He rounded up several stray grapes while I righted the plate and started picking up the sandwiches. His hand brushed mine as he dropped the fruit on the plate and a tiny spark of excitement charged up my arm, making my next breath sharp.
Jace paused, a glint in his eyes and a cube of cheese in his free hand. “Your dad was exaggerating. He had to be. He’s never locked anyone up for more than a couple of weeks.”
Of course, that was me, the last time I’d run away. Two weeks in a damp, dark basement, with nothing but an old can for a toilet and not so much as a magazine to distract me from my mounting rage.
“Nope, he was completely serious.” I brushed crumbs from my comforter onto the floor. “So, I guess you’re stuck with me.”
“Well, if that’s the case—” he flopped back onto the pillows, lacing his fingers behind his head as he winked at me suggestively “—we might as well make the most of the next few hours. After all, it’s either me or the cage.”
I laughed to disguise the tremor his heated look sent thrumming through me. “I doubt that’s what Daddy had in mind.”
“It could have been. What did he say, exactly?”
I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Well, he did say something about letting you watch me in the shower…” Jace’s eyes widened comically in surprise, and I laughed for real. “He meant it as a threat.”
“So, if you misbehave, I’m your punishment? What a fascinating punitive system.”
“I’m glad you’re amused.” I lay down next to him, my hands folded over my stomach.
Jace propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me through eyes just a shade lighter than my mother’s cobalt wineglasses. A girl could get lost in those eyes—if she let herself.
It took every bit of self-control I possessed to pull my gaze from his. Suddenly, Daddy’s threat wasn’t so threatening anymore. It wasn’t funny, either. How could I have thought of Jace as a brother for so long, then suddenly find him so exciting, so tempting in a forbidden-fruit kind of way?
Jace was starting to step over some pretty well-defined boundaries, and Daddy wouldn’t be very forgiving of either of us if he found out. Not to mention what Marc might do. Yet even knowing the consequences, I wanted to look into his eyes again. I wanted to think about what might have happened the night before if Marc hadn’t interfered. I wanted the possibility of a little excitement I didn’t need anyone’s permission to enjoy.
Jace stared down at me as if he knew what I was thinking, his finger tracing a lazy, coiling pattern on the comforter between us. “You know, if Marc hadn’t stopped me, I’d have won our bet.”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about the bet.” With no thought for what I was doing, I reached up for his arm, my eyes focused on the well-defined curve of his biceps, where it lay half hidden by his sleeve. His pulse jumped as my fingers brushed his skin, and I realized what I was doing. Mortified, I tugged his sleeve down where a section of the hem was folded up, feigning concern for his appearance.
He grinned, clearly seeing through my lamentable act. “I didn’t want to talk about you snatching my keys. But me winning our bet is just about my favorite conversational topic in the world right now.”
“You didn’t win,” I reminded him, my hands clasped together tightly, each keeping the other out of trouble. I wanted to let them wander, to find out how soft his hair was and whether his chest could possibly be as firm as it looked. But that would be opening a door I just couldn’t walk through. Though I might not put up much of a struggle if someone were to give me a shove.
Starting something with Jace would be like spitting in Marc’s face. It would also be going against a direct order from my father, which could bring the full force of his wrath down on us both. But being alone with Jace made me feel daring and fearless, as if the consequences didn’t matter. His touch made me light-headed; it made my pulse race, as only Marc’s had ever done before. And that was awfully hard to resist. What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt me, I thought, still just toying with the idea.
“I would have won if he hadn’t held me back,” Jace said, his voice almost wistful.
“Ah, what might have been…”
His eyes brightened. “Exactly.”
“I was kidding, Jace,” I said, marveling over how very blue his eyes were. Had they always been that blue? Surely not.
