Scorching hot water beat on Jack's shoulders. Yet, the pounding force did nothing to distract him from the memories of the things he and Solana had done in the shower. Running his fingers over her soft skin. The sound of her laughter when he picked her up off her feet. The high of her coming undone around him.

That was it. He couldn't live here anymore. He'd call his assistant and have him find a place to rent immediately. As soon as he got out of the shower. Yes. Sell the penthouse. There were too many memories, too many reminders of her. Shit, he let her into his bedroom. Into his bed.

Into his heart.

He lifted his face to the spray. Water pelted the bruises on his chin and still the pain throbbing under his breastbone demanded precedence. He slammed a hand against the marble wall. The sensation should have faded by now. Two days was enough time to get over his silly sentiments.

As suspected, George's hopeful suggestion that Solana would be waiting at his place after his altercation with Abraham had been wrong. She was gone, out of his life, and that was it. Without a care she'd walked away, finished with him.

Jack convinced himself the queasiness in his stomach was from the hangover. He'd drained every ounce of scotch in his apartment within twenty-four hours. The delivery guy had stared at the hundred-dollar tip Jack handed over when the man had arrived with two bags full of booze to replace the stockpile. Even that minor act of making someone's day had no effect on Jack's mood. Now he was left with a headache to go along with his aching jaw and the constant sense of not being whole.

He had to stop this pining for this woman who didn't care for him. He'd go to the club, find a woman that looked like Solana and screw her until this feeling went away. Forehead pressed against the shower wall, he howled. This was not fair. He shouldn't be...feeling.

His fingers pruned. The water ran. And Jack couldn't move.

***

Jack's phone rattled on the coffee table, the screen coming to life and washing the dark room in blue hues. He ignored it, poured himself another tumbler of scotch and continued staring into the void of his blackened penthouse. Another buzz, another text. Jack counted each one. At eight he sat up, unlocked the phone and read Draven's messages.

Are you coming to the club?

New meat here.

Your type.

Next was an image of a pair of breasts pushed together by thin black lace strings.

Another image, crimson tinged lips slightly parted and forming a small o

Draven: Cock-sized

Jack deleted everything, leaving his friend unanswered.

Sleep eluded him. Unable to face his bed because the memories of what had happened between Solana and him were too visceral to endure. In that bed, he'd opened up to her, bared his soul to her, let her inside. She'd wrapped herself around him and held on like he meant the world to her. Whispered words, private confessions, honest declarations both verbally and physically witnessed there. Thought her affection matched his. The organ responsible for that affection commented on its attempted annihilation by pinching in displeasure at having been awoken.

Where had he gone wrong?

Phone in hand, he flipped to the message chain with Solana, staring at his futile attempts to get her to talk to him. He scrolled up, past the moment everything seemed to change. The flat screen offered flirtatious teases about what she'd wear or not wear in his bed, what Ximena was cooking for dinner, jokes he asked her to pass on to Luc and times arranged to meet up. Her place or his?

Line after line representing the best weeks of his life. A world full of sunshine and all the colors of the rainbow. Strong coffee served in a red mug while sitting in a kitchen filled with the aromas of home-cooked meals, the sounds of Luc's laughter, Solana grinning over the rim of her purple cup. Her burnt orange skirt that fell to just above her knees as she sat in the backseat of his limo and held his hand. Gold sequins scratching against his skin as they gave in to their urges in the boutique dressing room. The cornflower blue of the sky as Solana sped around the track at the Delgata Racing Group, followed by the pink flush of her cheeks as she dragged him off the bike and into the bathroom.

Hazel eyes that flared with desire for him transformed to lava as she cried out his name in moments of passion. The tranquil green exposed when she opened her eyelids after he'd truly satisfied her every want in his bed.

Too soon, the words documenting their time together ended, and he found himself back at the unanswered texts the day she left.

Where are you?

Are you ok?

Then came the weak begging texts.

Abraham gave me your message.

Tell me he's lying.

Where have you gone?

Talk to me

Please

Don't do this to me

Jack's stomach rolled at the physical evidence of his weakness and at his neediness. Solana was gone, and that was all there was to it. She'd been a fling, a satisfying screw, and he needed to move on.

Except he couldn't.

