So long story short-I have been trying to get into Wattpad on my computer for a few days, and I was finally able to get in. Not sure why I couldn't get in before but since I upload chapters for my books through my computer, it was kind of a problem.

Anyway, I'm going to be putting out an announcement on my profile about what to expect since I'm finally finished with my finals and will be getting on to updating more frequently. That being said, I may not be updating the books at the same time, but rather might be finishing one first and then moving onto the other. I'm still working out the details. My overall goal however is to finish Catching the Storm as soon as possible as I am closer to finishing this book than the other, not to say it will be ending soon, but yeah.

Also, I realized I said I'd respond to any messages way before this, and I apologize for not doing so, I got unexpectedly busy again. So, I will for sure be responding to messages this week whether they are on my message board or in my private messages.

Anyway, enjoy!

Crystal's POV

"I think I picked the wrong dress," Julie said as she spun around in front of the mirror in her room where I had joined her to get ready.

"And why's that?" I asked her as I was putting on my heels.

"Well, looking at it now," She said. "I don't think it's quite my color."

"You picked it," I reminded her.

"Yes, and it is gorgeous of course, but still I think I should have picked something a little more eye-catching. Something to really get Damien to drop his guard." She suddenly let out a defeated sigh. "But I suppose this is better since he does have a girlfriend and I don't want to be a homewrecker."

I smiled slightly as I continued getting ready. "He doesn't have a girlfriend," I told her.

I heard something drop. "What?" She questioned.

"He lied about that."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me himself."

"And you're just now mentioning this because . . . ?

"Because I didn't need you getting yourself arrested for harassing an FBI agent."

"You're a horrible friend."

"Oh yes," I said as I picked up the mask I had picked to match my dress. "keeping you out of jail, whatever was I thinking."

She let out a groan. "Well now, this is definitely the wrong dress. I need something with more flash."

I looked over my shoulder at the dress in question. It was rather simple, nothing too elaborate. A strapless, white, floor-length gown with a slit up one side and gold sequins and rhinestones all along the top in a large concentration before fading out down the dress.

"You look beautiful," I told her. "And if Damien doesn't notice then he's blind."

"Yes, I know," She said as she stood tall and I rolled my eyes. "And you," She told me. "should have picked something far more distracting. Make Storm's life just a little bit harder."

I shook my head. "I don't want to accidentally attract Branson's attention too." I looked down at the dark green dress I was wearing. It was plain, with no sequins or rhinestones, unlike Julie's dress. It had thin straps, nearly touched the floor, and had a long flowy skirt. "This is fine. Plus, I'm too keen on giving Jackson a reason for his flirty and inappropriate comments."

"He would make those comments if you were wearing a trash bag and fishing boots," Julie said.

I shrugged. "True." I picked up her gold mask and handed it to her. "You ready to go?" I asked.

She nodded and took the mask. "It was really unclear," She said as we walked out of the room. "Are we meeting them at the event, or at your room?"

"The event," I replied. "Which is just the room at the end of the hotel that I didn't realize they actually used for anything."

"You know this hotel is really nice," Julie said as we stepped on the elevator. "I really have to come back here, you know, when I actually get married. Instead of just pretending."

We stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall, the sound of music and chatter growing louder as we got closer. We walked into the room and stood just inside of the entrance, taking in everything. The decorations, the wide doors leading out onto the beach, the tables set around a rather large dancefloor, and the long bar up against the only wall that wasn't covered in tall wide windows for viewing the beach outside.

"Wow," Julie said as she continued to look around. "They did a really good job on the decorations. And that dessert bar."

A couple of men in suits walked by us and Julie watched them closely. "And there are some damn fine-looking gentlemen here as well."

"All of whom are married," I reminded her.

She blew out a breath. "Spoilsport. Also, not all of them are actually married. Which reminds me, where is hot stuff?"

I shook my head. "I don't see Damien," I told her as I looked around. "Or Jackson for that matter."

"I'm not looking for Storm," Julie said dismissively. "Although, I don't see Branson or his rat either-oh hello."

I turned to look at whoever it was who caught her attention.

Golden brown hair neatly combed out of his face, a white button-up shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks, and a black mask on his face. His shirt sleeves were neatly rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. No tie. No jacket. And his mask was one of the ones that went around his eyes, but also covered one half of his face.

He was leaned back against the bar, a drink in his hand, his eyes roaming over the rest of the room. He was relaxed, in his element, and somehow drawing the attention of just about every woman in the room without even trying.

I pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. Even though he'd clearly changed his hair-and if I had to guess, his eyes as well-yet again, I could still tell exactly who he was, just based on the way he was acting.

I had been around him way too long.

Julie must have seen something in my face because she let out a sigh. "That's Storm isn't it?"

I just nodded.

She groaned. "Don't you tell him I said anything."

"Believe me," I muttered. "I won't."

Julie went back to looking him up and down. "How is it, that even though the only thing I've really seen this man wear are suits, he somehow looks so much better this time? And he's not even wearing a full suit."

I shrugged and began walking toward him with Julie following close behind. "I think it varies with the level of ego he chooses to go with it."

We walked through the crowd to get to him. And when we were close enough for him to hear, I spoke. "And how do you expect to explain to Miss Jessica at the front desk how you walked in looking like one person and now look like a completely different one?"

Jackson turned and locked eyes with me before his eyes began to look both me and Julie up and down. And when he spoke, he was suddenly speaking with a flawless British accent. Apparently, he felt the need to change more than just his appearance this time.

"Don't you both look-" He stared to say, only to get cut off by Julie.

