Disclaimer: Anything related to the Twilight Saga belongs to S. Meyer, not me. Please don't sue.

****K****

Prologue

Fate. Karma. Kismet. No matter what you called it, it was having way too damn much fun kicking her ass. Here she sat. In a darkened elevator. Trapped. With no electricity. And from the report they'd received from engineering, neither the failed generator nor the electricity would be back in service for a while. All thanks to the record-breaking heat wave that was causing constant power surges then failures and wreaking havoc on the entire state. Not to mention her life.

Bella Swan closed her eyes and rolled her head against the elevator wall in a vain attempt to relieve some of the tension in her neck and shoulders. It was hot. She was sticky. And sweaty. And stuck in an elevator with a man she had vowed never to speak to again.

And she had managed it very well. For nearly a year, she had successfully avoided any contact with him. She'd even transferred to another department. Left her first love, trauma, and went to work in the clinic. From saving lives and setting broken bones to wiping snotty four-year-olds noses.

What the hell had she ever done to deserve this? She'd volunteered at homeless shelters. Baked cookies for bake sales. Even went to church…. well, at least once in a while. But she didn't cheat. Didn't curse, mostly. And she never lied. Never. Precisely why she hated the man next to her. He'd lied. To her. And he'd cheated, sort of. On her.

Bastard. Did he still have to be so damn sexy? Couldn't he have gotten lazy and gone to fat? Maybe developed a terrible skin disease, right on his face? No. He was still tall, had that sexy Texas cowboy tan and that delectable fucking swagger and drawl, and was far too handsome for his own good, and she knew without looking that those incredible eyes of his were still the same deep blue, almost indigo, that haunted her dreams. And if the most recent gossip was accurate, he was still the most eligible bachelor the hospital had to offer. Too damn bad he was a snake.

So yeah, kismet? Kismet, sucked. From where she was sitting, next to the asshole that had broken her heart, kismet sucked big time.

***K***

Chapter One

Jasper Whitlock knew he was a bastard. It was a trait he'd perfected. Long before he'd ever met the stunning brunette sitting next to him. So it was no surprise to him when she'd left him because of it.

He'd been through his fair share of women. Okay, so maybe more than his fair share. But, most them knew the score. Knew he was nothing more than a great ride. That he wasn't the marrying kind.

Marriage. He'd been there before. Never again. Marriage was nothing more than legalized torture. Designed by women, endured by men. It wasn't that he thought all women were evil manipulative creatures. Or that they generally had only one thing in mind when they saw the MD attached to his name, a rich meal ticket. They were simply an interesting and satisfying distraction. Temporary. And one he enjoyed.

So when Bella had come into his life, quiet, lovely, intelligent and intriguing, he'd been skeptical. So certain she wasn't what she seemed. Honest. Open. Loyal. He tested her constantly. Touches. Innuendos. Invitations. And all his advances went unnoticed. Not even unwanted, un-fucking-noticed, like he'd never even made them at all. She'd remained aloof, but approachable. Only not romantically, platonically. And they had begun a friendship. The first he'd ever had with a woman.

She was someone he could talk to, that listened. Really listened. No ulterior motives. No hidden agendas. She didn't tell him what she thought he wanted to hear. If he asked her for her opinion, she gave it. Frankly. Honestly. Genuinely. Most of the time it wasn't what he expected. Because it was the truth. With her, always the truth.

And then came that night. She'd shared the pain of her own past. Her regret. Her heartbreak. She'd put herself out there for him, and he'd rejected it.

He hadn't realized until much later, after he'd shown his true colors and she'd walked out, that that night was the first time they had discussed her. Her life. Her history. He was exactly what she'd called him; 'a selfish egotistical bastard'.

She'd shared something with him that very few others knew. She wasn't looking for sympathy or comfort. She didn't need him to help her deal with her demons. She'd done it herself, alone. She'd just needed him to listen. Not for her. For him.

But, when she'd talked, he hadn't wanted to listen. Hadn't wanted to hear her. Because then he'd have to face the reality of his own past. His own pain and rejection. Even now, he'd joke about it. Or allude to it briefly. But never with the honesty she did hers. Her story made him feel. It made him ache, not just for himself, for her, so he'd lashed out. And they'd fought. Passionately. And he'd discovered a fire smoldering beneath her luminescent skin that consumed him.

He had no idea how they'd gotten from his kitchen bar to his bed, but they had. One minute he was furious. Furious for her. Furious at the thought that her pain could have been the reason for his. He hadn't wanted to feel it. The pain. The abandonment. Any of it.

And she had been patient, letting him vent, taking his anger. Until he had pushed too hard, too far. Until she'd had enough. And he'd thought he'd succeeded, at what he wasn't sure. That she would leave him be. Alone. Empty and alone. But he had been wrong, dead wrong.

