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PROLOGUE

Lexi

Tonight, I’m someone I barely recognize. A fraud in fake designer heels. A stranger in my own skin.

It’s wild how just a few hours of craziness can flip your entire world upside down.

This morning, had you asked me about my grand plans for the night, I’d have confidently said I was destined for a glamorous evening sprawled on the couch, ready for a Million Dollar Listing binge-fest with my little sister, Grace. Decked out in my most tragically holey sweats and the kind of underwear that screams “here to support a full bush, not lure in a lover.”

We’d be shoveling chips into our mouths, while we live vicariously through the disgustingly rich. Pretending just for a moment that we’re the ones rolling in money.

But instead, here I am.

Pinned against a wall in a swanky hotel bathroom by New York’s most notorious playboy. Pulse jackhammering as I straddle the line between sheer panic and twisted arousal.

It’s the kind of questionable decision you make when you’re not thinking straight.

His muscular forearm presses against the wall, right next to my head. The graze of his dark stubble sends shivers down my spine as he claims my mouth ruthlessly.

I taste whiskey on his tongue, inhale his intoxicating masculine scent as he presses the full length of his hard body against me.

His kiss is rough, frenzied, fueled by some inner turmoil.

The kind of fierce lip-lock that electrifies every nerve in my body from lips to toes and all the good bits in between.

For a moment, I forget about wanting to knee him in the balls just minutes ago. Now, I’m struggling to resist as his skilled hands roam dangerously close to my underwear.

A groan rumbles through his chest as he grips my hips possessively, using his muscular thigh to force my legs wider.

Those rock-solid muscles imprint through my flimsy dress, his thick arousal pressing relentlessly against me. His rough hands, with their sexy veins, ignite dangerous levels of tingly heat on me everywhere they touch.

Our heavy breathing echoes off the walls, a hot and filthy soundtrack.

It’s all too intense, too visceral.

He’d ruin me if he knew my true intentions. I’ve caught him in an unguarded moment, a slim chance to get what I need.

There’s no time for guilt, no room for second-guessing. I just need to get in, get what I came for, and get out.

My shaking fingers slip into his pocket while my pounding heart threatens to give me away. Surely, he senses my fear. I’m one gasp from passing out into his sexy mouth.

I wish it weren’t like this. Karma will surely savage me—she always collects her debts.

I’m not a bad person, I swear. Just a girl making questionable life choices in a shit situation. Like a cornered rat, or hopefully something cuter. Maybe a distressed raccoon, scavenging through life’s garbage cans, searching for a decent meal.

My fingers trail his flexing back, distracting him while my other hand digs deeper into his pocket. Tracing those defined muscles . . . searching . . . until at last . . .

Jackpot.

I wrap my fingers around the small prize, prying it free.

I’ve done it.

Breathless, I break the kiss.

Tonight, I’m someone new. Someone I can never come back from.

Because tonight, I’m a brazen thief.

And when he figures it out, I better be long gone.

ONE

Earlier that day . . .

Lexi

The first thing Grace and I see walking into Sunnyhill Assisted Living home is Sean Connery. Not the ghost of the legendary heartthrob here to charm the residents—rather, a life-sized poster of the classic Connery, sporting a red mankini, iconic mustache, and enough chest hair to upholster a sofa.

“Bet you ten bucks we can guess who put that up,” I mutter to Grace.

We make our way through the beige lounge reeking of Glade plug-ins and meatloaf. Again, I question why this place costs us a liver and leg every month.

No amount of lavender potpourri can mask the depressing reality—this is Mom’s “home.” One we can barely afford thanks to her crap retirement planning and my perpetually broke status. It’s a miracle I’ve kept her here this long, pulling money out of my ass.

I hear her booming voice before I spot her—another miracle given her fight with inflammatory lung disease, COPD. She’s holding court smack in the middle of a group of paintbrush-wielding ladies, like she’s the queen bee here. She’s skin and bones these days, like a scrawny baby bird.

My guts twist with guilt every time I visit Sunnyhell. Guilt that she’s trapped in this place at sixty-five, instead of being home with us. Guilt I can’t earn enough to care for her myself—especially with the high-tech babysitting her oxygen levels need, not to mention the whole nighttime oxygen therapy. Guilt that I harbor resentment for her crap planning dumping this on me. And then there’s the deeper guilt, boiling beneath it all—a simmering anger that a lifetime of smoking has led to this, despite all the warnings she received

“It was fashionable back then,” she likes to tell me, as if that somehow absolves her from all responsibility. Now the damage is done, COPD stealing her freedom.

Mom should be sipping mimosas on a beach, flirting with a Sean Connery cabana boy doppelgänger. Not painting ’staches with Lynda who keeps forgetting her own freaking name.

I plaster on a smile, playing dutiful daughter, and shove my ugly thoughts down deep.

“My fabulous girls are here!” Mom rasps at top volume, grabbing everyone’s attention. She turns to her painting pal. “Move it over, Tricia, darling, make room for my girls!”

She’s telling, not asking, as she shoves Tricia’s wheelchair aside with a noise that makes my teeth grind.

I cringe as Manager Lady Brenda glares across the lounge. Grabbing Grace’s hand, we make a beeline to Mom before she causes a scene. Well, an even bigger one.

“Really, assault and battery today?” I force lightness into my tone.

She waves it off breezily. “Oh please, she’s practically bionic! Right, Tricia?”

I give Tricia a consoling pat, but she just grins. “I’m tougher than I look, kiddo.”

Mom beams, triumphant in her right to mow down rest home residents without consequence. I swallow down familiar emotions and paste on a smile as we exchange kisses. Happy face.