Beautiful.

Ashton Phillips' beautiful little sister is staring at me with emerald green eyes that are wide with surprise. And recognition. The cute little squeal that escapes her lips makes me chuckle.

"Griffin? Griffin Davis?"

Her mouth. Fuck, her mouth. It's in a perfect 'O' shape. Red lips. Sexy red lips. Ashton Phillips' little sister is smokin' hot.

All I can do is grin and stare.

"I thought you'd moved away? What are you doing," she waves her hand, "here?"

Of course I won't tell her the real reason I've come to the suburbs. I smirk. "Had some business out here. But yeah, I live on the beach. How's your brother?"

She shrugs, making her long, dark ponytail flick in the air. "Ash is okay. The same. He's in D.C. right now. At a..."

"Protest?"

She says the word the same time I do, and we both laugh.

"Yep. I think he's dating a girl he met somewhere and she's really into the environment and they're protesting, I don't know. Something. A pipeline."

"Sounds just like him." My instinct is to ask her to tell him hello. But I don't want her to even mention me to him. Because I don't want Ash to tell her what happened between us; it's clear from her expression that she doesn't know why her brother and I stopped being friends.

She doesn't know anything about me, or what I do. Or maybe she does, and doesn't care. Many women don't. But something tells me that Julie isn't like most girls, at least not yet.

"Little Julie Phillips." I'm trying to fill the pause that's come between us.

"Juliette." She smiles and lust crackles through me. "I go by Juliette now."

"Nice." I rake my eyes down her body, then quickly back to her face. I can't help it. She's a hot piece of ass, juicy and gorgeous, even in a T-shirt and jeans. Curves for days, like a lingerie model, but with a little extra.

I'd love to see her naked.

With hesitant eyes, she glances toward the front of the restaurant. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I'd love to talk. South Beach? It must be great to live there. It's still boring in Kendall. In case you haven't noticed."

I look down and realize I'm holding my left hand in my right, massaging the palm with my thumb. It's what I do when I'm nervous. Self-soothing, the therapist said after my mom died. I laugh. "Yeah, it's pretty sweet. But hey, you're graduating soon, you'll get outta here."

She leans in to take my plate. I catch her scent. It's like clean flowers with a hint of vanilla, all feminine, and I want to press my nose to the inside of her wrist. I try to play it cool, spreading my legs and sprawling an arm on the back of the booth.

Holding the plate, she rolls her eyes. "I wish. I'm going to community college in September and living at home. Can't afford anything else. Listen, I'll be right back. Do you want anything else? I need to show my face up front so my manager doesn't lose it."

"That berry cobbler sounds good." Normally I'm strict about what I eat and keep it to paleo protein and all that shit. But I want a few more minutes with this girl. I'm not even sure why, especially since she's making me remember the part of my life I usually want to forget.

She flashes a smile and I swear to fuck my heart skips a beat. "One berry cobbler, coming up. Vanilla ice cream?" The way she says it, all hopeful, as if she's challenging me to something naughty—me, of all people—sends a laugh rumbling through my body.

"Sure."

I study her as she walks off. How could I not?

Ashton Phillips' little sister has an ass that's not just shapely. It's glorious. Poems should be written about it. Wars could be fought over it.

I do a quick mental calculation. If I'm twenty-five, Julie—sorry, Juliette, a sexy fucking name if I ever heard one, didn't even know that was her real name—must be, what? Seventeen? Eighteen?

Jesus Christ. I'm a lot of things, most of them wicked. Morally sketchy in the best of times.

But I don't fuck underage girls. I like women, usually ones older than me. They ask fewer questions, demand fewer answers and are content to take what I'm able to give. Which isn't all that much. Emotionally numb, is what my sister calls it.

There's a buzzing sound on the table. It's my phone, and I glance at the text.

Victoria.

U finished with your business in Kendall? I need to know how many girls you need for next week

, I reply. I'd stopped at this diner because I was starving and it was next to the storage unit.

I would've come with you...or satisfied your hunger.

I smirk. Victoria's been trying to fuck me again for months. After a couple of hookups—and she's in the rare league of women I've screwed more than once—I put her in the friend zone. A friend-with-financial benefits, because she's definitely got a mind for money. Something I admire. She's also one of my oldest friends. I'd met her and Ash in third grade.

