Sometimes people come into your world and wreak havoc. They leave a mark that can't be removed. That mark for me was Drake Volkov. I didn't know my introduction to the New York art world would begin with a sexy as hell stranger at a masquerade ball. Everything about this guy screamed sex and danger, and I knew I should run in the opposite direction. It didn't help that he was the man my brother asked me to keep an eye on. Why? I had no idea--just another perk of having a brother in the private security business. I'd been told Drake was heartless and ran the streets of Manhattan. They said he was vicious, ruthless, unrelenting, and a player with a heart of stone. But the stories didn't line up with the man I'd come to know. Drake protected me in my darkest hour. He sheltered me from the very viciousness the world accused him of. They were wrong.