The inferno began at sunrise.

The sun was just slowly rising its scorching head above the horizon, and the golden sands of Kildare were already boiling. Waves crashed against the shore, as if warning of something bigger than the rising tide. But no one listened to the waves. Everyone just watched them.JJ Maybank—damn him, that guy looked like God himself had descended and dumped sun, sweat, and damn testosterone on his back. Blond hair tousled like after a storm, a smile so brazen it made old ladies confess thoughts they shouldn't have had since disco polo. And his girlfriend, Haillie? Holy shit. When she walked through the marina, men dropped tools, children fell silent, and their mothers clenched their jaws with envy. She had a body like a sin commercial, a voice like whiskey on ice, and a look that could defuse a bomb.

They'd been together for four years—four years of constant fire, sex, screaming, laughter, and sometimes even smashing plates against walls because they both had more fire than still water. But they all knew one thing: you couldn't separate them, not even with dynamite.

That morning, JJ was sprawled across the hood of the old Chevy, a joint between his teeth and a killer look in his eyes, the kind of look that knows everyone wants to be him, or be with him. Haillie stood a few feet away, in a bikini that suggested more than it concealed. She looked at him with that damned certainty of hers—like the whole world was her personal backdrop.