“I wasn’t.” He stared down at me, his focus shifting back and forth between my eyes. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t do it. Before, Jace had always been safe, good for a little harmless flirting and ego-boosting, but nothing more. But last night something had changed. He had changed. And I’d been so sure I was the only one…
Jace tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering longer than necessary against my skin. He lowered his face toward me. His lips brushed mine softly as his hand moved to cup the base of my skull, tilting my mouth up to meet his. A shudder thrilled its way through my body, bound for points south of the equator. I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent, so familiar yet somehow all-new and exhilarating.
He kissed me again, gently, hesitantly, as if waiting for me to push him away. I should have. But I didn’t. For some reason having more to do with lust than logic, I just didn’t. I hadn’t felt such a spark in years. Not since Marc. And I wanted that spark.
Jace took my failure to resist as consent, and he kissed me harder, deeper, his tongue parting my lips while his hand smoothed my hair across the pillow. Eyes still closed, my left hand found his lower back, where his spine curved beneath the hem of his shirt. My fingers clenched around the material, my arm drawing him closer. He moaned into my mouth.
My pulse quickened as his fingers trailed the length of my hair to my arm. He paused at the crook of my elbow before moving on to my waist. His touch danced across my skin, tickling my stomach as he traced the edge of my waistband toward the button just below my navel.
He reached the button and hesitated, pulling away from my lips. He left my mouth empty but still open, still waiting. I held my breath, afraid to move and break the spell. Then he kissed me again, his tongue plunging into my mouth as his hand tugged gently at the flap of denim surrounding the buttonhole.
The button gave way, and my eyes popped open. He’d gone too far. Too fast. That touch wasn’t playful; it was intimate, and a little too bold.
I had one hand on his chest, just starting to push him away, when my bedroom door flew open, smashing into the doorstop with a startling thud.
Marc was on us before either of us could sit up, before I’d even realized who had come in. He pulled Jace off me and heaved him across the room and into the wall, where the dent I’d made that morning was swallowed by the impression of Jace’s back in the Sheetrock.
I scrambled to my knees, kneeling on the bed as I stared at them both in shock. “Marc, what—?”
He ignored me, focusing his rage on Jace, who sat hunched over on the floor where he’d fallen. Ethan appeared in the doorway and started toward Jace, but Marc slammed the door in his face. The doorknob turned, but Marc ripped it from Ethan’s grasp, accidentally pulling him part of the way into the room.
“Get out,” Marc growled, every muscle visibly tensed and trembling with fury.
Ethan gestured toward Jace. “He’s hurt.”
“Out.” Marc thrust him into the hall, then shoved the door closed. Ethan didn’t try again, but the shadow of his feet remained beneath the door. He wouldn’t completely abandon his best friend.
“Marc…” I tried again, and this time he turned on me.
“Shut up, Faythe.”
I cringed, though he hadn’t shouted, because the look on his face was rage. Pure, jealous rage. I crawled to the edge of the bed, but he put up a hand to stop me. “Stay there.”
I stayed, because though I’d never seen him that angry, I’d heard stories of what he’d done on my father’s behalf to trespassing strays and wildcats. From his perspective, Jace was a trespasser. Jace had crossed into t
erritory Marc still claimed for himself, triggering every violent instinct he possessed. And I didn’t want to make it any worse.
Marc thumped to his knees on the floor, curling his fingers in a handful of Jace’s soft brown waves. He tugged back until those beautiful blue eyes stared up at him, only half-focused. “What did I say I would do if I caught you alone with her again?”
“Marc, Daddy sent him.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets so he wouldn’t see them shaking.
“To watch you, not to molest you.” He never took his eyes from Jace’s semiconscious face.
“He wasn’t—” I stopped, and Marc’s head swiveled slowly in my direction, his eyes dark and dangerous. There was no good way to finish that sentence, so I took a deep breath and started over. “I’m a big girl, Marc. I can take care of myself.”
“You wanted him to…touch you?”
Had I? I’d known I was making a mistake even as I made it. And that was my choice, wasn’t it? “I…It’s none of your business what I wanted,” I snapped, anger flowing in to replace my rapidly fading confusion. “The point is that I can handle it myself. I don’t need you to come bursting in here, throwing people into walls. I don’t want you in here, Marc.” I propped my hands on my hips in irritation, and the motion drew his eyes down to my waist, where, I now realized, my shorts were still unbuttoned.
