Secret identities, second chances, drama, desire: It’s all going down in Miami Beach in this tantalizing novel from the bestselling author of Pull Me Close, which was hailed by Aurora Rose Reynolds as “a heart-gripping story about . . . the power of love.”
April: Walking away from Matt Moreno was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Lying to him was a close second, but for his safety, I had no other choice. I was undercover, working to put some nasty people behind bars. But when Matt nearly recognizes me on Lincoln Road a year later, all those very real feelings come rushing back. Now that my assignment’s almost over, will he understand why I lied? Why I had to leave? Most important, can he ever forgive me?
Matt: I was madly in love with June Simpson . . . or, at least, with the woman I thought was June. Then she just disappeared while my family’s nightclub went through hell. And after months of searching, when I think I’ve finally found that sexy, raspy voice and those exquisite blue eyes, she slips away once more. Turns out, “June” is actually Detective April White. She’s been playing me the whole time. And she’s about to rock my world all over again.
“Slide over, will ya? I need to order a drink.” He sounds as if he’s already had enough drinks and doesn’t need another one. I’m about to tell the guy where he can stick his drink when I see her reach into her purse and pull out her phone. I’m mesmerized. What is she doing? The jerk is staring at her, waiting for her to move, but she’s reading a text instead, completely ignoring him.
But then the man makes the wrong decision. He grabs her elbow and pulls her up from the stool.
“Hey! Get your hands off me!” she shrieks. Her eyes, a piercing light blue that’s almost translucent, glare at the man.
“Is everything okay?” I ask loudly, to be heard over the music.
“Miller Lite,” the guy has the fucking nerve to call out.
But she speaks over him. “No. Everything’s not okay. This guy grabbed me.”
“Calm down, honey. You’ve been sitting here all night. Some of us need room.”
“Well, you could say ‘excuse me.’”
“And you can move your fat ass,” he spits back. “It’s not like you need any more drinks.” At that, her mouth opens wide and she gasps. From what I can see there is nothing fat about this woman, but even if there was, the guy’s totally out of line. With both palms on the bar I lean forward and get in the man’s face. “Outta my bar—” But I don’t have a chance to finish before she lifts her glass, stands up, and slowly and deliberately pours the entire drink over the guy’s head, olives and all.
Swear to God—swear to fucking God—all the lights, the music, and the people dancing come to a screeching halt as she slams her empty glass on the table and calmly sits back down. “Another martini, please,” she says sweetly, batting her lashes.
Fucking spectacular.
I think I might be in love.
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