AFTER I COMPOSE myself and wash my hands yet again, I return to the private room where the Lancasters are. I settle into the chair next to Sylvie on shaky legs, hoping no one can tell what just happened to me.
How Whit thoroughly fucked me in the women’s bathroom, and then left me behind wanting more.
“I saved you some bread,” Sylvie says, pushing the bread basket toward me. “Daddy over here was trying to eat it all.”
He grins, chomping into a piece slathered with rich yellow butter. “You know your mother won’t touch the stuff. Someone has to eat it.”
Sylvie giggles. I smile, my gaze cutting to Whit and Leticia.
She’s smiling up at him as he touches her cheek.
With the very hand that was just on my pussy.
I sit up straighter, wondering how in the world she can’t smell me on his fingers. How can she not? Is she that oblivious?
God, he’s such an asshole.
Reaching for my wineglass, I drain the golden liquid in three big swallows. Augustus immediately refills my glass, his warm gaze landing on me, his mouth curled into a barely-there smile. I sense his approval, and it makes me uneasy. So uneasy, I chance a glance in Whit’s direction.
To find him already watching us.
I look away and drink more wine, needing it for strength. Sylvie is already buzzing, I can tell, but I’m sure it doesn’t take much. She weighs nothing.
I’d like to be on my way to drunk too. So I can forget. Forget everything that’s happened between Whit and me. He certainly forgets. He acts like I don’t matter, which hurts. More than I’d ever want to admit. I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. How he destroys me with a few cutting words or rude gestures.
Such as not giving me an orgasm and then touching his date with my juices still on his fingers. Of course, I’m the one he just fucked in the bathroom, so I suppose I won this round?
I lurch forward in my seat as if I have no control of my body, the glass dangling from my fingertips before I bring it to my lips once more and sip more slowly. When I set the glass down, I see Sylvia watching me, her upper lip curled in barely restrained contempt.
“Sylvie, you shouldn’t drink anymore,” her mother scolds, her gaze cutting to her daughter. “You’re on medication that could be dangerous if you mix it with alcohol.”
“I’m not scared to die,” Sylvie proclaims just before she downs the rest of her wine, setting the glass onto the table with a giggle.
“You need to watch yourself too, young lady,” she says, her tone soft, but I hear the steel there, lying just beneath. “Don’t drink too much.”
“I’m good,” I say to her, sounding like a drunk idiot already.
“Leave her alone,” Whit snaps, making his mother’s eyebrows shoot up. “Worry about your daughter.”
“I’m fine,” Sylvie says, giving him the finger. “Worry about yourself, brother dearest.”
He bares his teeth at her in a feral smile, his gaze sliding to mine.
My entire body flushes hot, my core still throbbing. I’d do anything to drag him out of here and have him put his mouth on me. Specifically, between my legs.
He has a talented tongue and I miss it.
I glance over at their mother to find her smile is forced and she’s glaring down the table at Whit. I’m sure she didn’t approve of him telling her to leave me alone, but she doesn’t acknowledge the comment at all. “Please say you and Leticia are finally serious about each other.”
I’m still. Frozen. The entire table goes quiet at Sylvia’s words, and Sylvie giggles uncomfortably before she murmurs, “Way to put him on the spot, Mother.”
Leticia glances over at Whit and settles her hand over his. The very hand that touched me in my most intimate place only a few minutes ago. “He’s not that easy to capture,” she says with a light laugh, her gaze never straying from his handsome face. He doesn’t smile at her in return. It’s that same, stoic, unemotional expression. At least he treats all of us girls the same. “But I’ll get him someday.”
Oh this girl knows how to play it off. I could learn a thing or two from her, I’m sure.
Whit smiles tightly, his gaze alighting on every single person sitting at the table, lingering on me the longest. “I’m not ready to get serious yet, Mother. You know this. Stop putting me and Leticia on the spot. Let me enjoy my birthday dinner in peace.”
“A mother can dream. After all, I’m the reason you have a birthday in the first place,” Sylvia says, her voice sharp.
“You remind me of that almost daily,” Whit says, equally sharp.
I duck my head, wishing I was anywhere but here. This sort of thing makes me uncomfortable. The jabs. The insults. Innuendo. My mother loves this sort of thing. She’d fit right in.
Well, Sylvia would probably stab her with a steak knife if my mother dared to set foot near her, so maybe not.
A wistful sigh escapes Whit’s mother as she stares at the golden couple sitting next to each other. “You two are such a beautiful pair. I cannot wait to see the babies you’ll make one day.”
Despite the jealousy racing through my veins at her words, she’s not wrong. Whit and Leticia are stunning together. They would make beautiful babies.
“Jesus, Syl,” Augustus mutters under his breath.
She turns to glare at her ex. “What?” When he remains quiet, she prods him further. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
“The kid barely turned eighteen. He’s not thinking about marriage and babies yet. Give him a fucking break,” he says.
Her eyes flare with irritation. Sylvie giggles again, covering her mouth with her fingers. The smile on Leticia’s face is frozen in place. She’ll do anything to guarantee a spot within this family, I realize. Including keeping her mouth shut.
I chance a look at Whit.
His gaze is still on me, his eyes hungry. He licks his lips, and my pussy clenches, as if his tongue made a direct hit.
This is going to be a long dinner.
We’re in the town car headed back to the Lancaster residence after our birthday meal is finally over, just Sylvie and me. She sits slumped in the back seat, giggling to herself as she taps away on her phone. I check my phone as well, contemplating sending Whit a message, but what if Leticia saw it? Would she be mad?
Would he?
Besides, what can I say? Come meet me in my room later? I don’t think so. I don’t want to look desperate. And right now, that’s how I feel. Desperate. Needy.
