LESSONS IN GRAVITY (Study Abroad #2) Cover Reveal & First Chapter!

Today marks the launch of my shiny new website.  I'm a little obsessed; I love the colors and the fun little touches.  The previous web designer I'd used was getting too expensive, and I thought with the launch of a new series – and a new indie career – my site needed a little facelift.  So I hired a new designer and went with a new look.  Hope you like it!

Anywho, I've been hiding out in my editing cave these past few weeks getting book #2 of the STUDY ABROAD series, LESSONS IN GRAVITY, ready for publication on March 15.  This book was TOUGH to write, but after a couple rounds of edits, I knew I did something right when my editor texted me and said she couldn't stop reading, even though her little guy was sick and she hadn't slept.  I'm super, super proud of Maddie and Javier's story – I think you'll like it!  Keep reading for a (very steamy – fair warning!) sneak peek.  You can preorder it on Amazon, iBooks, and Kobo now.  Also, isn't the cover ridiculously hot?

Maddie Lucas is only looking for a one night stand…

While studying in Spain for her semester abroad, Maddie hopes to escape the drama surrounding her parents’ divorce—a divorce she may or may not have caused—while researching Spanish architecture for her thesis. And if she hooks up with hot Madrileños along the way? All the better.

But handsome Spaniard Javier Montoya wants so much more.

Guitarist Javier is ready to set aside his rock star ways and settle down for good with his gorgeous ex-girlfriend. But after a one night stand with sexy, passionate Maddie blossoms into genuine friendship, he begins to wonder if Maddie might be the forever girl he’s looking for.

Too bad Maddie believes forever is more fiction than fairy tale. Can Javier prove to her that fairy tales exist? Or is Maddie right to think she doesn’t deserve happily ever after?

Prologue

Maddie

 

August

Atlanta, Georgia

 

I crank my cranky old Volvo into park on the driveway. Looking up, I see my dad’s BMW parked in front of the garage, gleaming beneath the hot stare of the Georgia sun.

That’s weird. He’s supposed to be at work. Dad rarely, if ever, gets home before seven on weeknights. What is he doing home at three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon?

I look at our house through my grimy windshield. It looks the same as it always does: an enormous, graceful sweep of limestone and shutters and cedar shake. The prettiest house in the neighborhood. A dream house, where my parents made their dreams come true. It’s actually what spurred my interest in architecture. I dream of designing a smaller but just as perfect house for the family I’ll raise there someday.

Everything looks fine. But as I duck out of my car, the heat gripping me in its oven-like vise, I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

That something bad is about to happen.

Stop it, I tell myself. It’s just leftover nerves from a manic summer internship. Today was my last day at a small residential builder. I wasn’t crazy about it, to be honest. But for the most part, the really good internships—the ones at the big architecture firms—are reserved for rising college seniors, and I’ll only be a junior this year. Luckily my dad has contacts at a few firms here in Atlanta, and he’s promised to help me land a primo internship for next summer.

That kind of internship will help me stand out when I apply to grad school. So will a really solid thesis—a thesis that explores historic preservation, maybe, or sustainable development. The more esoteric and complex the subject matter, the better. Most of my peers are focusing their research on sites here in the states, but I want to focus on something much different—a site I really, really hope to find during my upcoming semester abroad in Madrid. I mean, what’s cooler or more complex than a city that’s close to a thousand years old?

I enter through the side door. The house is cool and quiet. Too quiet.

Holding my breath, I creep down the hall. Past the cavernous butler’s pantry, the wine room, the powder room with the hand-painted French wallpaper that landed our house on the cover of Beautiful Homes and Gardens. I see two crystal tumblers, one empty, the other filled with a few fingers of brown liquor on the kitchen counter.

Huh.

            I look up at a muffled thud from the floor above, followed by a trill of female laughter. My parents’ bedroom. They must be doing—ew, ew, ew—only God knows what.

Apparently dad came home for a little afternoon delight. A quick drink and a quicker you-know-what.

Seriously ew.

I hurry down the hall to the family room, plopping on the couch and digging my phone out of my bag. I can’t shove the ear buds into my ears fast enough; the laughter has devolved to muffled moaning. I was unaware my mom could make sounds like that.

I mean, I get it, it’s probably a good thing my parents are still doing it. Their marriage is pretty perfect.

Still. The ick factor of hearing your parents go at it is a million times many more millions. So until they…uh, finish…I will be downstairs, and not in my room just down the hall from their bedroom door.

Blasting some country music, I catch up on texts, social media stuff, some emails about Madrid (I leave in less than a week!). I’m more excited than nervous, but I feel a little bit like I did the summer before I started my freshman year at Meryton University. I’m anxious to know what my new life is going to be like; I’m uneasy about leaving behind a pretty sweet and cushy life here.

