“Les, why is your father calling me?”

Shutting her eyes against the dread that settled in her chest, she groaned to herself. She

couldn’t open that door. If she did, she’d make a complete fool of herself.

Walking over to the dresser, she checked her phone. Three missed calls and a text. Her

father must’ve checked his DNA tracker and realized she was in Hawaii. “Les…” Looking at the door, she spoke in a raised voice. “Um, I’m not sure. Why don’t you call him

back?”

Jaydan chuckled in the hallway. “You didn’t tell him you were coming to Hawaii, did you?” Swallowing hard, she gave her chin a determined tilt. “I don’t report my whereabouts to my father. I’m not a child.”

His sardonic chuckle angered her.

Storming over to the door, she told herself she had to remember this. During those smokin’ hot visions, she had to conjure up this memory and the dozens like it she’d experienced in the past. “Hell princess, you –“

She whipped open the door to arms’ length. Jaydan stood naked in her doorway, save for a pair of gray, athletic shorts that hung low on his hips. Water droplets hung from his dark, wavy hair and dotted his broad shoulders. His arms and shoulders looked huge, the angles and braids of muscle sharp rather than round, the sinew dense and inflexible rather than pliant flesh. His sculpted torso was covered in hard, ridged muscles with a light dusting of dark hair. He smelled of rosewood and jasmine, his copper and gold armbands branding him a masculine god. Now, she understood his cougar-­‐like grace, his confident saunter. No man on earth could

call himself cut as long as Jaydan Rose walked around. He epitomized the term.

His eyes swirled with dark desire, their focus on her chest. Glancing down, she saw her robe

gaped open, exposing the cleavage between her breasts.

She should cover herself. Close the door and walk away. Yet, she stood there, allowing him his fill while she took her fill of him. The sensation started deep inside, her mind recalling the vision, her body readying itself for him. There was more than one way to prove she wasn’t a child.

With a hesitant reach, she feathered her fingers down the ridges of his abdomen. The

muscles contracted beneath her touch, rippling behind her caress in a symphony of sensuality. His half smile made her toes curl, his voice a husky croon. “My turn.”