Chapter One (Cara)

The bass from the stage is still in my bones.

I swear it’s in my bloodstream too, thump, thump, thump, like my heart synced itself to the beat and forgot how to come back down. Sweat sticks to my skin in glittery patches, my makeup feels like it’s melting into the curve of my jaw, and the lights backstage are too bright—way, way too bright.

Everything is warm and floaty and soft, like the whole world has been dipped in honey and someone tilted it sideways. My vision smears a little when I blink. God, I love this feeling. The crowd is still screaming my name on the other side of the curtain—CARA! CARA! CARA!—and it sounds like worship. My favorite drug.

I’m high on it.

And also just high-high.

I stumble a little in my boots as I make my way offstage, tugging at the hem of my sequined bodysuit. My manager, Dave, appears beside me like some anxious dad at Disney World who lost his kid for five minutes.

“There she is,” he breathes. “You were incredible.”

I grin. Or I think I do. My lips feel fuzzy. “I am incredible.”

“I know.” He swallows like he’s bracing himself. “And Cara… someone’s here to meet you.”

“Oh?” I perk up immediately. “Press? Fan? That hot drummer from the opener?”

“Your new security detail.”

…What?

The lights shift in weird halos as I focus on the tall figure behind him. Oh. Oh wow. He looks like someone carved a warning out of marble and dressed it in black. Black shirt stretched across a chest that should honestly be illegal, sleeves rolled to the elbows revealing tattooed forearms, black pants that do absolutely nothing to hide anything, black boots, black aura, black mood. His hair is shaved on the sides, the top longer, tousled, dark as ink. I can practically smell the danger radiating off him.

Dave clears his throat.

“Cara, this is Giovanni Costellanos. Your new protection.”

Giovanni. The name hits my ears like the opening notes of a dirty bassline.

I tilt my head. Or maybe my whole body tilts. It's hard to tell with the drugs humming through me. The floor does a lazy little dip and sway but Giovanni doesn’t move.

He just stands there solid and unshaken as I sway like a newborn baby deer in thigh-high boots. His brown eyes assess me in one slow sweep. It's not lustful or impressed. Just… aware.

He knows I’m high.

He sees it instantly.

“Hi,” I purr, dragging the word out like sugar melting on my tongue. “You’re… tall.”

Dave pinches the bridge of his nose. “Cara—”

But Giovanni’s voice cuts through the haze like a blade of cool steel. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am.

Who the hell calls me that?

I laugh. A little too loud. “Oh my God, don’t call me that. Makes me sound like… I don’t know… someone with a mortgage.”

His jaw ticks. “Cara, then.”

The way he says my name is wrong. It’s too steady. Too grounded. Like he’s anchoring himself because I’m drifting. I step closer. Maybe. The room floats, so it’s possible I’m imagining things.

“You’re really here for me?” I ask, smiling wickedly. “And here I thought gifts only came in glittery boxes.”

Dave elbows me lightly. “Cara.”

But Giovanni just watches me. Stoic. Boring. Big. Hot. Infuriating.

“I heard you did great on stage tonight,” he says simply.

Not a compliment.

More like an observation.

“Did you watch?” I ask, fluttering my lashes.

“No.”

Rude.

“Should have,” I huff. “I’m unforgettable.”

“I’m sure,” he replies, completely unmoved.

I narrow my eyes. Okay. Fine. Time to bring out the big guns. I step closer, sliding one finger lightly down the front of his shirt. His body is warm. He’s very, very real and very, very solid. He grabs my wrist before I finish the motion.

It's not painful or aggressive. Just firm.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “You’re not sober.”

The rejection slices through me sharper than it should. My smile falters. My heart stutters. I hate that it does.

“What?” I whisper, heat crawling up my throat. “You don’t want me?”

“Not like this,” he answers immediately. “Not ever if you’re high.”

My pulse spikes. Embarrassment burns the edges of my ears. Is he married?Taken? Straight-up blind?

“…Do you have a girlfriend?” I demand, lifting my chin.

“No.”

“A boyfriend?”

“No.”

“So what’s the problem?” I snap.

His expression doesn’t change. “I’m here to work. Not to sleep with my client.”

Client. That word hits harder than it should. The drugs make it echo in my skull like a reprimand.

I stumble back a step, spine locking up. “Right. Work. Got it.”

Dave, sensing my spiraling, steps in. “Let’s get you to wardrobe—”

“No,” I cut in sharply, glaring at Giovanni. “Actually, Dave? Is it too late to fire him?”

Dave groans. “Yes. Very. Considering your stalker sent another package today.”

