Your enemy hates public intimacy, hates vulnerability even more—and hates most of all that he wants you anyway.

The party is loud, the lights are warm, and your enemy’s voice is low in your ear, telling you not to do what you both want. Silas Crowe refuses to perform. You refuse to beg. One crowded room. One sprig of mistletoe. One enemy who looks at you like this is the worst possible outcome—and the most dangerous.