You mean mom's place? I'm just staying here for a few weeks. And sure, an hour's good. No cobbler. This ass is big enough LOL

I blow out a hard little laugh. Victoria's thin like a model, and likes to say that she doesn't live in Kendall, that she's just staying with her mom. I know otherwise. She's here when she's not staying with her flavor-of-the-month boyfriend on the beach.

The smell of flowers and vanilla washes over me, and I look up. Juliette's holding a plate that's heaped with ice cream and sugar. The plate is breast-level and my mouth waters, but not for dessert.

She sets it in front of me. "It's on the house. Because I made you wait. Your waiter went home sick—" She slaps her hand over her mouth. "I probably shouldn't have said that to a customer."

I chuckle and pick up a spoon. "I take my vitamin C, don't worry."

She pauses, a hand on the curve of her waist. There's an awkward pause, and I wonder if she expects me to ask for her number. Or if she's thinking of giving hers to me. And I'm tempted. Real tempted.

But I play out that possible scenario. I'd take her out, show off by driving her down Ocean Drive in one of my cars, bring her to a club, fuck her once. She'd get sloppy drunk or beg for coke or molly. Maybe I'd fuck her again because her ass is that sweet.

I'd break her heart. She'd tell her brother. He'd hate me even more. Probably call the cops if she's underage, which is exactly what I don't need.

"Well, good to see you." Her voice is brisk. I'll be honest, I'm a bit taken aback because women always flirt with me. She slides a black check binder out of a pocket on her apron. "I can take this, or the hostess can take it up front."

Any thoughts I had of asking for her number, taking her out and screwing her have evaporated. It was a hot fantasy for a few minutes.

Girls like Ashton Phillips' sister aren't for me. Even if they do have bodies made for sin.

"It was good seeing you, Juliette." The way her name rolls off my tongue feels sensual, decadent, even. She bites her lip and walks away, her long ponytail bouncing behind her. I almost groan out loud as I dig into the cobbler, thinking of wrapping my fist around her hair.

Without glancing at the check, I slip three, hundred-dollar bills into the black holder and devour the cobbler.

I head for the back entrance and pause, my hand on the door. There's one thing I need to do. I turn and walk to the booth where the two middle-aged dudes who harassed Juliette are sitting.

"Hey, bro." I stop at their table.

The guy who talked shit to Juliette looks startled. "Can I help you?"

I stare, unblinking, a slight sneer on my face. At my size, I can be intimidating. "How do you like hospital food?"

He lets out nervous laugh.

"You say one more disrespectful word to the waitress with the ponytail, you're going to be eating plenty of meals at Miami General." My hands twitch into fists at my side. "Trust me, I'll find out if you so much as look at that girl wrong, I'll fuck you up. Actually, that goes for any of the female staff. There's cameras in the parking lot, so if I find out you've said anything, I'll get your tag and me and my boys will come to your house."

I step closer, allowing my voice to drop, pulling my T-shirt up so they can get an eyeful of the Glock in my waistband. I only carry when I'm moving product or cash, like I am today. "Understand?"

The guy swallows hard and nods once.

Slipping on my sunglasses, I casually walk away and let myself out the back entrance. My Porsche is nearby, and just as I'm about to climb in, I hear a female voice calling my name.

"Griff! Griffin! Wait!"

I turn. It's Juliette, running up to me. The tops of her cheekbones are tinged with pink, and she's clutching the black check holder.

"I have your change." The look on her face is so genuine, so unsophisticated, that I want to take her in my arms. I didn't think people like this existed in this world. We're close now, close enough for me to realize that she only comes up to about my pecs. Out the corner of my eye I see the two guys from the booth walking fast to their minivan. They glance our way then quickly stare at the ground.

"I didn't want you to think I was trying to steal."

Dear God. This girl. My hand extends to touch a lock of her hair that's fallen out of her ponytail, but I catch myself and jam my fingers in my pocket. "I didn't forget anything, Juliette." I pause to allow her name to sit on my tongue and in the air. "That's your tip."

Her eyes grow big. "But...but," she takes a deep breath. "Wow. Thank you."

Jesus Christ, I want to kiss those pouty lips of hers. "See you around." I climb in my car and fire it up, shooting her a grin as I back out and drive away.

I blast Avicii as I drive to Vee's—excuse me, Vee's mom's— and try to shove Juliette out of my brain. She has no place in there. Not with my life, at all, ever.

