JOSH QUENTIN WAS driving fast.

 

And he didn’t look happy, because he wasn’t.

 

He could have been killed at the Grunt. Just the thought made him want to pull

his Maserati off the road and throw up.

 

He feared death because he simply had too much to lose.

 

Hell, I have everything to lose.

 

He was young, handsome, charming, and the ladies loved him.

 

On top of that, he was wealthy. On top of that, he was on the cusp of far

greater wealth. And he was only thirty-two.

 

No one was going to take that away from him. He had come from nothing and there

was no way in hell he was going back there.

 

He pulled into the garage of the beach house and saw her car parked in the next

bay.

 

Well, this had better be good. He was a busy man.