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  I knew instinctively that being with Haze would be more grown up, more serious, more intimate than anything I'd ever had before. My throat constricted. I couldn't do it. I couldn't be involved in something so serious. I'd fuck it all up, hurt Haze, and the thought of that made it hard to breathe. We were doomed before we even started. What was the point in trying?

  I decided to trade my coffee for something stronger and headed back inside to the kitchen. On the way up the terrace steps, I heard Haze's voice and realized the French doors to my grandfather's office were open.

  Shit. Grandfather. I hadn't even considered that. He'd fire Haze for sure, never let him anywhere near me. If he disliked Ricky, he'd hate the thought of me with Haze.

  I stepped close enough to see inside and just the silhouette of Haze was enough to warm my blood. His broad shoulders and strong arms made me remember what it was like to have them locked around me. I leaned on the wall and licked my lips, remembering his taste, his kiss. Remembering what it felt like to have his body stretched out on top of me, the hard length of him inside me, taking me higher than I'd ever been. There was no denying how much I wanted Haze.

  “This is the most specific the threats have ever been.” My grandfather's voice cut through my memories.

  “'Lovely Leighton won't be making an appearance at the Balmoral Fashion Show. And if she tries to leave LA, she may never appear again.” Haze was reading out loud from a folded piece of paper.

  “And you've had no luck spotting her stalker?” Grandfather asked.

  I felt my insides turn to ice. This was what they'd been hiding from me. Someone was threatening my life, and I was the last to know.

  “I have a plan,” Haze said. “I've already put it into motion, but it's definitely time to involve the police. I know you don't want to...”

  His voice disappeared behind me as I continued to the kitchen, surprised my body could still move. Haze wasn't different after all. He didn't think enough of me to tell me the truth. Apparently, I was the spoiled, fragile little rich girl after all.

  I reached the liquor cabinet and poured myself something to help with the pain.

  Chapter 23

  Haze

  I stopped in the hallway outside of Devlin's office and studied the ceiling. Why had I told him I had a plan? I scraped my hands down my face, mentally kicking myself. Not only had I told Devlin I had a plan for catching the anonymous author of the threatening letters, but I'd assured him the plan was already in motion. I had nothing, no plan, just a tightening bubble of panic in my chest.

  The last letter blatantly said that something was going to happen to Leighton soon. My first reaction was to get her out of town, out of the country, but the letter had laid out consequences for running away. As detailed as the letters were, I didn't doubt this guy would be watching close enough to know if we left.

  The fastest plan, of course, would be to taunt the author, trying to get him to make an appearance, a mistake, but I wasn’t willing to use Leighton as bait.

  The only sane course of action was to tell Leighton. She was the one in danger, and she deserved to know. Plus, I had a good feeling that she might even be able to help devise a plan for drawing out the would-be attacker. She was a lot smarter than most people believed her to be.

  Fuck it all.

  I was done keeping this from her. I headed toward the kitchen. Leighton was gone when I'd woken up, but before I found her, I needed some coffee. Except when I stepped into the kitchen, she was there, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter with a shot glass, tequila and an open carton of chocolate ice cream. She poured herself a shot and knocked it back as I came in.

  “Tequila for breakfast?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

  She hummed a tune and bobbed her head as she picked up the ice cream carton. I watched, confused as she dug into the ice cream without a word to me.

  I frowned. “What is this, the silent treatment?” What the hell was going on here? “You were the one who left me this time.”

  Leighton's humming got louder and she poured another shot.

  “How about you pour one for me and tell me what's on your mind?” I asked.

  “As if you care.” The words were flat. She tipped the shot back and smacked her lips.

  “What's this about? Are you upset about last night?” I crossed the kitchen to stand in front of her. I wanted to reach for her, but something told me my touch wouldn't be welcome at the moment. “Tell me what's bothering you.”

  She spun around on the counter and jumped off the opposite side. She sashayed across the kitchen, but then turned back, apparently just remembering that she'd left the tequila bottle on the counter.

  When she came back for it, I grabbed her wrist, knowing if I didn't, she'd leave again. “If you don't want to talk, then you can listen. There's something I really need to tell you.”

