Chapter One

Protect Wren.

He had one mission. Only one. A goal that burned through every single cell of Jacob “Jake” Jones’s body even as two words played through his head on an endless loop. Protect Wren.

The order had come from his twin brother. The lucky sonofabitch who’d been involved with Wren Maye while Jake had to keep his distance from her. While he had to put a tight smile on his face and maintain a veneer of icy politeness when all he really wanted in the whole world was⁠—

Wren.

Protect Wren.

He parked the Jeep in the bar’s busy lot. It had been twenty-four hours since he’d gotten the text from his brother. Two words. No other details. Not like his twin was ever big on details anyway. And after that text, his brother Eb had gone completely dark. Not particularly surprising considering the guy was a CIA spook. Eb spent most days in the dark.

And so the hell do I.

Though Jake was sure as hell currently not affiliated with the CIA. He’d never been big on rule following. He’d tried that bit once upon a time and hated it. He’d gotten out of the government’s web as quickly as he could.

And Jake’s penchant for breaking rules had just gotten worse over the years. Lately, he was far too much in the mood to take what he wanted and damn the consequences.

Protect Wren.

He exited the vehicle. Glanced around to take in the scene. Nearing midnight, and of course, the busy bar in Hilton Head, South Carolina, was bursting at the seams. Nestled right along the beach, the place was packed with locals and tourists, and music drifted in the night as the tunes poured through the open doors of the bar.

An assortment of vehicles filled the lot. Trucks, two convertibles, at least three more Jeeps, and even one long, sleek limo. His stare lingered for just a moment on the limo. Then, squaring his shoulders, he stalked toward the bar. The place belonged to Wren’s uncle. A dive on the beach that had attracted crowds for years. He walked right past the surfboards set up outside and the tall pole of directional signs that told visitors just how far they were from locations like New Orleans, Key West, and New York. He cut his head toward the bouncer in a rough nod, and then he was inside, his gaze slicing over the dancers and drinkers and⁠—

Why the fuck does she have a bridal veil on her head?

Every muscle in his body locked down when he caught sight of Wren swaying on the tiny dance floor with a freaking white bridal veil perched on her head. For a moment, he could not move at all. His world crashed. Nah, more like his world exploded right in his face. She’s getting married? Since when?

Laughter poured from her lush lips. Too far away for him to hear clearly, but he could imagine the sound perfectly. A soft, light peal that pulsed with happiness. He knew the sound of her laughter, he could pick her voice out instantly, knew the scent she always wore, and knew⁠—

Her head turned. Mid-laugh, she froze as she stared at him. Then her eyes widened. The white veil slid over one shoulder as she lifted her hand and waved to him.

Her smile was bright. Beaming. So welcoming.

His chest ached as he began to cut a path toward her. No smile curved his lips. Grim determination filled every cell of his body.

Protect Wren.

She wasn’t dancing alone. A cluster of women were huddled around her. Women he recognized since he knew Wren’s friends. Old high school friends—they’d all gone to the same school back in the day.

“Oh, look!” The woman to Wren’s right did an excited little bounce. Her white dress fluttered around her legs. “Eb is here!” Now she was waving merrily at him. “Hi, Eb! God, Wren, he is so hot.”

Wren’s cheeks flamed.

He stopped right in front of her.

“It’s not Eb,” she said at once. “It’s Jake.” She shoved back the veil. “Hello, Jake.”

His friends—the few he tended to possess and actually keep in his life—called him Jake, not Jacob. He’d been in the friend-zone with Wren for far, far too long. Don’t lust after your brother’s girl. That was a cardinal rule. Or it should have been. Only he’d never been able to fully make himself follow that rule. Don’t lust after your brother’s girl⁠—

“How do you do that?” The woman in white shook her head before draining her champagne flute. “You’re the only person I know who can ever instantly tell the twins apart.” She slapped the empty flute down on a nearby table. “Guess you have intimate knowledge, huh?” Her eyebrows wiggled. She gave an exaggerated wink.

Wren’s cheeks went even redder. “No, I don’t.” Crisp. She yanked the veil off her head. “Time for you to get this back, Makayla. Definitely should stay on the bride’s head.” She shoved the veil at Makayla and then stepped forward to—to hug Jake.

Her arms wrapped around him. The scent of vanilla and honey filled his nose. Her softness pressed against him. A light, casual hug. She’d given him hugs countless times over the years. He’d always responded with a quick, affectionate hug of his own. Friendly. Super fast. Like it didn’t matter.

Not this time.

His arms locked around her. His face nestled against her neck. “Thought you were getting fucking married.”

Her body jolted in surprise. She pulled back. Tried to, anyway.

He didn’t let go, not yet. Not like he often had the chance to hold her. So why not enjoy the hell out of the moment?

Her eyes—dark brown but infused with the faintest hints of gold—widened as she stared up at him. Then her sexy little tongue swiped over her lips—lips she’d painted a slick, light pink. “Don’t you think I would mention something like that to you? An engagement is a pretty big deal.”

“When you and Eb get around to tying the knot,” he growled back, “I sure as shit hope you’d tell me about the big event.”

