One Rubi Russo whipped her brand-new Aston Martin onto the set of the new Bond film and into a parking spot reserved for the film crew. Even though Los Angeles traffic kept her from pushing the legendary sports coupe anywhere near its top speed of two-fifty-one, she’d enjoyed her first ride off the showroom floor. She shut off the engine and grabbed her purse from the passenger’s seat. Through the window, her gaze halted on the charcoal four-wheel-drive Ford F150 parked nearby, and her mind veered toward its owner. He’d become a permanent fixture in her mind—those wide shoulders, that lazy stance, his cocky grin. A giddy, tingling lust tightened her insides. Eye candy always enhanced a girl’s mood, and there was no better place to grab a little sugar than among the studs of Renegades. But she’d come to prefer the company of one stud in particular. She smiled down at the collection of notes she kept in the ashtray—ones he’d started leaving on the windshield of her car at different times of the day, almost every day, for the last two months. Because they always made her smile, she’d transferred them from the Ferrari when she’d traded it in. Sometimes the note of the day was a cartoon or a joke. Often it was some funny reference to physics, something they talked about regularly since she’d started designing a series of stunt apps for