History is so boring.

I'm practically falling asleep, mostly because the whole weekend was a whirlwind. First Sebastian's kiss on Friday, and the emotional fallout from that — I didn't leave my bed all day Saturday. Then last night, I was out late with Sebastian at a charity auction. That was a snooze. In those situations, boredom replaces my rage, lulling me into complacency, apathy.

Forcing myself to straighten my spine in my uncomfortable wooden chair, I pull my phone closer to me and stealthily text Ash.

How are you feeling?

Good. I'm hoping to come see you soon.

I hesitate, my cheeks flaring. Has Ashton has figured out the obvious?

Do you mean Sebastian?

We're friends.

Seriously. We're friends. We go out occasionally, and I'm learning about health care from him.

None of that is a lie.

I didn't have to do anything for you, jerk. I wanted to. Because you're my brother and I love you.

Yeah

K

I fight back a smile. Knowing that Ash is happy justifies what I'm doing with Sebastian. It's not like he's asked me to do anything weird.

Yet.

Although I know my day of reckoning is coming. While Sebastian was polite and cool at the charity auction, once we got into the back of the car, he turned to me with that feral grin.

"You look so exhausted, Juliette."

"I've been studying a lot."

"Ah, I remember those days. Here. We've got a ways to go before we drop you off. Why don't you lean against my shoulder and take a little nap."

I hesitated, and when he stretched his arm out and pulled me close, I didn't say no. It wasn't that I wanted to be close to him, I figured I had no other choice. Only this time, I didn't fall asleep. While leaning against him, I stayed still, with my eyes half closed. I watched as he caressed my knee, and my thigh, and again saw him get hard under his tuxedo pants.

Prickles of awareness washed over me. I wasn't sure what was going on, but it was weird. The only two times he's touched me, I've been asleep — or pretending to be asleep.

The question of why haunts me as I sit here in class. I'd meant to ask Victoria her take on Sebastian, but she spent the weekend with her attorney going over 'legal strategy." Today's her big court date, and she's supposed to take a plea deal. I know she's worried the judge will give her jail time. God, I hope he doesn't.

More than ever, I need a girlfriend. Being around Allison a few days ago made me realize how lonely I am.

Shivering, I lean down to pull a cardigan out of my backpack. Why did I wear a little sundress to class today? It's always subzero in this classroom.

I zone out for the next several minutes, until my ears key in on something the professor's saying. He's talking about Middle East history, and mentions a poet.

Hafiz.

The poet Griffin quoted on our way to the Keys that first trip. That was months ago. I feel like I've lived a thousand lifetimes since that weekend. My body feels old and creaky, and yet, that weekend's beauty is seared into my mind, written into my soul, as if it happened this morning.

It's when I fell in love with Griffin.

The memories send my mood into a spiral of sadness. I spend the rest of the class going over every detail, every moment, of those three days. The way Griffin smelled, like wind and ginger and the color blue. The way his shoulder tasted like salt after he'd been swimming. I'd licked and sucked at his tan skin, and he chuckled, saying that no one had ever paid attention to his shoulders like I did.

His shoulders were so fucking sexy. Muscular. Like unbreakable, carved marble.

How I'd look over and he'd be staring at me, and how he'd grin bashfully when he realized he'd been caught.

The memories always end up in the same place: me, alone and angry. Lately I'd come to the conclusion that Griffin was selfish for going to Amsterdam, greedy for wanting another five million when he already had so much, arrogant for thinking he could broker a drug deal with people so dangerous.

He thought he was invincible, and he wasn't. And I'm left to deal with the aftermath.

Screw him.

The block long walk to my car in the school parking garage is brutally warm, and I groan out loud when I discover the elevator's out of service. I trudge up the five flights of stairs, sweating and pulling off my thin cardigan.

As I walk to my car, I realize that I'm on the wrong side of the garage, and on the wrong floor, even. Shit. This happens to me a lot. I get so wrapped up in my thoughts that I forget where I've parked, and now I have to trudge all the way across the garage and down two flights of stairs in the oppressive humidity.

A large, white SUV slows to a roll next to me. The driver's window lowers.

"Juliette?"

I look up, and my face brightens when I see who's behind the wheel. It's a guy who used to hang with Griffin and Matthew, someone from my past life. "

Dylan?" I stop and walk to the window. "How're you? It's been a while."

"Hey, girl. It has. What, three, four months? Five?"

I nod. "I'm sorry about your cousin."

Dylan nods and shoots me a sad smile. He's a big guy, with a black goatee and short, glossy black hair. "Live by the sword, die by the sword, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know a little about that."

"You headed to class?" I can tell by his kind eyes and the way he's quickly changed the subject that he's trying to head off tears or female hysterics.

"No, I'm trying to find my stupid car. I realized I parked it on the other side, on the second floor. And it's hot as hell and I'm sweating to death."

"I'll give you a ride. I've got the air blasting. Climb in, we can catch up."

At the very mention of air conditioning, I'm rounding the front of his car and pulling open the passenger door. This SUV is so large that I have to hoist myself up by holding onto a handle.

I settle into the tan leather seat and Dylan aims an air vent at my face. "Oh, God, that's like heaven," I sigh.

He chuckles and drives toward the ramp to the lower floor. "Here, you can put your bag in back so you have more legroom." He takes my bag and sets it behind his seat.