Her elegant jaw hardened. Her eyes narrowed. “That’s never happening.” Curt. She stepped back. A hard retreat.

His hands fell to his sides. “You’re never telling me? Hurtful. And here I thought I’d at least get an invite to your wedding.” Talk about seeing hell up close and personally.

“I meant Eb and I are not getting married. Ever.” Her arms crossed over her chest. She wore a pale blue dress, sleeveless. One that stopped mid-thigh and fit her perfect curves all too well. “So don’t keep expecting to get an invitation. It’s just not going to happen.”

Good to know. Best news I’ve heard all night. Damn if he didn’t have to control a smile.

“We need to talk,” he told her even as…shit, was that some joy spreading through him? Probably. Definitely. Felt like it.

One dark eyebrow quirked. “Is that what we need to do, Jake? Talk? Pity.” Her delicate nostrils flared. “I’d rather hoped we were going to do something else.”

What in the hell did that mean? Suspicion filled him as the women she’d been dancing with stumbled away. “Uh, Wren, are you drunk?”

“Hardly.” Her head tilted. “Maybe?” She expelled a long breath. “Look, focus, would you?”

Uh, he was focusing. The star of his fantasies was not. She seemed to be weaving a bit in her high-heeled sandals. “You never get drunk.” A major rule of hers. Especially after that prick in college had spiked her drink. Jake had been close—he’d caught her just as she passed out. He’d taken care of her and made sure the dick who’d slipped that crap in her drink lived to thoroughly regret the move. Though for a time, he’d thought about not letting the asshole live at all.

He tended to be a dark and disturbed bastard that way. One of his many flaws.

Wren glowered at him. “This is a bachelorette party! I can drink at my uncle’s bar during a bachelorette party for a friend. Jeez. Fun police, stop.”

He had to unclench his jaw. Right. Eb was the fun one. The one who could put on a mask and pretend to be the life of the party. Did anyone but him realize that Eb held a darkness inside that rivaled Jake’s own? But, unlike Eb, Jake didn’t bother to hide his darkness. What would be the point in that? He liked to parade it around for the world to see. That darkness helped to keep annoying asshats away. “Sorry that I’m not Eb.”

“Oh, that is it!” She surged toward him. Grabbed his arms. “I don’t want Eb.” Her hands tightened around his upper arms. She yanked him toward her. Surprised, he leaned in close. “I want you,” Wren declared passionately.

Then her mouth took his.

Right in the middle of that little dance floor.

With people milling all around them.

With her bachelorette party friends watching them.

Her mouth took his.

Had to be a mistake. Wren definitely must be drunk. As her lips parted beneath his, he did taste the champagne on her lips and on that sexy little tongue that darted into his mouth. But…

Fuck it.

His dream was in his arms. He was going to enjoy the moment. And he was going to give in to the desire that he’d always chained up inside of himself and finally, finally take what he wanted so very badly—finally take Wren.

She whipped back. “You’re not kissing me.” A low mutter. Hushed. Embarrassed. “I’m kissing you. You’re not kissing me.” Her eyes darted around the bar. “Why am I kissing you?” Two steps in retreat. Her hands had snatched away from him.

“Wren?” Jake reached for her.

But she spun around and broke through the crowd. Her heels clacked on the floor as she darted through the dancers and bustled toward her friends.

He stood there, watching her. Frozen for a beat of time. His hand still reached for her. Slowly, his fingers fisted and dropped.

***

“So, which brother is the better kisser?” Makayla asked her, blinking her big, blue eyes as the bridal veil rested on the top of her carefully styled hair once again. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

There was a twitter of laughter from the group around her.

Wren’s stomach twisted. Of course, they’d all just seen the show. Her kissing Jake. Jake not kissing her back. Her making an absolute fool of herself.

Story of her life.

She supposed she could grab a flute of champagne. Toss it back. Laugh and say that Eb was the better kisser. Of course, he was. Eb was charming and fun, and he never would have just left a lady hanging in the middle of a dance floor as she utterly embarrassed herself.

Or at least, Eb wouldn’t have done that to her. He was one of Wren’s closest friends. The man would have at least pity kissed her back.

A pity kiss was clearly not Jake’s style. She should have known that, though.

“Well?” Makayla pressed.

“And since when did you get interested in kissing Jake?” Jennifer Kent—maid of honor, she reminded everyone of that title about every five minutes—sidled closer. “Is this some weird twin fetish thing?”

Yeah, she probably should grab a flute of champagne. Maybe two? Only she didn’t grab anything. What she did decide to do? Be honest. Because why the hell not? “When did I get interested?” Wren repeated the question. Mulled it over in her mind. “Pretty much always been interested.” There. Done. Truth revealed. Deep, dark secret unearthed.

Shocked gasps came from the group.

Wren’s eyes rolled. “Oh, come on. You all know he’s hot.” Her tone dared them to deny the truth.

“Eb and Jake are both gorgeous, but Jake…uh, he’s scary,” Jennifer corrected. “Ice cold and crazy intense.”

Makayla nodded. She also fiddled with her veil.