"If the word about to come out of your mouth is anything other than beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, wonderful, or stunning," Julie interjected with an overly sweet smile before quickly glaring at him. "Don't say it."

Jackson closed his mouth and leaned back against the bar once more with a wide smile on his face. He didn't say anything. Just stood there looking highly amused and so very smug.

He locked eyes with Julie and then jerked his head to the left. "Your FBI friend is standing out on the beach. Said he had to make a few calls." He looked her up and down once more. "And I'm sure he'd love to see that dress."

Julie narrowed her eyes at him. "You're just trying to get rid of me?" She questioned. "Aren't you?"

He shrugged innocently with a smile and crossed his arms over his chest. "Am I?"

She mimicked his movements. "Yes."

He pretended to look offended. "Miss Owens," He said. "If I disliked your presence that much, I would simply move away."

I rolled my eyes. Julie narrowed hers once more.

Jackson flashed her a smile before turning to me and holding out his hand. "A dance."

I shook my head. "Oh no," I said as I glanced around the room for Branson. "Not happening. We're not actually here for the party."

Jackson was the one to roll his eyes this time. "Yes, yes, little Miss Killjoy. However, I wasn't actually asking."

Before I had a chance to react, he'd grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me onto the dancefloor. And before I had the chance to pull away, he'd secured one arm around my waist, keeping me in place.

"You are unbelievable," I muttered as he led me around the dancefloor, one hand still holding mine, the other around my waist, my hand in his and the other on his shoulder.

The music being played wasn't exactly slow dancing music, though it wasn't very fast-paced and was definitely not party music either. Jackson didn't seem to particularly care, and I noticed he was simply copying whatever the other couples who were actually on the dance floor were doing.

"I have been called worse," He told me.

"Storm," I said. "I'm going to leave you here in the middle of the dancefloor."

He laughed. "The horror," He said teasingly. "How will my image ever remain intact?" He smiled down at me.

I shook my head. "I just don't get you."

He shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me."

I kept looking all around the dancefloor, at the people sitting at the tables and the ones walking in.

Jackson took his hand out of mine long enough to tuck it under my chin and turn my face toward him. "We don't have to attend to business just yet."

I gave him a flat look. "Branson could walk in at any moment and we need to be aware of it."

"I'm paying attention," He said as he continued guiding me around.

"Really?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Really."

I looked at him doubtfully.

He got that look in his eyes like he was excited for a challenge, and he smiled widely at me. "Ask me a question," He said. "anything about the room we're in and the people in it."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

He continued to smile widely at me. "Come on, Babe," He said. "Let's make a game of it. A bit of a challenge."

"Alright," I replied. "What color are the flowers in the center of the tables?"

"Don't you mean, colors?" He asked me with a sly look. "Some of the tables have red and white roses, while the other tables have yellow and white roses." He locked eyes with me, challenge shining in his eyes, and leaned in closer to me. "Try something harder."

I watched him for a moment. "What pattern is on the necktie of the man by the dessert bar?"

Jackson smiled. "You're trying to trick me," He said.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Am I?"

"The man by the dessert bar is not wearing a necktie. He's wearing a bowtie," He told me. "And it is quite an awful shade of orange. No pattern." His smile got wider. "My turn. What type of shoes is the woman at the bar wearing?"

"Heels," I replied. "Gold strappy ones." I leaned in closer to him as he had done. "Try something harder."

He laughed. "As you wish." His eyes scanned the area around him. "A gentleman just walked into the room, what type of cufflinks is he wearing?"

"They're sliver," I replied. "Little birds. The woman that walked in with him, what color are her eyes."

"Brown. The waiters, how many buttons visible on their shirts that aren't covered by their vests?"

"Two," I answered. "Unless you're counting the third one behind their bowties. How many women with their hair up?"

"Six. Unless you're counting the women with their hair half up and half down, then there's twelve, but that's not including you." He eyed me for a moment with a look on his face like just got the perfect question. "What color are my shoes?"

I opened my mouth to respond, only to pause for a moment because I had not actually paid close attention to his shoes. I had been too busy watching everyone else.

He smiled widely once more. "Well?"

"Black," I finally said.

He laughed. "Lucky guess, Babe," He told me as he reached out and tapped me on the nose.

I couldn't help but smile back at him smugly. "How many bobby pins in my hair?" I asked him.

"Only four," He said. "Which I find surprising."

"Hmm," I said, biting my lip to hide my smile. "And what color are your eyes."

He frowned in thought for a moment, before smiling and shaking his head with a laugh. "You got me," He finally said.

"You can name every other detail in this room, but you seriously don't know what color you chose to make your eyes tonight?"

He shrugged, still leading me around the dancefloor, though I hadn't even been paying attention to that. "I didn't really think about it."

I shook my head with a smile. "You really are something else."

He shrugged again. "So?" He said.

I frowned. "So, what?"

He locked eyes with me. "What color are my eyes tonight?"

I stared at him, his eyes staring back into mine. His eyes were blue, but it was almost like they weren't just blue. There were flecks of green and gold in them.

I felt my breath catch in my throat as he continued to stare back at me. I swallowed and noticed that he had pulled me close. Noticed that we had stopped. That he had leaned in. That there was no music anymore and we were the only two still on the dancefloor.

His eyes strayed from mine to glance at my lips and then locked back onto mine once again, a silent question floating between us.

I felt myself leaning in closer and for a moment, our foreheads touched, but then I saw movement over his shoulder.

"Branson," I whispered breathlessly.

He pulled back slightly from me and stared down at me with a frown. "What?" He questioned.

"Branson just walked in," I told him.

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