Vee's mom, who's never home, lives in one of those apartment complexes that's all over Miami. It's new and tries to look hip and inviting, and even has a sign out front that says IF YOU LIVED HERE YOU'D BE HOME BY NOW. It's one of those places I'd like to park some money in, if I could find the right developer who would take my cash.

In time.

Vee swings open the door, wearing a little pink tank top and even littler white shorts. She reaches and grabs for my arm, pulling me inside. It smells like cheap candle, something chemically pungent mixed with floor cleaner.

"Hey, handsome. I can't believe you stopped at that nasty diner," she squeals, putting her wrists on my shoulders. With her wedge sandals, Vee's tall enough to look me in the eye.

She leans in and plants her mouth on mine. I've tried to keep my relationship with Vee on a business level, although I allow a little kiss from time to time if I'm bored.

As Vee's tongue explores my mouth, all I can think of is Juliette. Is she really as innocent as she appears? She can't be.

Vee tastes brown, like coffee. She nibbles on my bottom lip as I entertain a split-second fantasy of patiently, slowly, telling Juliette how to fuck me. Get on top, I'd tell her gently, taking her ample tits in both hands. Fuck me slow, take me all in. Just like that, baby. Just like that...

I grunt and pull away from Vee as my cock hardens.

"Time for business, right?" Vee laughs. She knows me too well.

"Something like that."

I stride over to the overstuffed light blue sofa. Vee's mom has decorated in an eighties beach theme, with shells and shit everywhere.

"Honestly. Why are you here in Kendall? I thought you were done with this place. You don't ever leave Miami Beach unless it's to go downtown or to the airport."

"Had to rearrange some stuff at the storage unit where my mom's things are. Plus I wanted to store some shit there."

She scowls. "Is that safe, leaving pills in a storage unit? You never used to do that."

I shrug. "It's better if I change things up and don't stick to a routine. And I've known the owner for years. He takes care of me. Since I first put my mom's stuff there. Plus I shoot him an extra few hundred a month."

"You should just move your mom's stuff to your place. It's not like you don't have room."

I don't bother to explain that my mom's stuff in storage is right where it should be. In Kendall, in the suburbs, in the past. Plus it's an air-conditioned, out-of-the-way spot to hide a few hundred ecstasy pills from time to time.

"What do you have for me?"

Her eyebrows lift. I smile and pat the sofa next to me.

Vee's expression relaxes as she sinks onto the cushion. "I have three girls who want to come to your party. They're not professionals."

"What did you promise them?" I study Vee's face. She's a classic redhead, with freckles and brown eyes. Cute. Not sexy. A little too skinny for my taste.

Vee shrugs. "A good time."

"Perfect. Did you tell them who'll be at the party?"

She shakes her head. "I don't even know who'll be at the party, because you didn't tell me yet."

I scratch my jaw. Vee's one of the few people I actually trust. She'd tried to kiss me during one third grade recess, and we've been friends ever since. "The usual, of course. And the Amsterdam guys. They'd like to meet some local girls, not professionals. They used to be some of the biggest hash traffickers in Europe, and now they're selling molly. Good shit. Pure. I'd like to get in on that."

"The person with the best shit will always outsell the person with the weaker shit," she says in a singsong. "Someone taught me that. Someone real fucking smart." She traces my eyebrow with her finger. "That would be you, by the way."

She takes her hand off my face. "So what's my cut for bringing all these beautiful girls?"

I grin and tuck a red curl behind her ear. Vee's looking at me with hard, glittering eyes. All business, this woman. Always has been. Grinning, I relax into the sofa.

"You always look like such a sexy asshole when you do that."

"Do what?" I smirk.

"When you sit like that. It's called manspreading. I read that in an article online the other day."

"I think you like it."

"I think I like it a little too much."

I cock an eyebrow. "Wanna show me how much?"

I don't protest when she kisses me. Or when she puts my hand on her leg. When she tries to straddle me, I stop her.

"Wait." I take the nine out of my waistband. Making sure the safety's on, I set it on a glass end table next to a stucco, dolphin-shaped lamp, then lean back, smirking.

She slides onto the floor so she's kneeling between my legs, all while undoing my belt buckle. My body responds, but when I close my eyes, the only girl I'm thinking of is waiting tables at a diner. She has a body made for sin and trusting green eyes.

And she's the one I need to stay far away from.

____