Promise to Love You (Wild to Love #5) - J. Saman Page 0,4

few years and you look so different. Nothing like Keith or your other sisters. I swear to God, I didn’t know. I would never have touched you if—”

She smacks my face. Hard. Flashes of pain prickle across my cheek, a trail of burning heat closely follows. I stare into her blue eyes, not even the slightest bit stunned. I deserve so much worse than that. She’s right. I am a piece of shit. The absolute worst sort.

Because I didn’t recognize her. In fairness, I made a point never to notice Eden Dawson or any of Keith’s sisters. The last time I saw her, she was sixteen and looked like she was twelve. She was not this woman standing before me.

Christ. Her brother will murder me where I stand. Deservedly so.

“Just go.”

I shake my head, trying to touch her again only to drop my hand at the last second. I don’t deserve her touch or forgiveness. Still… “I can’t. Eden—”

“Don’t say my name. You bastard, just go. Now I really do hate you.”

I stand immobile.

“Go,” she screams, shoving at me with all her might. This time I listen. With my heart in my throat and my stomach churning with every nasty emotion I can throw at it, I walk away. I just fucked my best friend’s baby sister in the middle of a club like any other meaningless woman. Only she’s not meaningless, and not because she’s Keith’s sister.

She was more before I even knew her name. Knew who she was.

For that reason alone, I should be relieved she slapped me while spitting venom in my face. I should be…

Something inside of me stirs uncomfortably.

I need to fix this.

Need to see her again.

Only… I have no idea how I’m going to do that. Not when her brother will kill me if he ever finds out what I just did to his baby sister.

One

EDEN

Three years later

“Harry, you know I love you, but I just can’t do this anymore,” I tell the man standing before me, his eyes earnest, hopeful, but it’s just not gonna work. There is no way.

“Eden. My love. I know you can make this happen. Lyric would want it that way.”

I fight a grin at the way he tosses my boss’s name out like that. As if it’s meant to induce nerves in me, the newbie on the street. It doesn’t. Lyric is the one who passed this directive on to me.

“We are tightening up the last song on your album. The album is…” I sigh dreamily, not even caring if I’m stretching here a bit. “It’s perfect, Harry. Just perfect. One of your best. One of Cyber’s Law’s best. It’s a hit and the song you think we need to add to this perfect album will only weigh it down.”

Especially since the fucker is already twenty tracks deep.

He studies me for a moment, his gaze scrutinizing but steady. I don’t intimidate easily. Try being the youngest of six with Keith Dawson as your big brother. Nothing scares me. It’s why Lyric passed Cyber’s Law onto me. She’s been producing their albums for years, and I think finally had enough. Plus, Harry refused to finish recording in New York, and that’s where Lyric is now primarily based.

“You’re honestly telling me we can’t squeeze one tiny little new song on?” He’s trying for incredulous and falling way short. But I like his English accent enough to keep this conversation going. Even if it’s done.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. But the wonderful thing about that is you already have a killer song to kick off your next album.”

He considers this for a moment, his eyes sweeping about the studio we’ve been toiling in for the last eight hours straight. Hell, for the last three weeks straight. We even have food delivered and I think I’ve only used the restroom like once a day. That’s how hard we’ve been working. His bandmates too, but they’re holding back comment on this new song.

I think they’re as done with this album as I am.

“Alright luv, you’ve won me over yet again. We’ll push the new track onto the next album. How about we celebrate with dinner tonight?”

“As I’ve already explained several times, Harry, I don’t date the people I work with.” Or more specifically, I don’t date you.

“But we’ve just established that we’re done working.”

A pointed eyebrow slides up my face.

“Ah, you’re trouble. But gorgeous trouble, so I’ll keep working on wearing you down.”

Trouble. Why does everyone think I’m trouble? A couple of