He'd never seen her angry. He'd seen her upset, irritated even. But this was pure anger, unleashed fury. All directed at him.

And she became a thing of wonder. He stood in silent awe of her as she vibrated with quiet rage. Her words eerily soft, quietly lethal as she pushed at him, shoved at him until he'd found himself backed against the living room wall.

He could do no more than stare at the glowing beauty before him. Watch the passionate fire that danced in her eyes as she verbally dressed him down. Couldn't stop the need tightening in his groin as she invaded his personal space. Her scent driving him to distraction. Had trouble focusing on anything other than the way her sexy mouth moved as she berated him. Couldn't hear her over the blood roaring in his ears from the terrifyingly swift need to conquer her. To possess her.

And then she'd stopped, those beautiful deep chocolate eyes wide, gasping in a stunned breath, then biting her lip softly in apprehension as if she'd just realized what she'd done. What she was doing. And she started to back away.

Sudden fear of her leaving made him do the only thing he could think of, he pounced. His hand covered hers against his chest keeping her close. He wouldn't give her the chance to escape before he dragged her roughly to him to claim her. His mouth slanting savagely over hers, swallowing her whimpered moan. His hand sliding into her hair to find the clip that tamed her wild silken auburn curls, his fingers stroking, separating them before he fisted his hand in her hair, holding her head still as his mouth owned hers. His lips nipping at hers, teasing them both, before her mouth opened under his in silent invitation, her tongue dueling with his, daring and confident, dragging a low growl from deep within him as he fought for control.

His breathing harsh, his body feverish from the fire she was creating in him, he turned her, brutally pinning her to the wall with his weight, his thigh sliding against hers forcing them to part, granting him entrance, his hands sliding down to her hips, lifting her, tilting her more intimately to him as he pressed into her, groaning, his breathing ragged as she whimpered and rolled her pelvis into his, his fingers tightened, holding her still, his for the taking, as her hands slid into his hair tugging him closer, demanding more. Her soft supple form cradling his as …

Shit. Jasper pulled in a ragged breath and tried desperately to focus on anything other than the raging arousal the memory of that night left him with. She wasn't speaking to him, barely acknowledging his existence. The last thing he should be showing her was the one thing he couldn't seem to control. His need for her. A constant thirst he couldn't quench.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the elevator wall. He'd spent the last ten months doing everything he could think of to exorcise her from his thoughts. Blondes. Redheads. Travel. He'd even started the damn vineyard he'd always talked about. Anything to keep himself busy. Too busy to think. Too busy to feel. And none of it worked. She was stuck there, in his head, as if in some constant instant replay and he'd lost the damn remote.

He raised his knees, resting his forearms over them, his hands clasped loosely, praying to God she had no idea where his thoughts of her had led him. That she thought it was the oppressive heat in the elevator that had him drenched in sweat and not the intoxicating thought of her under him, naked, panting, writhing, as he took her again, and again, and again.

Giving into the heat trapped in the elevator, Bella shrugged out of her scrub jacket and laid it beside her on the floor of the elevator. It wasn't as if he would notice anyway. He hadn't so far. He'd apparently forgotten all about that night and her. Which was fine. She'd done the same, hadn't she? No.

She had. She'd moved on. Moved forward. And besides, they'd been nothing more than friends, before that. She hadn't wanted more from him. He was wrong for her. All wrong.

She'd already found the right man. And now she was engaged, damn it. That is, if she said yes. She should. Edward was so sweet. So good for her. So understanding. She'd known him practically all her life.

And he was a good catch. Successful attorney. Ambitious. Intelligent. Kind. Patient. They had so much in common. He wanted all the things she wanted. A home. Children.

And he loved her. Told her he would wait for her. To be ready. To be sure. That she was worth it. He was everything she'd ever wanted in a man. Except for one thing. He never made her toes curl when he kissed her. Never made her forget her name, where she was, who she was with, hell everything, the minute he touched her. He never made her come so hard she felt it in her hair follicles. Sure, the sex was okay. Edward was an attentive lover. He made sure she felt cherished, loved. But sometimes a girl just needed a good fuck. And unfortunately for her, fucking just wasn't something Edward was capable of.

So that left her sitting next to a man who not only fucked her brains out all night long, he ruined her for any other man after him. The son of a bitch. She should stay with safe, steady Edward, but every fiber of her being demanded she jump Jasper now and ask questions later. Maybe she should. Just exorcise him from her memory with one last screw. Then leave him this time. On her terms. So, fuck it. She'd do just that.

Drop me a note, would ya? I'm curious...