Chapter 1: Playing with Fire

Carol’s POV

"I'm telling you, David, that boy of mine is gonna be the death of me! Twenty-four years old and not a damn interest in anyone—man or woman!"

I froze halfway up the stairs, my hand clamped around the apple I'd just snagged from the kitchen. Bessie's voice was leaking out from behind their bedroom door, and man, she sounded seriously pissed.

"Honey, maybe Nicholas just hasn't found the right person yet," Dad replied, playing his usual role as the chill peacemaker.

"The right person? David, he barely acknowledges other people exist! And if something happens to him..." Bessie's voice cracked with raw frustration. "God, if that property goes back to Richard's little homewrecking slut, I swear I'll—"

Well, shit. I crept closer, pressing my ear against the cool wood. This was getting juicy.

"Bessie, breathe. Nicholas is young; he's laser-focused on his medical career—"

"He's an iceberg, David! A gorgeous, brilliant iceberg who's gonna let the Anderson fortune slip right through his fingers because he can't be bothered to show interest in another human being!"

Christ, Nicholas really is like a walking freezer, I thought, rolling my eyes. What woman would put up with that ice-cold vibe? But hearing Bessie freak out about money issues? That was new intel.

Then came the sounds that made me wanna hurl—the kind of low moans and heavy breathing that screamed my dad and stepmom were about to get busy. Again.

"Jesus, seriously?" I muttered under my breath, backing away from the door. "I just wanted to eat my damn apple in peace."

But as I stood there in the hallway, something clicked. A memory from three years back, when Dad first dragged me here to meet Bessie and her golden boy. Nicholas had sized up my scrawny seventeen-year-old self and smirked like a total asshole.

"So this is the stick you mentioned," he'd said to his mom, like I wasn't even in the room. "Let me guess—she and her dad figured you'd be an easy mark for a quick cash grab."

The nerve of that prick! Sure, I'd been all elbows and knees back then, but I'd filled out nicely since—curves in all the right places, full breasts, a round ass, long legs that turned heads. The guys at college sure as hell noticed.

A slow, wicked smile crept across my face as the idea hit me like a spark.

Nicholas Anderson, you uptight bastard, let's see how you handle the "stick" now.

This could be fun. Real fun. The guy who acted like he was above it all, too cold and clinical to give a damn about anything... What if someone finally cracked that frosty shell? It'd serve him right for being such an arrogant dick. And honestly? The challenge sent a thrill through me. Nicholas was this untouchable tower—tall, stupidly handsome, and totally detached. Breaking him down would be the ultimate win.

I was so wrapped up in plotting my revenge that I didn't hear the front door open downstairs.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I spun around to find Nicholas at the top of the stairs, still in his hospital scrubs, those piercing gray eyes narrowing at me with suspicion. His dark hair was tousled from a long shift, and he looked beat, but even exhausted, the man was annoyingly hot—broad shoulders straining against the fabric, that sharp jawline begging for a touch.

"Oh! Nicholas, you're home early," I stammered, my heart slamming in my chest. Shit, had he caught me eavesdropping?

"You're lurking outside my mother's bedroom like some creep," he said flatly, stepping closer. "Answer the question, Carol."

Panic made me do something dumb as hell—I lunged forward, clapping my hand over his mouth, then grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the kitchen. He was too stunned to fight at first, but I felt the tension ripple through his muscles, that solid warmth under my grip.

"Shh!" I hissed, hauling him down the hallway. "They're... occupied in there, trust me."

Once we hit the kitchen, I dropped my hand from his mouth but didn't back off. Instead, I let my eyes roam—taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scrubs hugged those broad shoulders, the faint stubble that made him look dangerously rugged. My pulse kicked up a notch. This was it. Time to test the waters.

"You know what, Nicholas?" I said, dropping my voice to a husky whisper. I reached out, trailing my fingers lightly along his forearm, feeling the corded muscle twitch under my touch. "I was just thinking about you."

His eyes narrowed, but I caught the subtle hitch in his breath. "Carol, what are you doing?"

I pressed closer, sliding my palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. It was racing—thudding hard against my hand through the thin scrub top, warm and alive. I could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint, clean scent of hospital soap mixed with something distinctly male. "I was wondering..." I tilted my head up, locking eyes with him, letting my lashes flutter just a bit. Our bodies were inches apart now. "Between me and this apple, which one looks more... tempting?"

For a split second, something raw flickered in those cold gray eyes—heat, maybe even hunger—making my breath catch. His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, tracing the curve of my neck, lingering on the swell of my breasts pressing against him.

But then Nicholas grabbed my wrist, his grip firm but not rough, and pushed me back a step. His expression snapped back to that familiar mask of indifference, though I swear his fingers lingered a beat too long on my skin.

"You're sick," he said bluntly, shaking his head like I was beneath him. "Stay away from me, Carol."

He turned and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving me there with flushed cheeks.