Anna Zaires

gets up and walks toward me, still holding me with his gaze. He walks leisurely. Calmly. He’s completely sure of himself. And

proclivities.
“A work emergency,” she says, her hands moving with a graceful efficiency that I can’t help but admire. “He should be back in a couple of days.”
“What kind of work emergency?”
Beth shrugs. “I don’t know. You can ask Julian that when he returns.”
I look at her, trying to understand what motivates her… and Julian. “You said I’m the first girl he brought here, to this island,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “So what did he do with the others?”
“There were no others.” She’s done with the mango, and she’s placing the plate in front of me before sitting down to eat her own breakfast.
“So why is he doing this to me? I know he’s got peculiar tastes, but surely there are women who are into that—”
Beth grins at me, showing even white teeth. “Of course. But he wants you.”
“Why? What’s so special about me?”
“You’ll have to ask Julian that.”
Again that non-answer. Her evasiveness makes me want to scream. I spear a piece of mango with my fork and chew it slowly, thinking this over.
“Is it because of Maria?” I’m not sure what makes me ask this, except that I can’t get that name out of my head

You’ll have to ask Julian that.”
Again that non-answer. Her evasiveness makes me want to scream. I spear a piece of mango with my fork and chew it slowly, thinking this over.

Once I get into Leah’s car, I begin my transformation.

He will never come for me again.

he goes for tall blond girls, not short brunettes.

if there’s anybody I’d want to have my first time with, it’s definitely Jake.

I wore a push-up bra to maximize my somewhat-undersized assets.

I put down the glass and look up.

Straight into a pair of piercing blue eyes.

He’s sitting on the other side of the bar, about ten feet away. And he’s staring at me.

I stare back. I can’t help it. He’s probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

His hair is dark and curls slightly. His face is hard and masculine, each feature perfectly symmetrical.

“How old are you, Nora?” he asks next.

I blink. “Twenty-one.”

His expression darkens. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Almost eighteen,” I admit reluctantly.