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The best part about going to a nightclub is when you finally get to leave.
Nora Montclair is my best friend’s little sister. And considering Rafe is basically a brother to me, that should make her like my sister. The problem is that the word should has never really worked the way it’s meant to where Nora’s concerned. She’s a problem for me. Always has been. From the moment I first met her, years ago, when she walked into the Montclairs’ chalet with a smile on her face and her sketchbook tucked under her arm. Her hair deep brown and glossy, her eyes intelligent, her mouth smiling. Five years younger than Rafe and me, sheltered and lovely. Only a few inches shorter
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The sight makes my teeth grind together. Should be like a sister. But she’s not. I’ve never been able to see her that way.
