Delilah Fiorella represents everything I hate. Wealth. Privilege. Power. She runs the New York club scene—where she goes, Manhattan’s wasted elite are sure to follow. I run security for the city’s hottest nightclubs—clubs my billionaire brother just happens to own. Not a night goes by that she and her entourage aren’t causing me grief, one way or another. I’ve come to accept Delilah Fiorella and her spoiled, rich-girl antics are a permanent fixture in my life. I tell myself I won’t let anyone else deal with her bullsh*t because her sister is my brother’s woman—that makes her family. What I won’t admit to anyone, not even to myself, is that she kissed me once. She was just a kid—barely legal—and too blitzed to realize what she was doing or who she was doing it to... but five years later, I still can’t get the taste of her out of my mouth. My hands still remember what she feels like writhing beneath them. And no matter what it makes me, I want to do it again. When she’s drugged in one of my clubs and someone tries to kidnap her, I feel responsible. When I find out someone is stalking her, threatening to hurt her, I take it personally. When my brother asks me to protect her, I reluctantly agree. Delilah doesn’t want my protection. She wants to tease me. Torture me. Drive me crazy. And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t love every f*cking minute of it. She’s spoiled and sheltered. Pampered and Indulged. Lives in an Ivory Tower where someone like me will never be welcome. That’s okay—I don’t need an invitation. I don’t need permission. Because the demons inside me have been unleashed and they’ll stop at nothing to protect her and they’ll crawl to hell and back to make her mine.