Ugh. Right. The stalker. I’d forgotten about him because why remember real fear when I can float?

Dave continues, “Giovanni is highly trained. Former special ops. You’re keeping him.”

I glare at them both. “I don’t like him.”

Giovanni doesn’t react.

I toss my hair, ignoring the dizzy tilt of the room, and spit out, “Try not to bore me to death, Giovanni.”

Then I turn on my heel, wobbling just once, and stomp, well, weave, my way toward wardrobe.

Behind me, I hear Dave sigh. I don’t hear Giovanni say a thing. Which somehow pisses me off even more.

***

The night air slaps me in the face the second we step outside.

It’s cold and sharp and way too real, cutting straight through the haze that’s been keeping all my feelings nicely padded. Giovanni’s hand is on my elbow it's steady, careful, annoyingly gentle as he guides me toward the blacked-out SUV parked behind the venue. The thing looks like a rolling tank. I trip on absolutely nothing, and Giovanni catches me by the waist like it’s effortless.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

Oh, great. His voice is low and calm and warm enough that I instantly hate him for it.

“I’m fine,” I snap, even though my knees wobble as he helps me into the backseat.

The interior smells like leather and something crisp cedar, maybe. It’s so dark and sleek it almost feels like a confession booth. Giovanni slides in beside me, shutting the door with a soft click, and taps twice on the tinted divider. The SUV starts moving.

He sits with his hands on his thighs, posture straight, attention forward. Like a goddamn statue. A very attractive, very annoying statue. I ignore him. I unlock my phone and open a dating app immediately.

Swipe.

Swipe.

Swipe.

He doesn’t react for a whole minute, which irritates the hell out of me. Finally, in that calm, steady voice:

“What are you doing?”

“Shopping,” I say sweetly. “For sex.”

His jaw flexes. “It’s not safe.”

“Oh, wow,” I whisper dramatically. “Dad number four thousand and eighty-two has entered the chat.”

He doesn’t rise to it. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” I mutter, swiping left again. “I want someone hot and uncomplicated. Preferably with very low expectations and very good stamina.”

I’m not even sure if I mean it.

Everything inside me is twisted and buzzing part high, part humiliation, part… him. His rejection hits harder now, numbing haze fading. It shouldn’t matter but it does.

“Cara.” Giovanni’s voice deepens into something firmer. “It’s a bad idea.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a hookup, not a hostage negotiation.”

“You could end up kidnapped. Raped. Dead.”

“Wow,” I bark out a laugh. “Way to kill the mood, GI Joe.”

“Giovanni.”

“Whatever.”

Another swipe. Another face I won’t remember tomorrow. The SUV hits a bump and I lose my grip on my phone. It falls to the floor with a clatter.

“Fine,” I mutter, crossing my arms and slumping back into the seat. “I’ll be celibate forever. Happy?”

Silence. Real silence. I can feel him glaring at the side of my face, but I refuse to look at him. I glare at my own reflection instead in the dark window. I have smudged makeup, wild hair, and my eyes too bright. I look like a mess with glitter duct-taped to it.

After a full minute of tense quiet, I say flatly:

“Why are you so boring?”

Giovanni exhales it’s a sharp, sudden sound and then he actually laughs. Laughs. Holy shit. It’s low and startled, like the first crack in a wall that’s never been touched. The sound hits me like a spark to dry tinder.

My heart jumps.

“…What’s funny?” I demand.

He shakes his head once. “Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.” I lean in closer. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“Cara,” he warns softly.

The way he says my name does something stupid to my stomach.

“Fine,” I grumble, flopping back in my seat. “You’re annoying.”

“No,” he says quietly. “Just focused.”

Focused on what? Is it my stalker or my safety? Because it's not on me. At least not in the way I want. The SUV slows as we pull into my driveway long, gated, winding. My mansion glows at the top of the hill like a lonely lighthouse. Giovanni reaches across me to unbuckle my seatbelt and that’s when it happens his forearm brushes my ribs, his chest is inches from mine, and his scent is clean, smoked vanilla, and male as it wraps around me like a hand at the back of my neck.

I freeze. He freezes. His fingers hover at the buckle. His breath ghosts my cheek. For half a second, half a heartbeat, I swear he’s about to kiss me. My lips part. The air between us thickens, sweet and electric. Then the seatbelt clicks free, and he’s gone, back on his side of the SUV, expression completely unreadable. The moment shatters.

“Let’s get you inside,” he says, voice cool again.

I hate him. I hate how calm he is, I hate his restraint, and the the space he puts between us like nothing just happened, but mostly? I hate that for one second…I hoped he’d close the distance.