Chapter One

Madeline

" G reat costume." The massive bouncer standing at the doors to Trick or Treat , the Halloween-themed bar hosting Thirteen Nights of Halloween in downtown Midnight Falls, smirks at me as I step up in front of him. He looks like he belongs up a beanstalk, picking on fairytale characters.

My brows furrow, unease drifting through me at the look on his face. It's a little too amused, like he knows something I don't.

"Is something wrong with it?" I ask, smoothing my hands down my furry sides.

"Nope. Nothing at all. It's a cute costume," he says, still smirking. "Go on in."

I stare at him for a heartbeat, not entirely sure I believe him. But he's right. The costume is cute.

There's nothing remotely terrifying about a unicorn onesie with a sparkly horn—which is precisely why I chose it. Scary and I are not friends. We're not even frenemies. We're straight up arch nemeses.

There was no way I was squeezing my curves into any of the other options the costume shop still had available. Undead Bride? Nope. Zombie Cheerleader? Heck no. Dead Prom Queen? Definitely not. B-Movie Final Girl? Uh, no, no, and no. I actually want to sleep after this party, thank you very much.

Moving to a town that celebrates Halloween all year the week of said holiday probably wasn't my best plan ever. Actually, it was a terrible plan. I've been a nervous wreck since I moved here, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. And this girl needed a job. How else am I ever going to afford to buy my own house? Or a car that doesn't shake when I drive the speed limit?

My cousin, Tyler, owns an advertising firm in town and needed a new marketing person. It was a match made in desperation and nepotism.

I just pretend all of the Halloween decorations littering town are invisible. It's surprisingly easy to do when you have a lifetime of experience. Giant inflatable bloody skeleton, who? Ghoulish cemetery display, where? Haven't seen either.

It's a little harder to miss the spooky roller coasters and haunted houses at the theme park situated on the outskirts of town. Apparently, the family the town is named after, the Midnight family, own a bunch of them and are always working on new ways to scare the bejeesus out of people.

I guess scary sells because they're all bajillionaires. But I avoid that side of town. It's working well so far.

Maybe one day I'll get over my fear of…well, fear, but that day is not today. Halloween is my least favorite holiday. So I'm not entirely sure why I let my cousin talk me into coming to this party.

Oh, right. Because I'm a pushover. Exert even a tiny amount of pressure, and I cave like a freaking paper house on wet sand—far too easily. It's a sickness, really.

"You going in or not?" Behemoth asks, clearly exasperated that I'm still standing in the doorway of the bar, not budging.

"Um, yeah. Thanks," I mutter, ducking under his tattooed forearm before he changes his mind and decides I'm not cool enough.

I'm definitely not cool enough. Apparently, everyone who is anyone is at this party tonight. At least, that's what Tyler said. If anyone would know, he would. He's lived here forever.

You need to meet people, Madeline. You have to come.

I should really stop listening to him. He has terrible ideas.

I squeeze my eyes closed as I scurry past a display of fake spiders and cobwebs stretched across the small foyer of the bar.

"Why, baby Jesus. Why did it have to be fake spiders?" I mutter to myself, shivering when I burst out onto the other side. Whoever decided they should be synonymous with Halloween was evil.

I blink my eyes open…and all thoughts of fake spiders and Halloween come to a screeching halt.

The bar is three levels, with massive, wrought-iron staircases weaving through each level. Ivy and pumpkins adorn the staircases, with elaborate chandeliers hanging overhead. Stained glass windows dominate the back wall of the bar, each piece depicting a different Halloween or fall scene. When the disco balls hit them, they light up, casting prisms of light through the bar.

Giant fireplaces crackle along the walls, with dozens of candles scattered throughout to help light the cavernous space. There's an eerie green mist floating near the ceiling and floors that gives the entire place a spooky vibe, especially with the disco balls spinning.

None of that is the immediate problem, however.

Maybe I should have grilled the bouncer for more information about that smirk. No. I definitely should have grilled him for more information.

Because I'm the only freaking unicorn in a sea of glittering ballgowns and expensive tuxedos.

I'm going to murder my cousin. There's no other choice. I have to strangle him and then hide his body.

"I don't even look good in orange," I whisper as a couple standing nearby in elaborate demi masks turn to look at me.

"Cute costume," the woman says, laughing.

My cheeks flame with mortification. I take a step backward, determined to flee into the night before anyone else sees me. I'm a pretty confident person. Under ordinary circumstances, I don't much care what people think about me. But I've been in town for six entire days—not even a full week.

