The North Trailhead was a shimmering oven of heat-haze and dust. Thankfully, Bella had applied her sunscreen earlier.
Bella’s Jeep skidded into the dirt lot, sending a plume of grit toward a sleek, black SUV that looked entirely too rigid for the terrain.
Standing beside it was Rick, her boss, looking like he was about to have a heart attack in his sweat-stained polo.
And then there was him.
Nuel Arturo didn’t look like a billionaire. He looked like he had bought a wardrobe from a high-end safari boutique just to blend in or may be his fashion sense was just bad.
He was tall—towering, really—with silver-flecked hair swept back from a face that was all sharp angles and bronzed skin.
At fifty, he possessed a physical presence that felt like he had spent a better part of his youth lifti
