Prologue

PROLOGUE

Cam, Nine Years Ago

I lay on the floor between my window and my bed, arms crossed behind my head, sleep a long way away as…

I eavesdrop.

Not on my brother, though I'm barely listening to the case he's discussing with his best friend who might as well be my adopted brother because he's been around for so much of my childhood.

Not on Lex either, the aforementioned brother in all but blood, as he talks about some big time multi-country criminal case that just landed on his desk.

On—

Well, I'm eavesdropping and yet not listening to either one of the men sprawled out on the deck chairs below my open window because I'm too focused on the fact that…

Lex's partner is fucking hot.

So yeah, I'm eavesdropping like a motherfucker.

On her.

Straining as I search the conversation below for hear any hint of her voice.

The crisp notes of the West Coast clinging to her consonants. The contrasting lilting melody of her laugh. The confidence. The swagger. The sure way she handled a Glock at our annual Jackson target shooting competition—which she won, by the way.

Lex's partner is all I've been able to see in my dreams for the last week she's been staying at my parents' lake house.

Summer's brought her and I together—at least in my mind.

Because she's barely looked at me the entire week except to ask me to pass the salt or to say "Excuse me" as she slips by me so she can throw something in the trash.

I—on the other hand—have committed as much of her to memory as possible.

Which is how I know she smells like vanilla and jasmine.

And has freckles on the bridge of her nose.

And two earrings in her right ear—one shaped like a shell, the other like a starfish.

So yeah, summer's brought me a new obsession.

Mostly because I've already jerked off every night to Athena Phillips—or Attie, if you want to be the demonstration dummy for the taser portion of the self-defense class she teaches in her spare time, or Ats, if you want to live without copious amounts of electricity cascading through your body.

She's an obsession I don't think I'll be able to rid myself of any time in the near future.

Mostly because that sexy body of hers has spent the last week traipsing its way through my wet dreams.

And why I can't think of her as anything but Athena.

She's a goddess—with long, lean strength, dark, curly hair, and an ass that makes me want to get on my knees and beg the rest of the Greek gods just for a chance to kiss her feet.

"…so the report doesn't show anything unusual," she's telling my brother on a sigh.

"Hmm," my brother says. "And what about the information from…"

I tune out again, not refocusing until I hear her voice.

"Nothing. It's all clean and…"

As she talks, I think about the way she smiled at me at dinner—after offering me the bowl of mashed potatoes. Is that progress? Or just more of the same?

"So, I don't know." She sighs. "It's a tangle for sure."

"Don't sound so upset," Lex rumbles, tone teasing. "You know you love nothing more than a challenge."

I commit that piece of information to memory, doubly so when she laughs, when I hear that single glimpse of soft amongst strong and capable and badass and know that Lex's teasing is filled with truth.

They continue to talk as I add that to my mental list of things I've learned about Athena Phillips.

Bad ass FBI agent.

Great shot.

Competitive.

Removed .

Quiet and set apart unless she's like this—with Lex at her side.

Family seems to be a mystery to her.

And I'm desperate to know why.

Fucking obsessed .

"Well," Lex says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "I'm going to head off to bed."

"Me too," my brother says.

There's the noise of chairs scraping and footsteps on the porch and?—

"I'll catch up with you guys in the morning," Athena says. "I just want to enjoy the night for a bit longer."

There's something wistful about the statement and I still, wanting to know why.

Wanting to know everything about her.

Maybe that's why I listen to them exchange good nights and wait for their footsteps to move inside, up the stairs, to disappear into their respective bedrooms. Maybe it's why when Athena doesn't come inside, I slip out of my room and into the kitchen, peering out through the wide window behind the sink and seeing her sitting in the chair, head tilted up toward the sky, curls flowing down her back in a sweep of dark waves.

I stare, soaking her in.

And I don't know if it's because she's in law enforcement and her instincts are honed—or just because I'm standing there like a creeper, staring at her from the shadows of the kitchen—but eventually she spins around.

I freeze as our eyes connect.

My heart launches itself against my rib cage as she pushes up out of the chair, starts for the door to the kitchen, and I scramble, searching for anything that won't make me look like a fucking creep…

And have the feeling I fail as she walks through the door and I'm still standing there like a fucking creeper.

"Cam," she murmurs in greeting.

"Athena," I manage back.

Her brows flick up, eyes promising retribution.

"Sorry," I mutter, wrapping my fingers around a glass. "Uh, I meant, Ats," I amend. I hold up the cup. "I…uh…just needed some water and a snack."

Right on cue, my stomach growls.

Thank you, always hungry body.

Her face relaxes and she leans a hip against the counter, mouth curving up slightly at the edges. "You've had a couple of long days."

Training. Getting ready for the season. Hitting the local rink and the gym and the trails around the house. I've got training camp in a couple of weeks and if it goes well, I might make the roster this season.

Not the AHL.

But The Show.

The big leagues. Playing professional hockey in front of tens of thousands of people.

My fucking dream.

"Anything really important is worth putting in the hard work," I say softly.

Her head tilts to the side, those curls bouncing behind her like a silken cloud and she smiles outright this time.

The impact is like a punch to my solar plexus.

And it loosens my tongue.

"You're beautiful," I blurt.

Her smile fades, is wiped away almost comically fast, and—Christ—but the emotions that take its places are like rubbing sandpaper over my naked skin. "Cam," she begins.

"I…just mean it objectively speaking," I blather. "You're beautiful like a painting's beautiful, or like…a tree."

The only positive thing about that statement is that she smiles again.

"I—"

She pushes off the counter, reaches toward the cookie jar, and pulls out a handful of apple oat cookies—one of my mom's specialties.

And my favorite.

A fact that sends my heart lurching against my ribs again.

"Eat, drink, and sleep," she says softly as she presses them into my hand.

"I—"

But before I can formulate anything else—like a complete fucking thought or a compliment that's not comparing her to a fucking tree —she's gone…

I stand there and listen to her footsteps disappear upstairs.

Then I eat the cookies, drink a glass of water, and jerk off to the vision of that small smile, the softness in her eyes, and…dark curls bouncing as she walks away from me.

And, in the morning, I realize I'm lucky to have even that much.

Because, in the morning…

She's gone.