back to my room like any sane person would. But my mouth was faster than my brain.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why?"

Because I can't stop thinking about you, and you've invaded my brain like a virus.

"I just..." I gestured vaguely. "Jet lag. New place. You know how it is."

"No." He set down his glass and turned fully toward me. "I don't. Tell me."

I crossed my arms over my chest, which only drew his eyes there for half a second before they snapped back to my face.

"You're staring," I said.

"So are you."

He wasn't wrong. I couldn't stop. I mean, he was a whole meal.

"Everyone stares at you," I managed. "Camille said you have that effect."

"Camille talks too much."

"She loves you."

Something flickered in his expression. That father love was so clear in his eyes it made me jealous.

"I know."

Silence hit the room, and I knew deep within me that I should go, but my feet refused to move. And again, my mouth worked before my brain did.

"You should put on a shirt."

His eyebrows rose, complete surprise crossing his face. I had no idea where those words came from.

"Should I?"

"It's distracting."

Oh God... shut up, Izzy.

"Noted." He said without making a move. "You should tie your robe properly."

I looked down. The sash had come loose somewhere between my room and here. The fabric gaped, revealing the thin material of my nightgown, the curve of my...

I yanked it closed so fast I nearly tripped as his smile widened.

"Now we're even," he said.

"That wasn't-I didn't mean to-"

"I know." He picked up his glass again, took a slow sip, and watched me over the rim.

I let out a slow breath to loosen the knot that was tightening in my lower abdomen.

"What are you doing awake? Couldn't sleep either?"

"No."

"Why?"

He considered me for a long moment, long enough that I felt it in my chest, that slow, assessing gaze that made me feel like the only person in the world.

"Business," he said finally. "Complicated business. A phone call I didn't want Camille to hear."

"Your ex-wife?"

His eyes darkened. "How do you know about Élise?"

"Camille talks. Remember?"

"Right." He set down the glass again and crossed his arms over that ridiculous chest, which only made the muscles shift in ways that should be illegal. "What else has Camille told you?"

"That you're her favorite person, your divorce was brutal, you work too much, and you don't date enough."

"Don't date enough?" A genuine smile escaped his mouth. "My daughter worries about my love life?"

"She worries about you. There's a difference."

He studied me again, longer than I expected, and I had to shift on my feet to feel comfortable under his gaze.

"You're different than I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Someone quieter. Someone who'd look away."

"I looked away."

"No." He stepped closer. Just one step, but it felt like ten. "You stared. You're still staring. You've been staring since you walked through that door."

My heart hammered. "So have you."

"True." He took another step and moved closer, close enough that I could smell him-soap and something darker, something that made my knees weak. "But I'm old enough to know better."

"Are you?"

"Apparently not." His eyes dropped to my lips. Just for a second. "You should go back to bed, Isabella."

I should. I absolutely should.

"What if I don't want to?"

The words came out before I could stop them. Bold, stupid, and honest. Something shifted in his expression; the controlled mask cracked, and underneath it was hunger. Raw and barely leashed.

"Isabella." His voice had dropped. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Then tell me."

"You're my daughter's best friend."

"I know."

"You're twenty-four."

"I know that too."

"You have a boyfriend."

That seemed to strike a guilt chord, and I winced, something he noticed.

"For now," I whispered.

His jaw tightened. "That doesn't matter; none of it does. I can't have anything to do with you. It'll be-"

"What?"

"Complicated." He stepped back, putting distance between us. "More complicated than you want to deal with."

I should have let it go, nodded, smiled, and retreated. Instead, I stepped forward.

"What if I don't care about complicated?"

"Then you're naive."

"Maybe." I took another step closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Or maybe I just know what I want."

His breath caught, and I saw the smallest crack in that perfect control.

"What do you want, Isabella?"

The question hung in the air between us. It was heavy, electrifying, and terrifying at the same time.

What do I want? Him to break his restraint and do exactly what I've been thinking since I laid eyes on him? Have him on top of me and have me squirm beneath him like I wasn't his daughter's best friend?

What are you even doing, Izzy? You have a boyfriend, remember!

My head was swimming with different questions at once, and the last two were trying to be as loud as they possibly could.

Before I opened my mouth to speak again, he stepped closer, leaving no space between us. His natural scent invaded my nostrils, and my brain shut down again.

His voice was thick and dark with everything I wanted. "What do you want, Isabella?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but a door opened somewhere down the hall.

CHAPTER FOUR

DANGLING BY A THREAD

Camille's voice disrupted the whole air, seeping into my ears. "Izzy? Are you up?"