I glance up from my phone, blinking, and see my dad making his way down the back staircase. He’s tugging at the fly of his khakis.

I blink again when I see a dark-haired woman following closely behind him. She’s buttoning up her shirt.

She is not my mother.

My heart kicks against my ribs, a hollow, panicked beat as the realization hits me. Someone was definitely doing it upstairs with my dad.

That someone wasn’t my mom.

My dad is sleeping with a woman who is not my mother.

            The saliva in my mouth thickens. Holy shit.

He draws up short when his eyes catch on mine.

“Maddie,” he says.

“Oh, Christ,” the woman mutters, and turns to scurry back up the stairs.

“Dad?” I say. My voice trembles. I feel like I’m getting sucked into the hole that just opened up inside me.

He hooks his belt through its monogrammed buckle as he descends the last step.

“It’s not what you think,” he says. “Before you misunderstand what you just saw—”

“What is there to misunderstand?” I rip the ear buds from my ears with fingers that shake. “What the fuck, dad?”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way—”

“Who is she?” I say. “How long? I don’t understand.”

I don’t. Our friends call my parents Barbie and Ken. They are perfect in every way. Even their meet cute is perfect: they met at a tailgate at the University of Georgia, when dad’s fraternity and mom’s sorority set up camp beside each other in a parking lot outside the stadium. Dad proposed the day after they graduated on the fifty-yard line.

“Like something out of a fairy tale,” my grandmother said.

A fairy tale I believe in. Deeply. Passionately.

A fairy tale I want for myself—the happy marriage, the pretty house, the two kids and the dog and the white picket fence. Say all you want about true love and how it only exists in the movies, but I disagree. My parents share that kind of love.

Only they don’t, I guess. Maybe they never did.

My dad is sleeping with someone who isn’t my mother.

My dad levels me with his gaze from across the room. The look in his eyes makes my pulse run cold. He doesn’t look repentant, or embarrassed; he doesn’t show any of the emotions you would expect to see in a man just caught cheating on his wife of twenty-five years.

He looks angry. Disgusted even—not with himself, but with me.

He’s never looked at me like this before.

“You listen to me, Madeline.” His voice, like his eyes, is cold, calm. “This is an adult matter. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. Forget what you saw. You won’t speak of it again, understand? You are not to tell anyone.”

I am frozen, stuck shaking on the couch. Who is this man? I don’t recognize him. The man looking at me like I’m dog shit on his shoe—saying such horrible, mean things to me—he’s not the man who raised me.

He’s not my father.

“Are you serious?” I manage. “You really think I’m not going to tell mom?”

Dad takes a step toward me. We’re still a couple of feet apart, but that one step makes a world of difference. I feel like he’s hovering over me, pinning me to the couch with his quiet, confident anger.

“If you tell your mother, you’ll ruin everything she loves. Everything she’s worked for—you and I both know this family is her life. You take that away from her, and she’ll be left with nothing.”

I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. I won’t cry in front of him.

I won’t cry. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how terrified I am. How confused that he’s putting me at fault for his mistake.

“Who do you think pays her bills? Your bills?” he continues. “Don’t you forget that I’m paying for your education. You’re getting the money for your semester in Spain from me. Don’t screw all that up by opening your mouth.”

He takes another step closer. “You tell your mother, and you’ll destroy this family. You’re a smart girl, Maddie. I know you’ll do the smart thing.”

Chapter 1

Maddie

 

November

Madrid, Spain

 

Tucking my chin into the collar of my jacket, I step inside Ático. A pleasant shiver arrows up my spine as the heat inside my favorite discoteca hits me. The potent smells of liquor and cologne, along with a hint of sweat, fill my head. Considering the week—the semester, really—that I’ve had, a drink sounds downright heavenly.

I take a deep breath. My heart feels heavy and sore. Par for the course these days. Considering I was the one who basically caused it, I can’t get past my parents’ divorce. Mom’s depression and my dad’s newfound cruelness have left me reeling. Of course I told mom about dad and that woman—how could I not?—and she kicked his ass to the curb that night.

I offered to stay home this semester. You know, help mom figure everything out, be a shoulder to cry on. She is the backbone of our family. She quit her job when I was born and has done the mom thing ever since; she sacrificed everything for us, and our family is all she has. Had. All she had.

She really fell the fuck apart when I told her about dad. Like. Really fell apart. Some days it’s so bad even a team of shrinks and a potent cocktail of antidepressants can’t get her out of bed.

Still, she insisted I go to Spain.