  Leighton increased the volume of her humming, and yanked her wrist free from my grasp. She walked out the door, and I had no choice but to follow her down the hallway. She walked into the media room and cued up a movie. Without looking at me, she plopped down in a chair and hit play.

  “Leighton.”

  The volume increased.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Stop acting–” My jaw snapped shut. That was it exactly. She was acting like a spoiled child. We'd shared something last night, and I knew she'd felt it too. Instead of talking about it like a rational adult, she was doing what she always did when things got real.

  Behaving like a brat.

  I clenched my jaw, torn. I was fed up with her behavior, with her not allowing herself to be the person I knew she could be. But I couldn't leave, not when she was in danger.

  Not ever.

  She meant too much to me.

  Before I could decide what to do, my phone rang.

  “Mom, you have no idea how great your timing is,” I said as I answered the call.

  “I'm so glad I caught you.”

  She sounded rushed, upset, and I instantly tensed. Her next words didn't help.

  “You need to come home now. Gwen's in the hospital.”

  “What happened?” My heart began to pound. Gwen was my older sister and she was pregnant with her first child.

  “She started bleeding. They want to take the baby early, but it's too early...”

  “I'm on my way.”

  Chapter 24

  Haze

  “There once was a little girl who rode through a storm to a magical land. She wanted to go home right away, but it was a long way away. Instead of being afraid or disheartened, or silly enough to give up, the little girl headed out on a grand adventure. She met many friends along the way.” I was going by memory as I leaned down toward the scary-looking plastic bed, but the preemie with the big blue eyes didn't seem to mind. “She met a scarecrow, a lion, a man made of tin, and together they went in search of the one person who could help them.”

  “Really, Cormac?”

  I smiled as I looked over my shoulder to see my mother coming into the room. She was much calmer now that both Gwen and the baby were okay. The C-section was already over by the time I arrived back in Kansas, but things had still been touch-and-go for a few hours while they waited to see how both Gwen and the baby responded.

  I'd seen Gwen a couple hours ago and she'd looked exhausted, but good. As for my niece, she looked tiny, but perfect.

  “Don't you think she's a little young for The Wizard of Oz?” Mom stepped up next to me, but her eyes were on her granddaughter.

  I shrugged. “Seemed appropriate.”

  She smiled as her eyes flicked to the name tag on the crib. Dorothy Merida McKenzie. The first name had been the name of my brother-in-law's mother. The middle name was a nod to my mother's habit of giving all of us kids Celtic or Scottish names.

  “When are you leaving?” Mom asked, glancing at me.

  “Not sure,” I said. I straightened, stretching my back. “But I'm thinking I might head back to the hous
e and get some shut-eye. Do you want a ride back?”

  She shook her head. “Go ahead and take the truck. Your dad and I will come home a little later.”

  I nodded, gave her a quick hug and then headed out.

  Later that night, as I sat on the back porch, I told myself the story again, except this time it was reversed. The young woman left the technicolored world and found herself in Kansas. She still had to find her way, and she still met all sorts of characters along the way. She still needed to figure out how to believe in herself.

  I took out my phone for the one hundredth time that hour, and looked at the blank screen. Leighton still wasn't talking to me. I tried to tell her what had happened, but she'd still been working on ignoring me.

  I put my phone down and told myself that the silent treatment was a good thing, that it gave us both some space to breathe. I couldn't deny that it was a relief to be out of Los Angeles and away from all of Leighton's drama, no matter how I felt about her.

  I looked at my phone again. I just wanted to know she was okay. Halfway across the country, and my instinct still was to protect Leighton. I needed to know she was safe.

  “So who is she?” Brenna, my baby sister came out on the porch. She handed me a beer before sitting down on the step next to me. “We all noticed so don't even try to deny it. You've been here for nearly two days, but your mind is back there.”

  “She's from a different world,” I said.

  Brenna gave me a sideways look. I'd never realized how much her eyes were like mine. “That never stopped anyone,” she said.

  “Well, I'm also her bodyguard, and she's a spoiled brat. She's rich and reckless and never has to face anything.”

  Brenna elbowed me. “I didn't hear a single reason why you shouldn't tell her how you feel.”

