How have seven days already slipped by?
The first couple were shrouded in numbness. There had been a funeral to plan and Mom to take care of. A flurry of activity that seemed unending. Now that Dad has been laid to rest in a family plot outside of Hawthorne, the world is once again pressing in at the edges. The arrival of Keaton’s contract last night signaled that life refuses to be ignored any longer.
With a huff of breath, I throw off the covers and roll from the mattress. Even though the bed is comfortable, I tossed and turned after Kingsley left me high and dry.
All right, not so dry.
More like drenched and aching.
As much as I tried not to think about him, the insidious little voice inside my head kept wondering if he had followed through with his plans. Did he find Sloane and touch her the same way?
After everything that has happened between us, it should be a relief to have his attentions turned elsewhere. I’m ashamed to admit that it’s the opposite. He’s the first guy I’ve ever felt this way about. If it were anyone else, I could walk away without a second thought. But I can’t shut down the feelings that have been steadily growing inside me. The best I can hope for is that with time, they’ll wither and die. With the way he’s acting, it shouldn’t take long.
With a stretch, I head to the bathroom. The private en suite makes mine at home look like a dump. It’s at least three times the size, with sleek marble tile and expensive finishes. The shower is a glass enclosure with jets that line the interior walls. There’s also a massive soaking tub spacious enough for half a dozen people. It’s like a mini swimming pool. Normally an amenity like that would thrill me, but I’m unable to summon up the enthusiasm.
Once finished with the shower, I blow dry my hair before pulling it up into a ponytail. Five minutes later, I’m dressed in my school uniform. It’s almost startling when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.
Holy crap, I look like hammered horseshit.
Why am I surprised that my features are so drawn and pale? This week has been a fucking nightmare and now, with my new living arrangement, it won’t improve anytime soon.
If ever.
I grab my makeup bag and dab a bit of concealer under my eyes before rubbing it in. Then I add a smidge of bronzer to my cheekbones for color. Last comes the lip gloss and mascara. With a critical eye, I assess my image for a second time.
Sure, it’s better, but that’s not saying much.
Once all of my emotions have been locked down tight, I grab my backpack and head for the door. I haven’t ventured out of this room since Mrs. Fieber escorted me here last evening. Maybe I’m not a prisoner, but that’s the way it feels. It’s almost a relief to escape to Hawthorne Prep for the day.
A gurgle of laughter rises in my throat. That’s something I never thought I’d say.
Instead of sauntering into the hallway, I hesitantly peek around the doorframe only to find it empty. The plan is to sneak home and check on Mom before grabbing a ride to school with Austin. With my ears pricked for the slightest sound, I slink through the open and airy second-floor gallery. It takes a couple of minutes to arrive at the staircase before jogging down the wide curving steps. My fingers trail over the wrought iron railing as I hit the last tread.
The front door is less than thirty feet away. I can practically taste the freedom that lies beyond the threshold. As I reach for the brushed nickel handle, a deep voice cuts through the deafening silence and all my hopes crash to my toes.
“Where do you think you’re off to?” He pauses for a beat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were trying to sneak out.”
My arm drops to my side as I spin around and face a rather bored looking Kingsley who lounges against the far wall. He’s wearing his crisp white button-down and perfectly pressed khakis. His normally short hair is longer than when we met at the beach in June and has been left carelessly disheveled. I tighten my fingers in an effort not to reach out and plow them through the thick strands, shoving them away from his eyes.
All the emotion I worked so hard to tamp down riots dangerously beneath the surface, threatening to break loose. As much as I want to despise him, I’m unable to do so. Kingsley Rothchild is like a poisonous drug pumping wildly through my veins. I crave him even though I know he’s a detriment to my health.
If that knowledge doesn’t make me a lost cause, I don’t know what does.
It takes effort to snap back to the present and not lose myself in the sight of him. I straighten to my full height and say in halting tones, “I’m going to check on Mom and then catch a ride to school with Austin.”
“Actually,” he says, lips quirking with amusement, “that’s not what you’ll be doing.” There’s a beat of silence. “You’ll drive with me.”
And just like that, my temper explodes.
Goddamn him!
“No!” All the anger and frustration from the past week bubbles up like a geyser. Instead of stuffing it down, I allow it to boil over. So much has already been taken away, I refuse to lose my freedom on top of everything else. “You can’t tell me what to do!”
A challenging light fills his eyes as he pushes away from the wall and saunters closer. “Wanna bet? You’ll ride to school with me and only me. End of discussion.”
I stomp my foot.
Who does this guy think he is?
He can’t snap his fingers and demand that I fall in line. There is nothing for him to hold over my head or force me into compliance with. I open my mouth to tell him exactly that.
In the time it takes to blink, Kingsley has me pinned against the front door. I squeak in surprise, everything on the tip of my tongue dissolves as his fingers tangle in my ponytail before winding the thick length around his hand. The other settles over my collarbone until his fingers can splay wide at the base of my throat. I wish it were only panic that I had to swallow down as arousal flares to life deep inside my core.