“The trip is already paid for, and we may not be able to count on your father for that internship you want for next summer,” she’d told me. “You’ll need to fall back on your grades, and maybe your thesis, for that. And it might be good for you to get away for a while.”

The whole thing sucks. But Saturday nights at Madrid’s infamous discotecas make the heaviness I carry around inside me a little bit lighter.

Shrugging out of my coat before I check it with the girl at the counter, I spot the cute couple tucked in the corner of the bar right away. Sipping on their cuba libres—rum and Cokes—they’re leaning toward one another, the girl grinning as the guy murmurs Spanish nothings to her that are probably more saucy than sweet. The bar’s red lights gild their profiles, catching on their eyelashes, making haloes of their hair.

It’s such a pretty picture, my best friend and the guy we both fell for—the guy who’s now her boyfriend—that I wish I brought my camera to capture it.

My heart clenches. Not because I’m jealous that Vivian got the guy, and nabbed such a hot foreign piece. It took a while for us to get here, for Vivian and I to forgive each other, and ourselves, for the awful, stupid things we did while embroiled in our little love triangle with handsome Spaniard Rafa Montoya. They suck with a capital S, those triangles, despite what the vampires and werewolves would have us believe. I haven’t exactly been myself these days—not that that’s any excuse—and watching Vivian’s dreams come true while my parents crushed mine was not easy.

But now, more than a month after our friendship almost imploded, I can honestly say I’m happy for Vivian. Genuinely, deliriously happy she found a guy as excellent and delicious as she is.

No, I’m not jealous.

My heart clenches because I miss, I miss, the kind of home Vivian and Rafa have obviously found in each other. Home doesn’t exist for me. Not anymore. And after I found out my dad was sleeping with his secretary of eight years, I wonder if my happy, wholesome home ever did.

I’ve always thought your twenties were all about finding yourself.

But at almost twenty-one, I feel more lost than ever.

My one saving grace this semester is that I’m four thousand miles away from the broken place I come from. Madrid, thank Dios, is the perfect distraction; the perfect place to escape, for a little while, the ever-expanding universe of hurt inside me. It’s all about long, lingering meals with my friends, the Madrileñas, that always include too much vino and talk of penises; an awesome library at San Pedro University that I’m using to put together some ideas for a thesis proposal; and a hedonistic club culture that encourages anonymous encounters with handsomely Eurotrash Spaniards.

Encounters I am all too happy to partake in. After crushing, disastrously, on Rafa, I realized a relationship wouldn’t do this body good anyway. I don’t need a boyfriend. I need a hook up—many hook ups—where the only faith required is in a guy’s ability to make me come.

And oh, are Madrileños good at that.

From her perch in the corner, Vivian glances over her shoulder and meets my eyes. She grins, the kind of grin that lights up her face, and that happy-squidgy-best-friend feeling fills me to the brim. It never gets old, does it, the happiness you feel seeing someone you know and love across the room?

“Hey lady!” she says, her grin widening to a smile as I wrap her in a quick hug. “Holy shit you’re cold. We gotta warm you up with some liquor.”

Rafa leans over the table, pressing the standard Spanish kisskiss into my cheeks. “Buenas noches, Maddie. How are you feeling?”

Viv and Rafa look at me, hopefully, as they wait for my answer.

Vivian has been my shoulder to cry on this semester. Aside from our little snafu with Rafa, she’s played her BFF role with aplomb. Granted, I haven’t told her everything. She knows my parents are splitting, and that it’s pretty nasty. But she doesn’t know about my dad cheating or him blaming me for ruining the family every time we talk.

It just hurts too much to talk about, especially the part about me catching my dad in the act; the part about him threatening me, telling me it would be my fault if our family fell apart. I haven’t told her that my mom takes a handful of pills every morning just to get through the day.

I don’t want to think about the consequences of me telling my mom about dad and his secretary, and I definitely don’t want to talk about it. Even Vivian can’t help me get over my secret fear that dad treats me like shit because I am shit. I mean, maybe I don’t deserve respect. Or love. What kind of daughter ruins her mother’s life and destroys what was once a happy family?

No, I don’t want to talk about these things, even with someone as cool and understanding as Viv.

I swallow, hard, and pull my lips into a smile. “I’m feeling good. A little tired, but better than last week. How about you guys? What’s new and exciting?”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Rafa says. “But I invited my uncle, Javier, to join us. For one drink only, he says the weather is very good tomorrow so he wants to fly.”

My eyes flick to the illuminated shelves of liquor on the far wall. “Fly? Is he, like, a pilot or something?”