He could barely breathe, never mind move. From the moment he gave up hope, allowed the reality of her disappearance to settle in his heart, the stupid organ split apart, leaving an aching hole in his chest. Monday morning, after he'd finally managed to leave the shower, his attempt to go to the office failed. He got as far as this closet with its rows of suits, crisp shirts and one dressing gown. The one she wore. He'd spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch wrapped in the soft material. Anything for a piece of her.

A notification from Wolfe popped up, and he flicked it away, followed by the man's ringtone, echoing off the bare walls of the penthouse. Jack silenced it. They hadn't spoken since the day Solana left. Wolfe sent emails requiring signatures and decisions. Jack ignored most of them.

Except one. Her name had been in the subject line. At the sight, his heartbeat accelerated. Maybe Wolfe had tracked her down even though Jack hadn't asked. Despite his refusal to care, he had a suspicion she'd returned to Las Vegas. Confirmation of the fact meant his jet might find its way to Sin City and he could add stalker to the list of sins he'd committed. She didn't want to be with him. He got the hint loud and clear.

The attachment wasn't from the investigator. It was a report outlining the reasons for discontinuing his relationship with Solana. He skimmed the pages, his blood beginning to boil at their assumptions, their biases, their recommendation.

Due to the subject's dubious past combined with her propensity to engage in volatile endeavours and current links with felonious elements, it is our recommendation to terminate all connections with the subject effective immediately.

A mirthless chuckle ripped through his rib cage. If only the warning had come sooner. Do not play with fire, Jack, you'll get burned.

Scorched was more like it.

He'd done his best to show her how much he loved her.

But he'd failed.

What he suspected all throughout his failed marriage was true. He wasn't capable of love. Or at least not of enough of the emotion to keep a woman like Solana interested. Mrs. Winston had tried, but Jack's uncle had known the truth from the beginning. Jack wasn't up to the task. He'd deceived Solana for a while, pretending to be a man capable of caring, but the truth must have come shining through. He couldn't blame her for leaving.

That day in his office, she'd tried to tell him it was over, but he hadn't listened. Hadn't wanted to listen. His life was too much, too difficult for someone like her to have to deal with. Not when she could have a real man who was capable of loving her like she deserved.

Someone like Abraham.

It was obvious the man adored her, loved her even. Even if he couldn't offer Solana the life she deserved, her friend was capable of looking after her. She'd be happy, living next door to her grandmother, no paparazzi hiding in the bushes trying to take pictures. No boring black-tie events to attend, sales pitches mixing with the champagne. Family parties in the park, working side by side at the restaurant. A simpler life where Solana was comfortable.

Jack tasted blood from his molars mashing together. She deserved better than Abraham. The man was a user, in line with her ex-husband and the scoundrel who stole her money and left her in debt.

Of course, Jack was no better than Lincoln. Jack had paid his ex-wife's financial manager to drain her accounts in a bid to force Ali to return to their marriage. Even that plan had crashed and burned. Jack truly was a failure. He should consider himself lucky, really. He'd stolen Solana's sunshine for a few weeks and it had been glorious.

Now it was back to darkness for him.

It was better this way. Solana had done the one thing he never could. She'd walked away.

Ethan's number flashed on the screen of Jack's phone. He slouched forward, holding the device in his hands between his knees. Why did the man insist on calling all the time instead of texting like a normal human being? The ringtone beeped repeatedly, grating across Jack's nerves each time. Finally, it stopped and the lump of ice blocking his windpipe melted. A soft ding announced a voicemail. Jack groaned but listened to the message.

"Got a strange call from your second-in-command Wolfe today asking if I'd heard from you. Hopefully, this means you've finally decided to take a vacation, maybe take Solana to the south of Italy like you mentioned. Anyhow, let me know about lunch tomorrow and if I need to cancel our reservation. Arrivederci."

Jack forced his fingers to type.

Cancel the reservations.

Ethan's winking emoji greeted him, and Jack tossed the phone across the room.

No, he wasn't on vacation. He was in hell.

Hey all, D L here. Well, Jack is in a dark place. I mean more than usual. He's taking Solana's disappearance ...um...hard?

Are you surprised he's not tracking down Solana and dragging her back to LA?

Do you think she's in Vegas?

It's National Novel Writing Month and many authors are typing madly on their keyboards crafting new stories for you to read. Me included. I have an idea for a book featuring two characters you may have already met. Any guesses?