A knowing smile curves his lips. The thick tension building isn’t a choice. It’s weeks of conditioning.
“Maybe you don’t understand that the paperwork your parents signed makes you mine.” The grip on my hair tightens, drawing my chin upward. “To do with what I please. Or, in your case, not.”
My teeth clench as resentment sparks to life. “It doesn’t matter what my parents agreed to, you don’t own me. You will never own me.”
He presses closer until his warm breath can feather across the outer shell of my ear. “Not only do I own your ass.” The hand at my collarbone drops between us before settling against my heated center and giving it a possessive squeeze. “I own this pretty little pussy, too.”
I bite back the moan building deep in my chest.
How is it possible to detest his touch and yet crave it at the same time?
There was a brief period when I felt protected and cherished in his arms. That is no longer the case. When I attempt to bat his hand away, his grip tightens on both my core and hair. I gasp when he yanks my head back, exposing the delicate column of my neck before his mouth descends, settling against the frantically beating pulse.
“Don’t push me, Summer,” he whispers. “Or I’ll make you wear the T-shirts again, so everyone knows who owns you. It seems like you might need the reminder.”
Ugh. I don’t even want to think about the stupid shirts he forced me to wear at school.
Without a bra.
When I remain silent, he presses a kiss against the fluttering skin before dragging his teeth across it. The scrape ignites an inferno in my panties. I squirm beneath him as unwanted desire burns through my body. His fingers bite into me before one hand snakes underneath the thin cotton of my panties, thrusting deep inside my body with one smooth stroke.
“You might hate me, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting my cock.” Arrogance fills his voice. “If I wanted, I could have you on your knees begging for it.”
“You’re wrong.” The force
d denial doesn’t fool either one of us. We both know his assessment of the situation is spot-on. I have yet to figure out a way to turn off my feelings for him and until I’m able to do that, I’m vulnerable to his advances.
His body shakes with undisguised laughter, and it only drives home the ridiculousness of the lie.
“We both know that you would let me take you right here, in the middle of the entryway. You’d get so hot that you wouldn’t even give a shit if my dad or the housekeeper walked in while I was fucking you.”
The bastard is probably right. One stroke of his fingers and I come undone. Trust me, I hate myself for the weakness.
“Unfortunately,” he drags his fingers from my drenched body and steps away before straightening my skirt, “we don’t have time to screw around.”
When I stand frozen in place, he points to the floor. “Grab your backpack and let’s get moving.”
My gaze drops to my feet and I realize that my school bag has slipped from my shoulder during the exchange. Carefully, I lower myself to the tile floor. As my fingers tighten around the padded strap, Kingsley presses his hand against my shoulder until I’m forced to my knees. My head jerks up in silent question.
A smirk simmers around the corners of his lips as his eyes darken with lust. My gaze becomes trapped in his heated one, rendering me powerless to look away. My mouth turns cottony as I crane my neck, attention focused solely on him. His knuckles brush over the curve of my jawline and an unwanted shiver of desire dances down my spine.
“There’s nothing I like more than when you’re on your knees, worshipping your king.”
When his cock jerks inches from my mouth, a fresh wave of arousal crashes over me.
How is it possible to still want him this much?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Even though the cold marble is unforgiving beneath my knees, I don’t make a move to rise. Barely am I even breathing.
“Ahem.”
It’s the clearing of a throat that has me jerking to awareness, dispelling the thick haze of lust that had descended. Embarrassment floods through me as I scramble to my feet and clutch the bag to my chest as if that will protect me against this boy.
Ironically, there is nothing that will keep me safe from Kingsley.
With a bland expression in place, he swings in a semicircle. I cower behind his back, unwilling to peek around his shoulder. It’s humiliating that someone saw me on my knees in front of him.
“Here is the coffee and protein bar you requested.”
“Excellent,” he says as if nothing happened. “Thanks, Mrs. Fieber.”
After the footsteps fade from the foyer, Kingsley turns to me. Only this time, there’s a travel mug in one hand and a bar in the other. “You’ll have to eat breakfast in the car.”
Unsure what to make of the strange gesture, I stare at the offerings. Much to my mother’s consternation, I rarely eat breakfast. The container of coffee on the other hand, I’m all but dying for. I can practically taste the bitter brew on my tongue before it slides down my throat, warming me from the inside out. Except, I’m reluctant to take anything from him. Kingsley is the last person I want to be indebted to.
When it becomes apparent that I won’t accept them, he invades my personal space. “Take it, Summer.” He pushes both the bar and coffee toward me. “Haven’t you figured out that this isn’t a battle you’ll win?”
Of course I have, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to simply rollover and give in without a fight.
Although...I’m not going to lie, the coffee is calling to me with its siren song. Arabica, if my nose isn’t deceiving me. I guess there’s no reason to punish myself by refusing his offer of java.
Decision made, I swipe the travel mug and bar from him before greedily taking my first sip of the dark liquid. I wince as it scalds my tongue, but it tastes so damn good. And I wasn’t wrong, it’s arabica. If anything, it’ll help sharpen my wits when dealing with Kingsley.