Rafa nods. “He has his own plane, too. Little plane, but it is still very fun. He is just back from a long trip for business, and he hasn’t been able to fly for many months. I am excited for you chicas to meet him. He asked me and Vivian to fly with him, but we’ve got tickets to the fútbol match tomorrow.” Rafa offers me that lady killer grin of his. “Maybe Maddie can go with Javier?”

“That wouldn’t be awkward at all,” I say, “being alone on a tiny little plane with your uncle who I’ve never met.”

“You’re going to like Javier. He is not like other uncles.”

I shrug. Even if Javier has George Clooney’s salt-and-pepper smexiness, mature guys aren’t exactly my thing at the moment. I’m into dudes who are young, and eager to please. It’s shallow and it’s stupid, I know, but hey, they get the dirty job done. I’ve slept with quite a few wonderfully foreign dudes in the past month, and I have yet to be disappointed.

I order a gintonic from the bar. It’s delicious, and it is fuerte—strong, the only way Madrileños like their liquor drinks—so strong I already feel the gin working its black magic on my sluggish brain.

My body and my mood begin to thaw.

I offer Viv a small grin. “I like this little Saturday night tradition. You guys take care of your third wheel, and I appreciate that.”

She reaches across the table and flicks her thumb across my top lip, wiping away a stray chunk of lime. The gesture is so sweet, so familiar, I have to look away. “Wouldn’t be Saturday night without you,” she says. “We started that tradition freshman year, remember? Just because we’re in Spain—”

“And just because you sleep over at your super hot Spanish boyfriend’s apartment,” I say.

“Right. Just because things are a little different doesn’t mean the tradition has to change.”

Rafa sets his drink on the table and leans down on his elbows. “I guess I’m the third wheel, then, aren’t I? I should be thanking you”—he looks at me—“for letting me crash your Saturday night with Vivian.”

I’m about to make fun of Rafa for being such a relentlessly cute cheeseball when a gust of cold air hits me. Skin prickling with goose bumps, I glance toward the entrance hall.

A broad-shouldered guy strides into the club, hands tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket. The collar is turned up against the cold; the leather is lovingly scarred, distressed in a way a machine couldn’t replicate.

I can’t see his face—he’s looking away from us, searching the other side of the bar—but something about the way he’s built, the dark scuff that covers the square lines of his jaw, catches my wandering eye.

He’s built like a quarterback, deliciously thick about the shoulders and arms and chest. Not huge, just the very right side of athletic. But his chocolate brown hair—cropped close at the sides, a combed swoop of longer hair at the top—along with all that scruff scream hot hipster. His clothes are somewhere in between: dark fitted jeans, tidy suede boots, the hem of a button-down shirt peeking from underneath the bottom of his jacket. It’s like he’s part Madrileño, part rookie NFL player, part hipster country music star.

I’m intrigued.

Who are you, I wonder. What is your story?

            And would you like to get naked with me tonight?

He turns his head and our gazes collide. I look, and he looks, and we both keep looking.

My stomach does a backflip. He is so handsome. Hot. He his handsome and hot—he walks that fine line with finesse. His eyes, light brown, burn amber in the red light of the bar.

I know in the space of a single heartbeat that I am going to fuck this delectable Madrileño tonight. I am shameless in my pursuit. When I want a guy, I have him.

And I want this man. Badly. My blood warms as I imagine the way he’ll move. The way he’ll taste.

I imagine the blinding, forceful blankness of my orgasm.

Hell yes. He’d be my hottest conquest yet.

“Are you okay?” Viv is asking me.

I don’t need to answer her. She glances over her shoulder and she, too, is rendered speechless by this guy’s hot-handsomeness.

My stomach flips again when señor NFL hipster hot body flashes a smile of recognition and starts walking toward us.

No way. He can’t be.

No way this guy is—

“Tío!” Rafa stands and gathers his uncle in a hug.

I blink. This guy is Rafa’s uncle? It doesn’t make sense; they’re practically the same age. From what I can tell, Javier is twenty-four, maybe twenty-five, tops.

Viv turns around and meets my eyes. She’s thinking it, too. How is this Uncle Javier? And how is he so ridiculously good-looking?

He’s related to Rafa, that’s how. The Montoyas must have a pretty sick gene pool to make such handsome babies.

Rafa introduces Javier to Vivian, who, like me, is still staring at him in mute adoration-slash-confusion. He smiles, a blinding, half goofy, half devastating thing that works two grooves into the stubble on either side of his mouth.

“Wow,” she says at last, standing. “Just. Um, wow. I gotta be honest, Javier, you are not at all what I was expecting.”

“Javier is more like a brother to me,” Rafa explains. “It is a joke, yes?, that I call him uncle, really, because we are almost the same age. My grandfather, he married again when he was very old to a younger woman. They had a small family. Javier is part of that family.”