The last thing I need is to be labeled the weirdo who showed up to a freaking masquerade party in a costume. I hate you so much, Tyler. I cannot believe he told me this was a costume party!

I'm going to spend the rest of my life in prison, eating weird prison food, probably living in a cell with someone who collects toenail clippings.

I spin on my heel, my unicorn tail swishing through the air, and take a stumbling, blind step forward…right into a ridiculously hard chest.

"Oh!" I cry, grabbing blindly for said hard chest to keep myself from falling right on my stupid unicorn tail.

Except, I don't grab his chest. Of course I don't. My aim is off. Way off. Why is he so freaking tall?!

"Jesus fucking Christ," he grunts, wrapping one ridiculously hard arm around me as I grab a handful of his dick.

"Oh my god!" I cry.

But I don't let go of his dick. Of course I don't. My brain says to let go. But my hand—Lord, have mercy—my hand just freaking clamps down instead.

Why am I squeezing?!

What is happening?

Abort. Abort.

My brain screams all the right things. It knows this should not be happening right now—that this is bad on every level of bad. On no planet, and in no way is this good or acceptable or okay. But my freaking brain is disconnected from my body. My hand literally will not open.

I just stand there. Terrified. Unable to move. Grabbing his dick.

Help. Me.

"Fucking hell, unicorn," he growls, shoving his hand between us to grab mine. He pries my fingers off.

Thank you, baby Jesus. I'm no longer squeezing his dick.

"If you want to play with my cock, I'll take it out for you, but this isn't the time or place."

"I'm not…I don't…I…" I stutter, tipping my head back to look up at him. Of course my body works now. Of course it does. My gaze tangles with him, and I gulp, falling silent.

Unlike everyone else I've seen in the last three minutes, he isn't wearing a mask. His icy blue eyes sear me, his upper lip curled like he's snarling. Except the look on his face isn't pain or anger. It's pure pleasure.

"You're beautiful," I blurt. It's nothing but the truth. I've seen big, rugged men before, and I've seen beautiful men before. But I've never seen a man who managed to be both at the same time. This man is both, in spades. His shaggy brown hair is a touch too long, but it suits him perfectly. His beard is sexy as sin. So are the tattoos that lick up the side of his neck beneath the tuxedo stretched to capacity over his muscular frame.

"Are you just saying that because you're still basically touching my cock right now?" he asks, his voice a gravelly, rusty rumble, like he doesn't use it much.

"What? No! I…" My hand darts away from his dick, finally moving under my command. At least, it would, except he's holding it, so instead, it just kind of hovers near his erection, bumping against it as we stare at each other.

"You grabbed my cock."

"Stop saying that!" I cry, squirming in shame. "It was an accident."

One of his dark brows flies upward. "You were squeezing, unicorn."

"Accidentally."

"You accidentally grabbed my cock and accidentally squeezed?"

"Yes," I sigh, relieved he gets it. Mortified it happened at all. Oh my god. This is horrific.

"Uh-huh. And I suppose you accidentally kept squeezing it, too?"

I narrow my eyes on him, anxiety churning through me. "You don't sound very convinced."

"You don't sound very convincing. Why'd you grab my cock, unicorn?"

"Stop calling me that." I tug on my arm, but he refuses to release me. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Madeline Dooley." My eyes fly open wide when he smirks. "Crap," I mutter. Now he knows my name and can file charges against me for touching him inappropriately. Or he can axe-murder me.

Stranger danger, Madeline. Stranger-freaking-danger.

"Madeline Dooley," he repeats, his eyes still locked on my face.

"What's your name?" I ask, far more bravely than I feel right now, but hey. Turnabout is only fair play, right? Maybe. He isn't the one who just had his hands all over my private areas.

This is bad. I am so going to jail. And I can't even be upset if he sends me to the slammer. I deserve it.

Goodbye, new job. Hello, toenail clippings.

"Drake Whitlock."

My gaze flies back to his face, and I blink. "You're Drake Whitlock?"

I've only been here for a week and even I've heard about Drake Whitlock. He lives in a mansion on the outskirts of town, is a bajillionaire or something, and doesn't come around town much. People say he's a cranky hermit. This man does not look like a hermit to me. He's maybe thirty. That's at least thirty years too young to be a cranky hermit.

"And you're Madeline Dooley."

Okay, brain, time to do your thing. Explain what happened, apologize, and get the frig out of here before you spend the rest of your life in jail for touching his dick without permission.

