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true me lingering down deep. Maybe there really would be a fox-fur anorak waiting for me on this island. I’d be like Nicole Kidman in that crazy snow-bear movie, where she glided around wearing ivory gloves and a fur stole. I’d be like porcelain. I’d be a woman .
    The kind of woman worthy of a mysterious man. Worthy of Ronan. I’d quote all the Proust he wanted. In the original French. He’d want me.
    Following him up, I couldn’t resist stealing a glimpse of his posterior. Dark blue denim, not too clingy, not too loose, and tight muscle flexing beneath. A strange feeling shimmered in my belly.
    I stepped through the door. Through the portal to my fabulous new world. I let my eyes adjust.
    And then my heart fell.
    Two other girls were already on board. Two gorgeous girls.
    I forced myself to breathe. And I forced myself not to look at Ronan, even though I felt that green-eyed stare boring through me.
    I scanned down the aisle—quickly assessing the girls, the cabin, the situation—without seeming to stare. There were eight seats total, and they were all the same mushy, tan leather, like really pricey versions of my father’s Barcalounger. They were arranged into two sets of four, with pairs of seats facing each other.
    The girls sat side by side at the rear of the cabin. Was I expected to join them? To sit facing them, brushing knees, like we might giggle and gossip the trip away?
    I tried to have an open mind. After all, Ronan had said the girls were like me. I assumed he meant they were geniuses. I swallowed hard. Why’d they have to be such hot geniuses?
    I took a hesitant step forward, pretending bored disinterest in my seat selection, as if I rode around on private jets every day. But really, it just gave me an opportunity to weigh these teenage interloper hotties.
    One looked like a Playboy Bunny in training, with a tight, low-cut designer shirt that made the most of her sizable assets. My seventeenth birthday had come and gone, and I was still waiting for my assets to make themselves known.
    Bunny Girl had large, round, flawlessly made-up eyes to go with her other large, rounded goods. Her hair fell in long, perfect waves the color of maple syrup. She was glaring at me with the same look the Yatch liked to use. My stomach clenched into a knot.
    I flicked my eyes to the other girl, hoping a friendly face might greet me. Hope fled, and the knot in my belly became a nauseating rock of ice.
    Girl Number Two was perhaps the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, with skin the color of milky coffee and black hair falling in tight spirals to just above her shoulders. Two tiny teardrops were tattooed beneath one eerily light, almondshaped eye.
    â€œ You’re what we’ve been waiting for?” Almond Eyes spoke in a lush, husky accent. Her vowels were thick and rounded. Cuban, I thought.
    I considered fleeing—nodding a quick and apologetic never mind to Ronan and backing out of there. I needed to flee. Ronan had mesmerized me with those eyes and that touch, but these girls shattered whatever magic it was that’d seduced me on board.
    I took a step backward. “I’m sorry. I think I need—”
    The door sealed shut with an elegant shush . Sealed me in.
    â€œHey, Charity Case.” The other girl’s voice was sharply feminine—like a cheerleader who’d lost all patience. “Move it, so we can get out of here.”
    I gave her a blank look, parsing her words. Charity Case?
    Raising a sculpted brow, she scowled at my top.
    Oh. The shirt. It wasn’t exactly used, per se . It was real vintage. A Velvet Underground concert tee, to be precise. It had little cap sleeves, and I liked to think it was something Kristen Stewart might wear. I fought the urge to tug at it. “Sure thing . . . Bunny,” I muttered, thinking as long as we were using nicknames.
    â€œJust here,” Ronan said, coming to my rescue. His presence comforted