Viv’s brows snap together. “How much younger are you than Rafa’s—”

“Father?” Javier says. His voice is deep, a little gravelly. A lot sexy. “I am twenty four now, so that is, what, Rafael, twenty two years between me and my brother?”

“Wow,” Viv says.

“Wow,” I say, getting up.

Javier’s turns his gaze on me. A rush of tingly awareness moves from my head to my toes. It’s powerful, his gaze, not because it makes me feel like he can see what I’m wearing underneath my clothes (a lacy bra and no underwear; I always come to Ático prepared).

It’s powerful because there’s something honest about it. A little playful.

Granted, I’ve only been ogling him for one and a half minutes, but he’s got this easy, masculine confidence that makes me think Tío Javier isn’t one to hide what he’s feeling.

I like it, his straightforward masculinity; the virile energy simmering behind his brown eyes.

I like it a lot.

I step around the table to stand beside Viv, in front of Javier. “Javier, this is Maddie Lucas, my best friend,” she says.

Before I can do the awkward American thing and offer him my hand, Uncle Javier leans forward and greets me in the Madrileño way, pressing quick kisses into either of my cheeks. The stubble of his beard brushes my skin; the scent of cinnamon mints trails in his wake as he pulls away.

I love a lot of things about studying abroad in Spain.

The double-kiss greeting, though, has to be the thing I love most.

“Maddie,” he says, my name a pleasant rumble that rolls off his tongue. “Encantado.”

It’s the Spanish equivalent of “nice to meet you”, but when Uncle Javier says it in his husky, come-hither voice, it sounds like an invitation to join the mile high club in this plane he supposedly owns.

I am so, so game. I’ve never done it on a plane before. I bet it’s fantastic.

I meet his gaze head on with the sauciest smirk I can muster. “Very nice to meet you, Javier.”

He nods at my empty glass. “Might I get you another drink, Maddie? What is that, a G and T?”

His English is better—much better—than Rafa’s, and tinged with a British accent. Hearing a Spanish dude speak the Queen’s English gives me a sense of cultural vertigo, but I mean that in the best way possible. Europe—the world, really—can be such a cool melting pot.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s a gin and tonic. Another would be great—thank you very much.”

“Vale,” Uncle Javier says. I love that word, so particular to Madrid, and one Madrileños use to glorious excess. It can mean everything from “okay” to “cool” to “fine by me”.

Javier shrugs out of his jacket, revealing more of that physique that is definitely fine by me. I watch, pulse throbbing, as he rolls back his shoulders and shrugs out of his bomber jacket. He’s wearing a white button-down that hugs the rounded slopes of his shoulders and arms; he cuffs his wrists in his hands and slides the rolled sleeves up his arms, baring tan forearms ridged with sinew and vein.

I don’t bother to hide my grin of appreciation.

He catches me checking him out. He holds my gaze for one beat, then another. I bite my lip. He looks away. He runs a hand down his face, trying—and failing—to hide a small, enticingly secret smile.

“C’mon, Rafa,” Javier says, his eyes flicking to meet mine. “Let’s grab those drinks—I do believe Maddie is quite thirsty.”

Oh, yes.

A million times yes.

I am definitely going to fuck Javier tonight.

Chapter 2

Maddie

 

I watch Javier’s broad back disappear into the crowd. My body still rings with the memory of his lips on my skin. Just that brief touch—along with some serious eye fucking—and I am hornier than I’ve been in a long time.

“Do you know how often Javier’s in town?” I ask, turning back to Viv.

“I don’t. Not often, from what I hear.”

I bite my lip. “Perfect.”

She pins me with a look.

A look I’ve come to know and loathe.

“What?” I say, jabbing my straw into the ice at the bottom of my glass.

“You’re going to sleep with him, aren’t you?”

“I hope so. He’s ridiculously hot.” I meet her eyes. “C’mon, Viv, I haven’t fooled around with someone in more than a week! I’m practically dying over here.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

“I feel like you’re judging me.”

“I’m not,” she says. “I’m all for having some fun and getting your rocks off. Now that I know how great sex is—”

“Thank God you finally swiped that v-card,” I say with a grin. Maddie was a virgin until very, very recently; until she met and fell in love with Rafa.

“Thank God.” She grins, too. “My point is, I’m all for having wild sex with as many Eurotrash men as possible as long as it makes you happy. That’s all I want for you, Mads—I wanna see you smile again. And I’m not entirely sold on the idea that sleeping with all these dudes is upping your happiness quotient.”

The happy buzz in my blood dims. I look down at my empty glass and close my eyes. For a split second I see my dad’s face, his gaze terrifyingly cold as he betrays me. Speaks to me like I’m a piece of garbage.

