You’ve heard of these groups–the secretive ones that only the crème de la crème are invited into, the ones outsiders speculate about for centuries–I’m the second in my family invited to attend, but to them, I’m fresh meat. New blood. New money, too. They think they’ll elbow past me, that I’m here for their amusement, for them to walk all over, they’ll find out soon enough that I’m not. I may look like one of them, with my designer bags and clothes straight from the Parisian runways, but I’m not.

I'm naturally gifted on the field and between the sheets. With flashy cars and enough media attention to put the Royal Family to shame, I’m the definition of Most Eligible Bachelor. Every man wants to be me and every woman wants to tame me. Until Camila. The moment I lay eyes on her, I know I have to have her. She wants to keep me at arm's length. I want her naked in my bed. She thinks our worlds are too different. All I want her to think about is screaming my name. She says I’m bad news. I have three weeks to prove her wrong.

I was upgraded to first class on a flight from London to New York. The food, champagne, and service were impeccable. The blue-eyed man sitting next to me, even better. He was suave and intelligent. We talked and laughed, and something clicked. Fate took over and the plane was grounded, and we had an unexpected stopover for the night. With no plans, we made our own.

My reputation at Fairview University preceded me. I was the projected number-one pick in the NHL draft and the fan favorite at the rink. People wanted to be me or be with me. Except for Lyla James Marichal. She didn't look at me like I was her next meal. She eyed me with disdain. Instead of vying for my attention, she ignored me and pushed me away. She was completely unattainable, and I became obsessed with her. When I finally got her, it felt like I was on top of the world. I was going to help the team win another championship, going into the draft, and had Lyla by my side.

Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.