The smell of grilled steak and fresh basil lingered in the summer air as laughter echoed through Isla Monroe’s backyard. The soft golden rays of the setting sun danced across her skin as she topped off a few drinks and handed them out to her friends. Hosting summer BBQs had become a tradition—a momentary escape from life’s stress, expectations, and her quietly crumbling post-divorce routine.

She smoothed her sundress and glanced toward the open gate, waiting for her guests' arrival.

“Isla!” Marcie called out, waving. “I invited Liam to come by. Hope that’s okay.”

“Liam?” Isla echoed, her smile flickering. “Of course. It’s been years since I’ve seen that boy.”

Boy.

The word died in her throat the moment he stepped into her yard.

Liam Carter was not a boy anymore.

He was tall-no, towering—and his once-skinny teenage frame had filled out into something that made her mouth go dry. Broad shoulders strained against a white T-shirt that hugged his chest like it had been painted on. Faded jeans clung to his hips with sinful ease, and his tousled brown hair caught the light just enough to make him look carved from sunlight and s*x.

His jawline was sharper than she remembered. His eyes are darker. Hungrier.

When their eyes met, he smiled—a slow, deliberate smile that sent an inexplicable thrill down her spine.

“Hi, Ms. Monroe.” His voice was deeper, smooth like warm whiskey. “Been a while.”

Isla felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Liam. Wow. You’ve grown.”

He stepped closer and kissed her cheek lightly. “And you look exactly how I remember. Maybe even better.”

She blinked.

You did not give your mom’s best friend that compliment, not unless…

Her stomach fluttered—unfamiliar, dangerous territory. She swallowed and forced a light laugh. “Well, thank you. Grab a drink. The food’s almost ready.”

But as he walked away, she let her eyes linger. Those jeans did little to hide the power in his legs. Or the way his back curved when he leaned over the cooler. Or how his shirt lifted just enough to reveal a carved sliver of abs and that deep V-line.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He’s twenty-four—your best friend’s son.

And yet…

The evening passed in a blur of clinking glasses, shared jokes, and subtle glances. Isla caught Liam watching her more than once—his gaze tracing the curve of her neck, the way her dress clung to her hips. And every time she caught him, he didn’t look away. He smiled slowly and knowingly, peeling her layers apart with every look.

She tried to focus on the conversation with her guests, but Liam’s presence buzzed in the back of her mind like electricity under her skin.

It all came to a head when she reached over the drink table, grabbing the last bottle of rosé at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed—warm, deliberate.

Neither of them moved.

His eyes locked with hers, a breath away. “You look incredible, Ms. Monroe,” he said softly.

Her heart skipped. The way he said her name—Ms. Monroe wasn’t polite. It was reverent. Teasing. Laced with something darker.

She pulled back quickly, clutching the bottle like it could protect her.

The rest of the night passed like a dream. Or maybe a fever.

After the guests left and the lights dimmed, she wandered back into her house, barefoot, cradling a glass of wine and pretending nothing had changed.

But everything had.

The mirror didn’t lie. She looked… flushed. Her skin tingled like it had been kissed by lightning. Her body hummed with something she hadn’t felt in years. Desire. Not for just anyone. For him.

Liam.

She curled into bed, but her body refused to settle. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—tall and cocky, with that smirk that screamed trouble. His voice echoed in her ear, You look incredible, Ms. Monroe.

God.

Her hand slid beneath the sheets, brushing over her thighs as she bit her lip and stared at the ceiling. She tried to push him out of her mind. She tried to think of someone else. But it was pointless.

It was his hands she imagined. That strong chest beneath her palms. That sinful mouth pressed to her skin.

A soft moan escaped her lips as her fingers found the aching heat between her legs. She closed her eyes and let her imagination run wild. Liam pinned her to the kitchen counter. Liam was whispering filthy things against her throat. Liam kneeling between her thighs, looking up with those dangerous eyes and saying—

“Tell me what you want, Isla.”

Her breath hitched.

She came hard, trembling, her free hand fisting the sheets. Shame curled around the edges of her pleasure, but it couldn’t drown it. Not completely.

When it was over, she lay still, heart racing, chest rising and falling, her body buzzing in the quiet.

She should feel disgusted. Embarrassed. Angry at herself.

But instead… all she felt was want.

She rolled to her side, pulled the sheets tighter around her, and whispered into the dark, “What are you doing to me, Liam?”

She didn’t have an answer.

But she had a feeling—this was only the beginning.