A prickly pressure builds inside my head, like someone is pressing his thumbs against the backs of my eyeballs.

My eyes fly open. I suck in a breath.

“You know I had sex—lots of sex—with guys back at Meryton before this whole divorce thing blew up in my face,” I reply. “And I was happy. It made me happy, Viv.”

“I know it did, and that’s awesome,” Vivian says. “It was fun for you. It made you feel good.”

“It still makes me feel good.”

Viv gives me that look again. “You can’t tell me the divorce isn’t screwing with your head. Are you sure your reasons for going after the sexytimes haven’t changed? I don’t know. Maybe you’re having sex because it helps you forget. Or maybe you have these one night stands and keep guys at arm’s length so they won’t hurt you the way your parents have?”

I roll my eyes, even as my chest contracts. “I really hate it when you go all Dr. Phil on me, Viv. And I kinda resent the implication that I’m this raging slut bag who only has sex because I’m, like, damaged inside or something. I like sex. I have a lot of it. That doesn’t make me a basket case, and it certainly doesn’t make me a skank.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Viv replies. Her face is red with hurt. “I hate those words, by the way. I’m just looking out for you is all. Trying to be a good friend.”

“I hate those words, too.” I sigh. “I know it hasn’t been easy being my friend this semester. I’m sorry. I honestly haven’t given much thought to my hook-up situation. Maybe my reasons have changed—I don’t know. I do know I can’t forgive right now. Not my dad.” Not myself, I want to add, but don’t. “So yeah, it’s possible I’m settling for the forgetting part. And the orgasms. I mean, they help too. An orgasm is never a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not.” Viv offers me a smile of sympathy. “But promise me you’ll rethink your strategy if it stops being fun?”

I nudge her shoulder with my own. “I promise.”

***

Javier

            Waiting at the bar for our drinks, I glance over my shoulder at Maddie. Christ but the girl is gorgeous. Flaming blue eyes, full lips, legs that go on for days and days and days. An ass that makes my heart skip a beat every time I look at it.

I keep looking at it. The tiny dress she’s wearing barely covers the tops of her thighs. Raise it an inch or two and I have no doubt I would very much like what I’d see.

She runs a hand through her long, dark hair, mussing the strands at the crown of her head. She arches her back as she does it, the hem of her dress creeping up, up, revealing more leg, more skin. I’m staring now. Everything about Maddie is sexy. Her body. The challenge in her eyes. Even the way she moves makes me think naked thoughts.

I blink. Stop. I have to stop looking. I didn’t come all the way back to Madrid to hook up with another girl at another club. I know what I want now, and that isn’t another meaningless encounter. After being on the road for so long, I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.

But one more look can’t hurt. It’s such a lovely backside. Just one more—

My heart skips a beat, but this time it has nothing to do with her ass.

It skips because she catches me looking.

And then she grins. A devilish, lively grin that makes her eyes glitter. Eyes that flick down the length of my body to rest on my ass. Her grin twitches, lips pursed in what appears to be appreciation.

It’s an entirely shameless perusal, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. It’s an eye for an eye—in this case, it’s an ass for an ass—although I do believe I got the better end of the bargain, as her behind is far, far superior to my own.

I wonder if she knows where I’ve been for the past year. Who I’ve been. If she was one of the hundreds of thousands of people who came out to see me playing with Juan Ramos at stadiums across the world.

I wonder if she knows I’m that guy. The so-called rock star.

I really hope she doesn’t.

As much as I enjoyed being the star—let’s not kid ourselves, I enjoyed it a lot—it got tiresome toward the end. Being surrounded by women who loved the celebrity but couldn’t care less about the man left me feeling empty, and more than a little lonely. It got me into some trouble, too.

I’ve missed the normalcy and the comfort of real life, of home. I’ve missed my family, being around people who love me for me.

But I’ve really missed one person in particular.

Rafa and I gather our drinks in our hands. Condensation runs down my forearms as we make our way back to the table.

“Thank you very much,” Maddie says when I hand her a gintonic. She leans in. “I appreciate it. Almost as much as you appreciated my ass.”

I run my tongue along my bottom lip, grinning. I shouldn’t flirt back. I’ve been burned by this kind of thing before.

But I can’t help it. She’s too fun, and too sexy, to leave hanging.

“Might I ask what you thought of mine?” I say.

“Delicious.” She sips her drink. “Absolutely delicious.”

Rafa clears his throat. He’s looking at Maddie and me, a knowing gleam in his eye. Are we really that obvious?

“Vivian and I are going to dance,” Rafa says, pointing his thumb in the direction of the dance floor. “Is it okay if we leave you two here together?”