Clearly, I’m in desperate need of that.
I’m almost surprised when he doesn’t gloat. Instead, he grabs his backpack along with the keys from a large silver bowl on top of the polished wood credenza before yanking open the front door and waving me through as if he were raised with manners.
Ha! More like raised by wolves.
Feral ones.
I glare before taking another deep drink. When he arches a brow, I stalk through the wide opening to his glossy red convertible parked in the circular drive. Unlike our weathered driveway, Kingsley’s is decidedly fancier. There are gray bricks formed to make enormous squares. Each configuration is edged with a perfect row of neatly trimmed grass. The center of the drive overflows with a manicured garden.
Once at the vehicle, Kingsley reaches out, popping open the door. I wish he would knock off the gallant behavior. Gestures like these only confuse the hell out of me. He needs to act like the asshole he truly is. It’ll make it so much easier to annihilate the feelings that continue to plague me.
As much as I would like to ignore the kindness, my own manners won’t allow me to do so. “Thank you,” I mutter begrudgingly before sliding onto the black leather.
“Ouch.” Humor laces his voice. “Was that as painful as it sounded?”
He has no idea. Before I can fire off a snide comment, he closes me inside the tight space before sauntering to the other side and settling next to me. Within a matter of moments, he’s turning the key and the engine is purring to life. I place the coffee between my knees before dropping my backpack to the floorboards and yanking open the zipper. The protein bar gets shoved into the pocket for later.
Or maybe never.
Screw Kingsley Rothchild. He can’t tell me what to do.
Before I can straighten, he plucks the coffee from my knees, swiftly transferring it to the other hand.
“Hey!” My head jerks up as I glare. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you eat.” He grabs his aviators and slides them onto the bridge of his nose. “Finish the bar and you’ll get the coffee. Simple as that.”
“I’m not a breakfast eater,” I growl with frustration.
I’ve spent less than fifteen minutes in his presence and already I’m tired of him telling me what to do. He may think the contract my parents signed makes him the boss of me, but he’s wrong.
“Guess you’re gonna start.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Even if it’s a crappy bar.” From behind his mirrored sunglasses, his gaze drifts over my body like a physical caress. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Whether or not I have is none of your damn business,” I shoot back. Seriously, who does this guy think he is?
“Wrong. It’s my business to be all up in your business.”
Grrrr.
“Go to hell,” I snap.
With a smirk, he shifts toward me and strokes his thumb over my lower lip. “You still don’t get it, do you?” Instead of knocking his hand away, I sit transfixed by the possessive look that fills his eyes as he stares at my mouth. “I’m the one in control. I’m the one who makes the decisions. If I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?”
Gahhhh.
I hate the way he scrambles my senses.
When I fail to respond, he continues. “Now, are you going to be a good little girl and eat your breakfast, or should I dump your coffee out the window?”
What!
That threat has me blinking out of the stupor that had fallen over me. “You wouldn’t dare!”
His teeth flash in the morning sunlight as it climbs over the horizon. “We both know that I would.”
He’s right, we do. If there’s a way to piss me off, he’ll find it. I hate that he holds so much power over me.
Without another word, he stabs the button on the door handle and the glass disappears, allowing the chilly morning air to sweep through the interior. Kingsley twists off the top before holding the container outside the vehicl
e. “What’s it gonna be?”
Goddamn him!
“Tick tock. You have three seconds to make a decision or I’ll make it for you. Although, you won’t be happy about it.”
“I hate you!” I hiss in an effort to delay the inevitable.
“Two,” he continues as if I didn’t say anything at all.
“Why are you such a jerk?”
“One.”
He turns his arm so that the mug makes a slow rotation.
Before one precious drop can fall, I yell, “Fine! I’ll eat the stupid bar!”
I hate him.
Hot tears sting the back of my eyelids as I wrench open the zipper of my backpack and dig through the pocket until my fingers close around the slim bar. Unwilling to watch him take pleasure in my capitulation, I stare straight ahead before ripping off the wrapper and shoving the pressed granola into my mouth. I taste nothing, swallowing the first piece and forcing down the rest. Once it’s gone, I shift on my seat and glare before throwing the empty package at his chest. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
“Give me the coffee,” I demand.
With a self-satisfied smirk, he hands over the mug. I snatch it from him before he can change his mind. With my back to him, I stare broodingly out the window and take a deep drink of the dark beverage. By the time I settle against the leather, we’re pulling out of the subdivision and onto the main country road that leads to Hawthorne Prep.
If this is a sign as to how the rest of the day will go, I’ll never make it through unscathed. Kingsley will fight me at every turn to make my life hell.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time we roll through the gated drive onto school property, I’m more than ready to escape Kingsley’s insufferable presence. Even though we have first hour together, I need the ten minutes before the bell rings to collect myself or I’ll lose it. The moment he parks the Mustang at the front of the lot, I grab the handle, ready to bolt. Before I can pop the door and escape, Kingsley’s fingers tighten around my upper arm.
Queen of Hawthorne Prep Page 12