“Fine, he’s scary hot,” Wren said, annoyed.

Again, Makayla nodded.

As for who was the better kisser—not a question Wren could answer. Mostly because Jake hadn’t kissed her back. Like that knife to the heart had felt good. But Wren pasted a smile on her face. “Makayla, I am so crazy happy for you!” Time to wrap up this scene and get the hell out of there. “I’ve had a wonderful time celebrating you.” She actually had. Until the last five minutes. “I can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle with Tom. You will be the most beautiful bride ever.” Now, how to get out of there without running into Jake again…

Makayla blinked. She craned her head to peer around Wren. “I think Scary Hot is coming this way.”

No, no, no. She wasn’t looking back. She was making a fast getaway. Throwing out polite chit-chat and then running. “I will be there for the wedding next month. Count me in. It’s been a great night.” A night that should have ended an hour ago, but the celebration had lingered.

Time to end that lingering before she had to deal with Jake again.

She threw her arms around Makayla Lane—her friend was soon to become Makayla Hadden—and Wren whispered, “Congratulations. I hope you’re happy every single day of your life.” Then Wren hurried to sidestep and⁠—

“You’re not leaving.” From Jennifer.

Uh, yes, she was. Trying to, anyway.

“I’m the maid of honor,” Jennifer said.

There were a few groans.

“And we should do shots until dawn, we should go hit another bar, we should⁠—”

“I’m going to bed,” Makayla cut through Jennifer’s big plans. “This bride-to-be is partied out.” She yawned. Swayed a little. “Besides, the limo has been waiting outside too long as it is. Let’s hit the road, ladies.” Another tug on her veil.

They were hitting the road. Wren was bunking at her uncle’s beach house. It was a short walk away. No need for her to pile into the limo.

There were quick exchanges of hugs and promises to see everyone soon, and a flurry of perfume lingered in the air as the ladies departed. Wren swore she could feel eyes on her, but she didn’t look over her shoulder. She wasn’t quite up to dealing with the menace that was Jake just then. So, instead of facing him again, when her friends made their way to the front of the bar, she slipped off and skirted her way to the rear exit. Freedom was at hand. And, maybe by tomorrow, she’d be able to face Jake once more. Perhaps they could laugh off the embarrassing kiss.

Talk about reality not living up to the hype.

She shoved open the bar’s back door. The slightly warm, night air teased her skin as she stepped outside. Silence. Not total. The roar of the waves hit the shore not too far away. But the music was muted. That pounding beat no longer seemed to shake her whole body.

You dreamed of kissing a man for too many years. You built it up in your head. And then…disappointment.

He hadn’t even kissed her back. She’d licked his lips. Darted her tongue inside. Tasted him⁠—

And he’d been a statue.

The man might as well have flashed a neon sign at her. Not interested.

A truth she’d long suspected.

Wren kicked off her sandals and held them with her right hand as she began the trek toward her uncle’s place. Her purse banged against her hip. Uncle Milo was out of town. Correction, out of the country, as he so often was. Off on another of his adventure trips. She planned to crash at his beach house. A place that was a second home to her. Just as Uncle Milo was her second father. When she’d been a teen, he’d taken her in.

He’d loved her.

If it hadn’t been for him and the twins…those brothers who had swept into her life when she needed them…

Nope. Do not.

She hated thinking about the past. Particularly hated driving down the dark and treacherous road called what if…

Her pace quickened as she headed for the beach house. Sand flew up in the wake of her steps and she⁠—

“Wren.”

She was being followed. Right. Sure. Check. The deep voice had floated from the night. Coming from close behind her. She didn’t look back. “Look, it was a mistake.” Her own voice was cool. Pitched high to carry over the crash of the waves. “I promise not to kiss you again. Your virtue is safe.” Did that sound flippant enough?

Silence.

Goosebumps rose on her arms. Why the goosebumps? The last thing she felt was cold. “Good night, Jake.”

More silence.

Dammit. She glanced over her shoulder⁠—

Not Jake.

A man was running toward her. Surging fast over the sand. The stars and moon illuminated the beach, and she could see that he was big. Muscled. A hoodie covered his head, and, oh, God, was that a knife in his hand?

She stumbled back. Dropped her shoes. Screamed.

Her scream was Jake’s name.

She screamed for Jake right before she started running for her life. Only she didn’t get very far. The man was too fast. He’d gotten too close while the sand cushioned his steps and the waves drowned out any other sounds to warn of his approach. His body slammed into hers. She tumbled right onto the sand. He grabbed her, twisting one hand in her hair while the other brought a knife to her throat.

“He can’t fucking save you,” he snarled. “You’re coming with me.”

The knife pressed against her skin.

A roar shook the night. A roar that was her name.

“Don’t count on it,” she told the man with the knife as her breath shuddered out. Relief had her feeling dizzy. Fine. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was too much champagne. Maybe it was fear. Or all of the above. But she still told the jerk holding her, “That’s Jake, and he is going to kick your ass.”

Another roar broke the night. A closer roar. An even angrier roar.

Jake might not want to kiss her. But she knew with utter certainty that he would never, ever let anyone hurt her.