“More than okay. You guys go have fun.” Maddie hooks her arm through mine. She’s standing close now; so close I can smell her coconut shampoo. My pulse spikes. She smells lovely, like a tropical drink you’d sip in the nude while lying on a beach in the Caribbean. “I’ll take good care of Javier.”

Viv gives Maddie a long, hard look.

“You sure?” Viv says.

Maddie lets out a breath, an impatient sound. “I’m sure. See you guys later.”

And just like that, Maddie and I are alone.

The music starts pumping, the floor bouncing in time to the bass. It’s crowded now, and loud. I scoot a bit closer to Maddie, my leg brushing hers.

“So, you and Vivian—you’re in the same program here in Madrid?” I ask.

“Yes—Meryton in Madrid, basically a semester in Spain for juniors. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Meryton University? It’s a liberal arts college in North Carolina, on the east coast.”

I nod. “I know it. Famous for basketball, right?”

“Right,” she replies. “Are you a basketball fan?”

“A little bit. I went to university in the U.K., so I’m a bit more into rugby, to be honest. And then of course football—soccer—I love that, too.”

“I went to my first match last week,” she says proudly.

“And?” I arch a brow. “What did you think?”

“It was so much fun. And so freaking loud. My ears were ringing for three days afterward. A pretty epic hangover didn’t help. Madrid won, and we had about thirty-seven celebratory drinks too many.”

“You did it right then. I’m excited to finally be able to go to a match myself now that I’m home.”

“That’s right,” she says. “Rafa was telling us you’ve been traveling for business. What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

My pulse leaps. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from smiling. So Maddie doesn’t know who I am—who I was over the past year.

She’s just a cute girl trying to get some action from a dude at a bar on a Saturday night.

The relief I feel, mingled with a hint of excitement, makes me almost giddy. She appreciates my ass not because it belongs to a (slightly) famous guitarist, but because it’s apparently delicious. This is the first time I’ve talked to a girl who wasn’t out to bang a rock star, any rock star, in forever.

Not that there will be any banging involved. Maddie is sexy as hell, yeah, but I’m not into that sort of thing anymore. I’m ready to settle down, make a home with a novia—girlfriend—here in Madrid. A girlfriend I did not meet, drunk, at a discoteca.

“I’m in the music industry,” I say.

“That’s cool,” she says. She holds up her nearly empty glass and arches a brow. “Want another? This round’s my treat.”

I look down at my gin and tonic. I promised myself I’d only have one—I’m hoping to fly tomorrow—but suddenly I feel as thirsty as Maddie looks.

“I’ll have another,” I say, “but only if I’m buying. You’re in my city, guapa. My treat.”

“Guapa.” She looks at me. “Pretty?”

“It means beautiful girl.”

She smirks. “That’s laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

“What would you prefer I call you?”

She’s standing in front of me now, her bottom lip stuck distractingly between her teeth. I step toward her. She mirrors my move, angling her neck to look up at me. That neck. I resist the urge lean in, put my mouth on the place where the soft shell of her ear curves into the sinews of her throat.

I wince at the tight warmth that pulses between my legs. Stop. Seriously stop.

“You okay?” Maddie asks, furrowing her brow.

“Yes. Yeah.” I put my hand on the small of her back, nudging her toward the bar. “Let’s go get those drinks.”

“Oh? And Javier?” she says over her shoulder, eyes flashing. “You can call me whatever you like.”

I grin down at her. “Now isn’t that laying it on a little thick?”

She shrugs. She’s biting her lip again.

Stop.

It would be easier to stop if Maddie wasn’t so damn sexy.

***

A few hours and many more drinks later, Maddie and I collapse in a sweaty heap on a white pleather sofa by the bar.

“For someone old enough to be an uncle,” she pants, “you’re one hell of a dirty dancer, Javier.”

“Thank you,” I reply, smiling. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh, God, you and I both know I’m a horrible dancer. Like, horrible. But it’s sweet of you to pretend I’m not.”

My smile widens. Maddie can be charming when she isn’t trying so hard to be sexy.

“You’re not that bad,” I say.

She pins me with a look. “I am too that bad. I’m even worse. Vivian says I dance like a mom who gets drunk at her niece’s wedding and thinks she got her groove back.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s very…specific.”

“And very true.”

“No-o it’s not?” I try.

Vivian looks at me again. We both burst into laughter.

“You’re cute,” she says.

“You’re funny,” I say.

She sidles up next to me on the sofa to make room for another couple. Before I can think better of it, I move my arm to rest on the back of the sofa behind her, inviting Maddie to curl even closer against me. She does.