  I glanced at my phone again and choked on my sip of beer when the call screen lit up. It was Devlin.

  I answered, but didn't get the chance to speak.

  “She's gone.”

  Chapter 25

  Leighton

  I was cold and couldn't reach my blanket. Except there was no blanket. Shit. Had I passed out on the floor?

  I didn't want to fight the darkness because I was sure this hangover was the worst. Light would be horrible. Except I couldn't go back to sleep. But I felt like a part of me was still asleep. The fog was thick, and my mind slipped back and forth between buzzing discomfort and black silence.

  I fought a little harder, but everything was still dark. The only thing I could focus on was that Haze had left. He'd stormed out as I drank tequila and watched a movie. The look on his face had been enough to make me wish the blackness would take over again. Haze was disgusted with me. It was over.

  Twenty minutes later, I'd gone looking for him, only to hear that Haze had left for the airport. All my grandfather had said at first was that it had been an emergency.

  “What happened? Someone tipped over the family cow?” I'd asked.

  Grandfather's eyes had narrowed and I'd almost taken a step back. “His pregnant sister is in the hospital and they're taking the baby early.”

  I'd felt like an ass then. And then I remembered that Haze had tried to say something to me just before he left. I had a bad feeling it'd been him trying to tell me what happened.

  And I'd acted like a petulant child.

  The rest of the night had passed in a blur. The tequila bottle had run dry not too long after my conversation with Grandfather, so I'd headed out to the clubs. Of all the black light, thumping music, and drunken crowds in LA, I'd had to choose the one place Paris had decided to go.

  She'd tried to apologize for the shit she pulled with the paparazzi, saying she'd just been wanting to have fun. I was pretty sure I'd been drunk enough to believe her.

  We'd caused a scene after that by heading onto the dance floor together. The crowd had ended up getting too pushy, so Paris convinced me to come with her to another night club. I'd agreed, even though I'd had to take a temporary bodyguard along with me.

  My grandfather had refused to tell me why I needed one, even though I'd given him ample opportunity. He'd pretended as if it was totally casual, just the same old shit. He'd never even come close to telling me the truth.

  The buzzing in my head got louder and my thoughts blurred. It was as if each rational thought had to float up through sludgy water. I fought down the sick bubble of panic in my throat. I'd blacked out once or twice before, and I knew a killer hangover was on its way, but that was no reason to freak out.

  I concentrated on the blackness, thought of it as the missing blanket, and counted my breaths in and out. Once I reached ten, I started to think back to what else I could remember.

  Paris and I in the VIP Lounge. My temporary bodyguard wearing tinted glasses with strange yellow lens.

  That was it.

  Everything else was the pounding of bass amps and a blur of darkness.

  I fought back a whimper as I realized my eyes were open. The blackness I'd thought was an alcohol-induced sleep was actually a dark room. An empty, dark room.

  I was cold because I was laying on a lawn chair, my hands tied behind me and laced through the plastic weaving.

  Shit. Shit.

  I had no idea where I was or how I got there.

  And I was all alone.

  Don’t miss the thrilling ending in the final book - Hero: The Battle, release December 15th.

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  Acknowledgement

  First, I would like to thank all of my readers. Without you, my books would not exist. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.

  A big “thanks” goes out to all the Facebook fans, street team, beta readers, and advanced reviewers. You are a HUGE part of the success of all my series.

  I have to thank my PA, Shannon Hunt. Without you my life would be a complete and utter mess. Also a big thank you goes out to my editor Lynette and my wonderful cover designer, Sinisa. You make my ideas and writing look so good.

  About The Author

  MS Parker

  M. S. Parker is a USA Today Bestselling author and the author of the Erotic Romance series, Club Privè and Chasing Perfection.

  Living in Southern California, she enjoys sitting by the pool with her laptop writing on her next spicy romance.

  Growing up all she wanted to be was a dancer, actor or author. So far only the latter has come true but M. S. Parker hasn’t retired her dancing shoes just yet. She is still waiting for the call for her to appear on Dancing With The Stars.

  When M. S. isn't writing, she can usually be found reading– oops, scratch that! She is always writing.