"So what have you been up to?" he asks.

"Going to school. Taking a full course load, trying to get my core classes out of the way before I concentrate on pharmacy. Although I'm starting to think about pre-med, too."

I'm also a sugar baby for a rich doctor. You know, the usual.

"That's real cool," he says. "What kind of medicine would you study?"

I'm opening my mouth to answer when I realize that he's driving out of the garage entirely. Maybe he knows a separate entrance. That must be it.

"Possibly sports medicine. That seems interesting, helping rehab athletes and people with those kinds of injuries...hey, why are we taking this street?" I turn my head to look at him and a pang of fear strikes my belly when I see that his expression is hard and determined.

He doesn't answer, and I see the sign for the causeway to Miami Beach. "Dylan, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm not going to hurt you."

My breathing quickens. "What's going on? Where are you taking me?"

"Look, I can't say. You're not going to be hurt at all, okay. Just be quiet and we'll get to where we're going real soon."

I feel my heart kick against my ribs. Suddenly, I'm angry. Maybe it's because I was angry in class while thinking about Griffin, or maybe it's my anger at the situation with Sebastian, but I explode.

"Let me the fuck out now!" I twist my body and dive for my backpack so I can call for help.

But Dylan's too big and my bag's too far. He's also not buckled in and somehow grips my thin arm in his meaty hand.

"Juliette, I've been told to do this. To get you. So just shut up for the rest of the ride. Please."

I sit back in my seat. "You and Matthew and Griffin. All of you. So fucking shady. Did you work for Griffin? I never figured it out when he was alive. But now I know he didn't have any friends other than people in the drug business. I wish I never met any of you."

He stares straight ahead, and we're speeding along the causeway, over the blue water of Biscayne Bay. We're obviously going to South Beach. But where? And why?

"If this is some sort of sick joke, so help me God, I will find you and...and..." I don't know what I would do. Or could do. I barely know this guy, and until five minutes ago, thought he was a pretty okay person. "Did Victoria put you up to this? Is this some surprise bullshit party or something?"

Maybe her charge was dismissed and she and her lawyer-lover are celebrating somewhere at a restaurant.

That must be it. Crazy Victoria.

"Did she?"

Dylan doesn't answer, and I whisper a few swear words. I turn to the window, angling my body away from him. As he slows the car to exit the causeway, I impulsively try to open the door. I push it with my shoulder, but it doesn't budge.

I punch the window button with my finger, but it doesn't lower, either. "Dammit, you've got the child locks on this door," I mutter.

He really doesn't want me to get away. We pass two of Victoria's favorite restaurants, and as we do, my hopes that she was behind this stupid abduction fade.

Dylan navigates the big vehicle down a side street, then down an even smaller street. The only thing down here is a hotel, one I'd been to once, with Victoria and Zoe. The three of us had a spa day here one afternoon.

He parks the car at the far end of the lot, near a gate. I glare at him as he climbs out and I try to open the door so I can sprint off, but it's locked. He comes to my side of the door. When he opens, I think about making a run for it, but his body's too big.

"Come on," he says, holding his hand so I can take it and climb down.

"I've got it myself," I snap, but he puts a hand on my upper arm anyway. His fingers curl around my bicep.

"This way," he says roughly.

I try to simultaneously squirm away and look for another person in the lot, but there isn't a soul. He propels me toward the gate, practically dragging me.

"Don't make a scene. Please. Just trust me that you're going to like this. It's a surprise."

I roll my eyes as he inserts a card in a lock on the gate. We enter, with him still gripping my arm. I've never been to this part of the hotel before.

We're on a white gravel walkway, the kind of stones that sparkle in the sun. The path is surrounded by tropical foliage, and I see breaks in the bushes, where other paths lead to bungalows. At the end, we stop, and he pushes me down another small path.

We come to a door, and Dylan again inserts the card. The door makes a clicking noise, and he opens it about six inches. "Go."

I scowl at him. "I want my bag."

"You'll get it. Just go inside." He looks at me with his brown eyes, then motions to the door.

I'm half mad, half terrified when my hands push the door open. It shuts with a loud snick and my fear spikes into panic attack territory.

This is a suite, with tan furniture and white accents, and there's a gauzy curtain separating a small living room with a much larger bedroom. My sandals make a soft tap on the shiny, white tile floor. There's only one thing with color in the entire place, and that's a vase filled with scarlet roses. While I touch the rose petals to see if they're real — they are — my eyes are drawn to a card nestled among the flowers.

My name's on the front, in cursive writing. I'm about to pluck it out when the curtain ripples and billows softly. Something tells me to look at the card later, and I squint toward a bright light beyond the bed. It's coming from a sliding glass door to a patio area.

And then, a man appears at the door on the far end of the bedroom. He steps into the room and prickles race up my arms. I can see that he's wearing dress pants and a business-type shirt, and as time slows I stupidly wonder why he's so dressed up when it's this hot.

His height is familiar, and so is the way he carries himself. Proud and graceful and in command.

Waves of shock and disbelief wash over me as he steps toward the curtain. My heart is beating so hard that it might burst out of my chest, sending rivers of blood everywhere, the color of those flowers.

When the man parts the gauzy fabric, my eyelids flutter, my knees buckle and I crumple to the floor.

____