I shift my hips, crossing one leg over the other. I’ve had a raging hard-on from the moment we stepped onto the dance floor, and the way she smells isn’t helping. Drunk-mom dancing or no, I saw stars when Maddie pressed her ass into my groin and shimmied her hips.

An ass that felt even better than it looked.

All night I’ve tried to be a gentleman. Tried to stop myself when I wanted to put my hands on her, when I wanted to slide my fingers between her legs to see if she is as hot and bothered as I am. I’m not that guy anymore. I’m so done with that shit. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow with a raging hangover and a stranger in my bed. A stranger I don’t care to know, one who doesn’t care to know me.

I want her. The woman I’ve been dreaming about for months now. The woman I came back to Madrid for. Even if that woman isn’t exactly available at the moment.

But when Maddie looks at me the way she’s looking at me now—blue eyes sultry with interest, with arousal and intelligence—I am filled with an decidedly ungentlemanly urge to grab her hand and take her home and finally tear off that dress.

I look down at her crossed legs. The muscles in her thighs stand in relief against her smooth skin. I wonder if she’s an athlete, a runner; I wonder what it would feel like to be cradled between those lithe legs. She’d be all sinews and softness, her skin hot to the touch—

I almost jump when Maddie’s hand lands on my leg. My cock pulses, hard, when she gives my knee a small squeeze. She leans in, pressing her body against mine; her breast nudges my arm, her hair falls across my shoulder. Our faces are inches apart. I need only duck my head to take her mouth in mine, to start the thing we both really, really want to do.

I look up to meet her eyes. She’s looking at me like that. Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, and she’s thinking it, too.

Let’s get the hell out of here.

            She doesn’t say a word; she just waits for me to respond to her unspoken proposition, her slate blue eyes intent, intense.

I clear my throat. Why does she have to be so fucking sexy? It’d be so much easier to stick to my guns if I wasn’t wildly attracted to her. She just…she smells so good and she looks so good and the way she moves makes my dick pulse in agony.

God damn it. I shift my legs again.

“Listen, Maddie. You’re a gorgeous girl. And I’m having a really wonderful time with you.” I wince at the sound of my own bullshit. Best to go with the truth, I suppose. “But, um. I’m not really looking for something quite so…um. You know. Sudden. Fleeting.”

“Ah.” She smiles. “You’re a relationship guy.”

I nod. “Trying to be, now that I’m back home. And I’m buzzed enough to tell you that I’m looking for el amor. Love.”

“Do you have a girl in mind?”

“I do.” I glance down at her hand. It’s still on my knee. “Unfortunately she has a boyfriend at the moment.”

That girl is María Carmen Burgos. We fell for each other, hard, when we were just eighteen. Funny, but that seems so young now. After breaking up a few years ago, we’ve recently gotten back in touch. I’d love nothing more than to fall for her again—she’s just the kind of forever girl I’m looking for. Smart, established here in Madrid, ready to settle down.

I don’t have feelings for her. Not yet. And she is in a relationship with some guy who works in finance. But I’m secretly hoping the spark between us is still there after all these years. I guess we’ll see.

Maddie slides that hand up my leg, a slow, lazy movement that drives me insane. Her touch is patient, intentional, confident. It drives me wild, knowing she’s into me for me. It’s all I can do not to leap off the couch and make like hell for my flat with Maddie slung over my shoulder, horny ninja-style.

“This works out perfectly, then,” she murmurs in my ear. “One last lay before you go off and steal your lady love from the other guy.”

I blink. “A lay?”

“Listen, hombre, not all of us are in the market for a happily ever after.”

Her hand is at the top of my thigh, each fingertip sending spikes of fire through my entire body. Her bottom lip grazes my earlobe. The fleshy curve of her hip presses against my leg.

“I shouldn’t,” I manage. “This isn’t what I’m looking for right now.”

She pulls back. “So you don’t want to leave with me then.”

I look at her. A beat passes. Then another. Inside my skin my blood, hot, traitorous, riots; inside my jeans my dick is dying to be let out to play.

I settle my eyes on her mouth. Her lips are parted, the remnants of lip gloss making them appear slickly pink. Swollen.

I bet she’s just as swollen and slick between her legs.

“I didn’t say that,” I reply.

And then I look in her in the eye and reach down and slide my hand between her thighs. Her eyes darken when I discover she’s not wearing panties.

            Jesus Christ, this girl is trying to kill me.

            I press the pad of my middle finger between the lips of her cunt and they part. They let me in.

She is. Oh, she is. Slick and hot and tight and so wet my hand is already sticky with it. With her arousal.

I find the swollen nub of her clit and give it a stroke. Maddie inhales and bites her lip, eyes fluttering shut.

I swallow, hard.

“Let’s go,” I growl. “Now.”

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