One Dirty Night

Chapter One

THE BIG TOP ROLLED INTO TOWN THE NIGHT of my twenty-fourth birthday.

Swaths of billowing material teased childhood memories as I drove home after a long day at work.

My hands gripped the steering wheel as I peered through a rain-splattered windscreen, suffering a pang of sadness that it might be my birthday, but I had no celebrations planned.

Those heading to the circus, even in a storm, would have a much better time tonight than me.

Stupid circus.

I glowered at the purple-and-silver dome.

Whatever show they’re putting on in there better not have animals.

Movement dragged my attention to the flapping big top corner. Caught in a breeze, the heavy canvas fought against being secured.

Good lord…

My mouth fell open.

All my faculties vanished. Poof. Just like that.

A half-dressed man whacked a sledgehammer over and over. Rain ran down his bare chest, catching on hard muscles and soaking into his jeans.

What the hell is he doing?

The temperature outside was enough to pucker every body part, and my car’s heater couldn’t cope with how high I had the thermostat. He must have ice for blood. Either that or he’d worked up a sweat throwing that sledgehammer around.

My mouth watered as he stretched and swung, showing off every rippling ab, every bunch of biceps, every damn delicious part of him.

Surely, that ought to be illegal.

Children went to the circus. He needed to put on a t-shirt, for goodness’ sake.

I rolled to a halt at a stoplight, inconveniently putting me in front of the show. Other men and women worked—erecting a fence, a ticket booth, a quaint carousel—but I couldn’t tear my eyes off the man currently taming the wind-whipping big top.

Even in the rain, the dark silver and rich purple of the main arena screamed money, opulence, and something…else.

Something decadent, something sinful…

Something that sent shivers down my spine.

My heart skipped as I studied each sky-puncturing spire and the black ropes tethering it down from the angry breeze.

The half-naked guy continued to whack his sledgehammer against huge tent pegs, driving them deeper and deeper into the ground, ensuring my blood tingled and an annoying little fire kindled between my legs.

Fuckable.

He was deliciously fuckable, and oh my God, what am I thinking?

Just because I’d been through the longest dry spell of my life.

Just because I lived with a roommate who hated me.

Just because I hadn’t seen a half-dressed man in years didn’t mean I could drool over anyone.

Ella…keep your damn legs together—