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Prologue

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Too good to be true.

Wynnter

The night of August and Alister’s not-quite wedding…

“Oh—” December swears, the coarse word harsh and unfamiliar on her honeyed lips. Glazed eyes on my raw mouth, she begins sloppily wiping at the corners of my stubble covered in her lipstick.

Dazed, I lift my hand to her mouth, her lips. The smudges that have traveled off the plump, soft, usually pink little teases captivate me. How long have I dreamed of this? How long have I fantasized the ways I might mess her up just like this—if only I could be given that honor?

She’s…beautiful. Warm. A perfect weight atop me.

“This is why I don’t wear red. Such a mess,” she murmurs, shifting back on my lap to take me in. Ravishing, a smile overwhelms her. “You look so pretty, Wynn-Wynn.”

I swallow, and my hold on her thigh tightens, raking her dangerously closer as I press my thumbprint to her bottom lip, to the curve of her precious smile. “Do I?” I rumble, scanning her tousled hair, her ruffled clothes, the perfect, glorious mess I’ve made of her. “You look drunk.”

Her head tilts, and the waterfall of her long, dark, straight hair brushes against my wrist. “Am I?”

“Yeah. Very.”

Her lashes flutter. “Who gave me alcohol?” Her head shakes. “I’m not allowed to have it, you know.”

Yeah, I know. I know explicitly all the things she’s not allowed to have—because I’m one of them.

“You got it yourself,” I tell her. Because my sister’s not-quite husband booked an open bar in my backyard tonight for his little scheme of wooing her into wedding him—via nefarious means. But. Anyway. As my sister, August, might say, That’s a different story.

Presently, December and I are not partaking in the festivities of the reception. Presently, I’m being accosted in my very own bedroom by an angel in dark lace.

Eyes wide, perfect little December says, “Why would I do that?”

I let my mind drift back to the moment, because I was watching, because I am always watching December. Normally, it’s involuntary, but when my almost-brother-in-law’s schemes put her in the garb of a dark enchantress, the involuntary glances become rather voluntary lingers. Locating the details in the recesses of my mind on how December got herself sloshed, I say, “After you finished going around with a napkin asking people to sign some weird petition, you went to the open bar. Then I believe you asked for a line of shots, said yolo, and downed them all in one go.”

In the aftermath of that poor decision, her face pinched up with regret, but it was too late to change her mind or even consider using it again. She hit tipsy like a train, and she’d have fallen over if I hadn’t been there to catch her.

Genuine surprise touches her pretty blue eyes. “How out of character.”

I arch a brow. “Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

Not if she’s upset. Which she might be if her parents suggested that tonight’s event would be a waste of time and beneath her, or if they tried to keep her from it entirely. After all, as long as I’ve known December, she’s not been allowed out after dark. Chances are, her prissy parents only gave in after she told them that Alister’s a proper millionaire.

Angry December is as impulsive as December gets.

And, apparently, Drunk December is Siren December, luring me past all my determination and shattering all my great will power.

Siren December pushes her hair back, and sultry does not begin to describe her expression as she leans in for me, pressing her soft body against my chest. “Do you think of me as a bad girl, Wynn?”

At that, heat simmers in my gut. I frame her perfect round cheek in my hand. “Not at all.”

She nestles against my palm as though my touch is all she has ever wanted in her entire life. There’s a good chance I lose my heart to her for the thousandth time.

I shouldn’t.

I know I shouldn’t.