Your father had invited you to join him on a business retreat by the beach, an exclusive gathering of powerful men who dictated the underworld’s economy.

The sun was still high when you found yourself in the shallow waters, the soft waves splashing at your legs as your sundress clung to your skin, damp from the sea breeze. You were enjoying the cool water, oblivious to the heavy gaze watching you from the shore.

Near the rocky stretch of the beach, Easton Lancast stood with a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling into the salty air.

His broad, bare chest glistened under the sunlight, the only thing covering him being a pair of dark jeans that hung dangerously low on his hips, the waistband of his expensive boxer garter peeking out. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as they lingered on you—longer than they should have.

"Still too young..." His voice was husky, more of a warning to himself than to anyone else. But the desire in his eyes told another story.