My face flushed, and my fingers fumbled with the button, trying to shove it through the stupid hole. I finally got it, but it was too late. He’d already made his own interpretation, and giving him my version wouldn’t be much better.
Pain surfaced through the haze of anger in Marc’s eyes as they rose to meet mine, and I saw him quash it. I actually saw him turn off his pain, like a plumber twisting off the hot-water valve. He shifted his gaze back to Jace without acknowledging a word I’d said.
“Are you awake? Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked. Jace nodded slowly, flinching in pain. “What matters to you is what I say, not what she says, and certainly not what she does. No matter what you think you feel for her, it isn’t mutual. She’s just using you to make her father mad, and to make me jealous. And she’s doing a damn fine job.”
My blood boiled, and my temper beat against the battered gates of my self-control, demanding to be let out. But I knew better. Trying to rationalize with Marc before he calmed down would be dangerous, for all involved.
On the floor, Marc released Jace’s hair in favor of a tight grip on his chin, as if he were scolding a disobedient toddler. “I told you to leave the door open. I told you not to touch her. And I meant it. If you lay a hand on her again, you’ll have more to worry about than her ripping out your heart. I’ll save her the trouble and do it myself.”
My mouth went dry, and my jaws ached from holding back angry words. I’d had enough. Damn his uncontrollable temper. I couldn’t let him get away with threatening Jace’s life. Especially since he meant it. Like my father, Marc never made idle threats. He’d learned from the master. Or, in this case, the Alpha.
I gripped the nearest bedpost, using it to steady myself as I stepped onto the floor. My right foot landed on the shirt Marc had left there earlier. Annoyed, I kicked it out of my way, hugging the post for balance. I suffered from nothing more than shock and deeply rooted anger, but that was enough to make me unsteady on my feet. Unfortunately even the most convincing discourse imaginable would be forgotten in an instant if I fell flat on my face.
I’d just taken a breath to start shouting when the door opened. Marc whirled around, prepared to shove Ethan more convincingly that time. He came face-to-face with my father instead.
My jaw snapped shut, my furious words forgotten with one look at the anger on my father’s face. Thank goodness I already buttoned my shorts, I thought.
“What’s the problem, Marc?” Daddy demanded, his tone outwardly civil but cold as Arctic snow. “And let me remind you that we have guests.” As if to underline his point, the doorbell rang again.
“There’s no problem. We’ve reached an understanding. Right, Jace?”
Jace nodded, and Marc pulled him to his feet, brushing dry flakes of plaster from his shoulders.
Daddy eyed the new Jace-size dent in my wall, then glanced at where I stood at the end of the bed. “Everything okay?” he asked. I looked at Jace, and he nodded at me, so I nodded at my father. “Good. Ethan, take him to the guesthouse.”
Ethan stepped out from behind my father and helped his best friend into the hall. Jace didn’t look at me on the way out, but Ethan shot me an angry look, as if it had all been my fault.
That’s right, everything’s always Faythe’s fault.
Daddy eyed me harshly, one fist still clenched around the doorknob. “Parker’s on his way to the airport again, and since Ethan’s tending Jace, that only leaves Marc to finish the shift as chaperone.”
Great, he blamed me too. And apparently he’d decided to torture me as punishment for my part in the disturbance.
“No,” I said, burying my nails in a bulbous section of the bedpost. “I’d rather spend the rest of the day in the cage.”
“That can be arranged,” Daddy said, his expression completely indecipherable. “In fact, it’s easier than sparing one of my men to watch you.” He wasn’t bluffing.
Wonderful. Marc it was.
Fifteen
As soon as the door closed behind my father, I snatched Marc’s shirt from the floor and threw it at him, wadded into a ball. He caught it, probably due to instinct rather than intent. While he watched me carefully, apparently expecting me to throw a fit, I grabbed a change of clothes and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door in his face. Daddy had granted me bathroom clemency, and I was damn well going to use it. I ran a deep, hot bath and soaked until it got cold. Then I let the water out and drew more to wash in.