"I didn't mean to touch your dick," I say, literally squirming on my feet. "I'm so, so sorry. I was trying to escape, and I ran into you, and I thought I was falling, and I tried to grab you to keep myself upright, but I expected to find your chest, not your…um…dick. Instead, I found it, and then I panicked like fight, flight, or freaking panic, you know?" I inhale a breath, my first since I started speaking. "And now we're here. Please don't send me to jail. I don't think I'd be a very good inmate, Drake."

"Huh."

I stare at him for five full seconds before "Huh?" finally bursts from my lips. "That's all you have to say? Just huh?" I cross my arms, scowling. "My fate is literally in your hands. I could have a cellmate who collects toenail clippings. I'm pleading for mercy here, and all I get is huh?"

"Toenail clippings?"

"I watched a documentary," I mumble.

"On toenail clippings?"

"On prison. Keep up."

"Right. You're pleading for mercy."

"Exactly!"

A lazy smile tips his lips up at the corners. "Tell you what," he murmurs. "When we're married, and you're in my bed, we'll see if you still want mercy. But that's not what I was talking about when I said, huh."

I gape at him, my face blazing hot. "You did not just say that."

"Oh, I did." He slowly reaches out, using one fingertip to close my mouth. "Meant it too."

"You're insane." Yes, that's the explanation. He's a cranky hermit because he tells complete strangers that they're getting married. His family obviously keeps him locked away for his own well-being. He seems perfectly sane to me, though.

"No, I just know what I want, unicorn. And she just wrapped her perfect fucking hand around my cock and squeezed," he growls, those icy eyes locked on me in a way that makes my heart race. But I cannot deal with flirting or sexual innuendo or…whatever this is. No way.

I don't even know where to start!

I don't flirt. I don't date. And I definitely don't do sex. I mean, have sex. Especially not with reclusive billionaires who look like this man. I picked a freaking unicorn for a reason. I am one. A unicorn. Well, I'm a virgin, but it basically means the same thing to people my age.

"Please stop talking," I plead, my head spinning.

"Why were you trying to escape? Is someone bothering you?"

"Uh, did you miss the fact that I'm the only unicorn in a sea of ballgowns, Drake?"

"Nope." His gaze runs over my costume. "You're the only thing I've seen since I walked in the door."

I groan, pressing my hands to my cheeks. "I'm going to be the town weirdo."

"I mean, you did grab my cock."

"You are not helping!" I cry, scowling at him. "Why are you so annoying?"

"Probably because you're so fucking cute when you're flustered." He shrugs, cocking his head to the side. "It's sexy as hell, unicorn."

"Oh my god. Stop calling me that before I murder you along with my cousin."

"You murdered your cousin?"

"No. Not yet. It's on my list."

His grin is wide enough to split his face. And for some reason, I want to kiss it off him.

Nope. No way. Not happening.

There's a reason I don't date or flirt or have sex. Love is the reason. I don't do love. My parents claimed they were in love…right up until they divorced when I was eight. I've been a piece of rope in their tug-of-war ever since.

If my mom got me a toy, my dad had to get me a better one. If he took me on a trip, she insisted on taking me on a better one. It was never about me, but I was always the one who suffered in their little war. Every holiday was a battleground, littered with bad memories and meltdowns from one parent or the other.

I'm twenty-three, and they still try to use me like a rope. It's exhausting!

If that's what love turns people into, count me out.

"Why are we murdering your cousin?"

"We?" I blink at Drake and then shake my head. "You probably have bodies in your basement, so of course you're cool with murder," I mutter, scrubbing my hands down my face like that's going to make him any less kissable. It doesn't, darn it. It doesn't make my nipples any less hard, either.

"Escape with me, and you can find out for yourself."

"What?" I drop my hands back to my sides, staring at him in shock.

"You don't want to be here. I definitely don't want to fucking be here. So, escape with me, unicorn." He holds out his hand. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

I was right earlier. He is insane. But I think I might be, too. Because I'm actually considering this madness. I don't even know why because nothing about this is sane or rational. But something about him makes me want to place my hand in his and flee into the night with him. Actually, that's not true.

Everything about him makes me want to flee with him. I like him far more than I should. Every time he smiles at me, butterflies kick into flight in my stomach, and my stupid heart flutters. Don't even get me started on what's going on with my vagina. I feel my freaking heartbeat in my clit, which I didn't even know was a thing until he smirked at me.

"Come on, unicorn," he murmurs, his eyes boring into mine. "It's Halloween. Take a chance and run away with me."

Great. Just great. I'm either going to be murdered by a hot billionaire on Halloween. Or I'm going to sleep with one.

This is not how my night was supposed to go.

I hate you so much, Tyler.