I jumped back so fast I slammed into the counter. The pain barely registered; all I could feel was the space between us now.

Alexander moved like water, calm and controlled, and by the time Camille's footsteps reached the doorway, he was leaning against the far counter, glass in hand with a perfectly neutral expression.

"There you are." Camille appeared in the doorway, squinting against the light. Her eyes bounced between us. "What's going on?"

"I couldn't sleep." My voice came out too high, so I cleared my throat. "Came to get water."

"Both of you?"

"Your father was already here." I forced a laugh. "Scared the hell out of me, actually. Walked in and there he was, all..." I gestured vaguely at his chest, then remembered he'd put on a shirt. Thank God. "You know."

Camille's gaze lingered on her father, then she yawned. "This house is huge, and you two manage to pick the same room at 3 AM. Typical."

"Great minds," Alexander said smoothly. "Your friend was just leaving."

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, for show, and headed for the door.

I didn't sleep.

At 7 AM, I gave up and dragged myself to the terrace. The sunrise was obscene, all gold and pink and purple, like the universe was showing off. I slumped into a lounge chair and pressed my palms against my eyes.

What do you want, Isabella?

His voice echoed in my head repeatedly. I knew what I wanted; that was the problem.

"You look like death."

I dropped my hands to see Camille holding two cups of coffee. She handed me one and collapsed into the chair beside me.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I asked.

"Woke up and couldn't get back." She sipped her coffee. "Why couldn't you sleep? Everything okay?"

No, everything is not okay. I think I'm obsessed with your father.

"Fine," I said. "Just jet lag still."

"Mmm." She was quiet for a moment before disappointing words left her mouth.

"My father's leaving today."

My heart dropped instantly to the pit of my stomach. "What?"

"Business in Paris. He has an emergency meeting with the foundation board. He'll be gone a few days." She shrugged. "Probably for the best; he's intense to have around."

He was just going to disappear for a few days?

Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest. " When?"

"This afternoon." She stretched. "Which means we have the house to ourselves again. Pool day?"

"Sure," I heard myself agree, but my brain was stuck on loop.

He's leaving. He's leaving, and I won't see him for days. That should be good, right? I mean, distance is good. Then why did it feel like losing something I never had?

I spent the day avoiding thoughts of him.

Pool. Lunch. More pool. Camille talked about her painter, I pretended to listen, and every time a car passed on the road below, my head snapped up like a trained dog.

You're pathetic, Isla.

At 4 PM, I heard the low sound of an engine and the crunch of gravel.

I ran to the window like a child deprived of freedom. But I stopped just before I got to the glass. I didn't need to look as pathetic as I felt.

He stepped out, phone pressed to his ear, leather bag slung over one shoulder. He was saying something in French, then he paused and looked up. Straight at me.

Even from this distance, even through the heat shimmer rising from the driveway, I felt the weight of that look.

He didn't wave-not like I expected him to. He didn't smile either; he just held my gaze for one endless second before turning toward the house.

___

"You came here for a vacation, and all you want to do is stay cooped up in this room?" Camille asked for the hundredth time because I refused to go with her to a party.

"That's not what it is. I'm just not in the mood for a party," I said for the hundredth time.

She hummed, squinting her eyes as she used her index finger to tap her chin like she was in a deep thought.

"Being too long in a relationship with Julien is beginning to rub off on you."

I rolled my eyes and just kept quiet. I had run out of answers to give to her.

"Fine. Soothe yourself. Marry your sheets."

Finally, she walked out, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I'd barely gotten two thoughts in when my phone began to buzz.

I picked it up, and it was... Julien?

"Hey, baby."

He sounded so foreign to my ears.

"Umm... hi, I didn't expect to see your call."

He let out a sigh. "I know. I just felt guilty for the way I wrote you off. I'm sorry, my love."

His words instantly placed a smile on my face, and I was reminded why I was still in a relationship with him. Reminded that he was all I needed.

"It's been barely three days, and I miss you already."

I hugged my pillow at his words, tucking my hair behind my ear. Julien and I spoke for the longest time. Twenty minutes! And we were still going.

Then my phone buzzed with an indication of a text message. I pulled my phone away from my ear with a frown on my face and placed Julien's call on loudspeaker.

The message was from an unknown number. My frown deepened.

Unknown number: I'll be back before you know it. Stay out of trouble.

I stared at the message and instantly knew who it was from. He'd gotten my number. From Camille? From somewhere else? And he texted me?

He sounded like we had done something when we didn't. We only exchanged about fifty words and stood close in a kitchen.

That was all.

So why the hell do I feel excited? And my resolve had flown through the window.