At first Marc tried to talk to me. He paced back and forth in my bedroom, stopping occasionally to listen, or maybe to think of some new approach to get me out of the bathroom, short of pounding his way in and dragging me, dripping, from the tub.
“I’m sorry, Faythe,” he said, much closer to the door than I’d expected.
I tried to ignore him, wishing desperately that I’d grabbed my headphones before locking myself in.
“I didn’t plan this. I just wanted to talk to you.”
You should have knocked, I thought, clenching my jaws shut to keep the words from leaking out. He’d take even the most hostile reply on my part as encouragement to keep trying.
“I couldn’t help myself. When I saw him on top of you like that, touching you, it was all I could do to keep from smashing his head in.”
Unfortunately, I knew he wasn’t exaggerating. His possessive instinct really ran that deep, but I was no longer willing to accept that as an excuse. Yeah, we were cats, and thus subject to the bizarre behavioral impulses that came with having fur and claws. But we were people too, and Marc seemed to have forgotten that. It was a good thing my father had never sent him to spy on me at school. One night of watching me and Andrew would have been more than Marc could take.
“I like Jace,” he insisted, still pacing. “You know I do. He just doesn’t know when to quit sometimes.”
Neither do you, I thought.
“I know, you probably think I don’t either, but I do.”
My fist slammed into the water, splashing rasp-berry-scented suds all over the floor. I hate it when he does that.
“I know when to quit, Faythe. I quit when my heart tells me there’s no chance of success. But it’s not telling me that. Not yet. Not about you.”
I let my face slip into the water, as much to escape Marc’s tenderhearted babble as to rinse my hair, and I only came up when I had to either surface for a breath or drown.
“…can ignore me for as long as you want. For the rest of the day, or for the rest of the month. For five more years if that’s what you need. But when you finally realize I’m right, I’ll still be here waiting.”
He stopped talking, b
ut he wasn’t gone. I heard him plop down in front of the bathroom door, waiting, just like he’d said he would. Damn, that man is stubborn, I thought, not quite sure whether I should be flattered or annoyed by his persistence.
Finally tired of hiding out in my own bathroom, I stepped out of the tub onto the lavender bath mat, curling my toes in the soft, shaggy fibers. I snatched my robe from the hook on the back of the door and snuggled into it. Egyptian cotton. Mmm. At least my mother had gotten one thing right.
In my bedroom, Marc cleared his throat, reminding me he was still there. As if I could possibly have forgotten. Though, admittedly, I’d tried.
Using my foot, I flipped down the little chrome lever to open the drain. The bathwater swirled out of sight, leaving only the artificial scent of raspberries and my fervent wish that Calgon really had taken me away. False advertising. Figures.
I could hear Marc breathing, and somehow that was worse than listening to him talk. I needed noise. Something loud enough to block his heartbeat from my ears, so that—for a little while at least—I could forget he was there.
Tying the sash of my robe around my waist, I searched the bathroom for something loud. The toilet? No. I’d feel pretty ridiculous after the third consecutive flush. The shower? No. If I spent any more time in water, I’d come out looking like a shar-pei. My eyes settled on the tail of a cord sticking out of a closed vanity drawer. My blow-dryer. Perfect.
I brushed my hair while I dried it, until no single strand remained damp. When I turned the dryer off nearly twenty minutes later, I expected to hear Marc talking again, or at least breathing. But I didn’t.
On bare feet, I crept to the door and pressed my ear against it. I heard nothing. Well, nothing from Marc. A woman was crying somewhere near the front of the house. My guess would be Donna Di Carlo or my aunt Melissa. Men spoke to each other in hushed, frantic tones all over the house, but I was almost positive Marc’s voice was not among them.
Where had he gone? Surely he wouldn’t have left me alone, against Daddy’s orders.
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