Stupid.
I shouldn’t have come here with Sylvie. It’s too much, being with his family. Witnessing their dynamics, having to deal with him bringing another girl as his date. The girl he fully intends on marrying someday. He told me that himself.
Will she be here the entire week too? Will he sneak into her room and fuck her like he fucks me?
I can’t bear the thought.
“What happened when you went to the bathroom?” Sylvie asks me out of nowhere.
I go still, searching for the right thing to say.
“Did you fuck Whit?” she continues.
I jerk my head in her direction to find her watching me, her lips curled into a suspicious smile. “No,” I lie.
She tosses her head back and laughs. “Liar. You two are fucking on the low, and everyone knows it.”
Alarm races through me at her words. “What do you mean, everyone?”
Sylvie holds her hand up in front of her and starts counting. “My father. My mother. Leticia. Me. The server. The bartender.” She laughs, sounding pleased with herself. “It was super obvi, Summer. You ran out of the room when Whit was all over Leticia. Within a minute, Whit leaves too. You were both gone for a while. He returns first, his cheeks red and his hair mussed.”
I don’t remember touching his hair.
“And then you come slinking back in smelling of sin and you won’t look anyone in the eye.” Sylvie reaches out and pats my leg. “You’re playing with fire, my friend. And you’re going to get burned. My brother hurts people. I told you he has no heart.”
“What do you mean?” I ask warily.
“Whit is a disaster. All Lancasters are disasters. We’re cursed. We all hurt people eventually, even the ones we care about.” She hiccups. Giggles. Squeezes my knee. “My father was eyeing you with interest, did you notice? God, he’s such a perv.”
I knew I wasn’t imagining things. “I’m sure I just remind him of my mother.”
“That’s the problem. You remind him of his ex-mistress—no offense.”
“None taken,” I say.
“And you remind my mother of her too. I probably shouldn’t have brought you,” she says, casting a glance in my direction, her blue eyes wide. “They’ll all come for you, at one point or another. Looks like Whit already did.”
“You really think Leticia noticed?” I whisper, hating the shame that wants to wash over me.
“Ha! I knew you fucked him.” Sylvie thrusts her finger in front of my face. I bat it away. “She’s tolerated my brother’s shit for years. Mother has put the two of them together since they were practically born. She wants them together so they can, and I quote, create a legacy.”
Sounds like complete bullshit, but I say nothing.
“My daddy likes them younger and younger. You’re perfect for him. He’d love to rub it in my mother’s face that he had the mother and the daughter.”
I wince. So gross.
“So I advise you to stay out of his way,” she warns. “You definitely shouldn’t let him get you alone anywhere.”
Her warning is cryptic.
“I won’t,” I reassure her, taking a deep breath. “But what about Whit?”
“You’ve already dabbled with him enough that you have to know what you’re dealing with,” she says wryly. “It’s your funeral if you continue.”
We’re silent for the rest of the drive, me staring absently at my phone and Sylvie lightly snoozing. It is my funeral if I continue what Whit and I are doing. He’s treated me terribly, pretty much the entire time—but then there are the tender moments. The almost sweet moments. They’re rare, a tiny glimpse of Whit without his usual brashness. His walls come down, offering me the vulnerable, raw version of this man who is so incredibly dark.
His darkness matches my own. We’re kindred souls. We see each other for what we really are. Driven by our needs. Faintly disturbed. He disturbs me in the best possible way.
I hope I disturb him too.
By the time the car pulls around to the front of the house and stops, rain is falling steadily, and we dash inside, doing our best to avoid getting wet.
Sylvie clings to me as we approach the massive staircase, struggling to remain upright. She drank way too much tonight, and I remember what her mother said. About mixing alcohol with her medication. “Help me walk?” she asks.
“Of course.”
I guide her up the stairs, which seem endless. Down the corridor leading to her bedroom, which takes forever. I help her get undressed and into bed, noting how thin she is despite everyone saying she’s gained weight. She’s light as air, her arms like sticks, and when I tuck her into bed, she grabs hold of my hand and squeezes it to her chest, keeping me there.
“Thank you for being a real friend,” she murmurs, her eyes falling closed. I wonder how many real friends she’s actually had. “I’m sorry I made you come with me.”
“Maybe I should leave early,” I start and she jerks on my hand, her eyes flashing open as she sits straight up.
“No. Please don’t leave me. I know this was a terrible idea and you probably hate me for torturing you, but it won’t be so bad. I promise. As long as we stick together, I can protect you. And you can protect me.” She pats the empty side of her giant bed. “Sleep with me.”
I don’t want to. I want to be alone in my own room, with my own thoughts. She must see the hesitancy on my face because she pouts, her lower lip actually trembling, as if she might burst into tears.
“Please,” Sylvie whispers.
Sighing, I climb into bed with her. We talk a little, but she falls asleep fast, and within minutes, she’s lightly snoring. I watch her, with her angel face and thick black lashes. Her tangled blonde hair and rosebud lips.
Sylvie is beautiful. Fragile. Delicate. Like a doll. I want to protect her, but from what?
I slip out of her bed carefully so I don’t disturb her and take off my shoes, carrying them in my hand as I tiptoe out of her room. I shut the door behind me, glancing to my left, then my right, pausing when I see movement in the shadows.
The sound of soft footsteps echo on the marble floor and Whit slowly emerges from the dark, his hands in his pockets, his gaze intent. He stops, there’s at least twenty feet between us, but I can feel his presence as if he’s actually touching me.
I stare at him, saying nothing. He does the same. I turn away and with my head held high, leave the family wing, heading for my bedroom. I cross past the stairs, and the massive portrait of the original Augustus Lancaster. He stares down upon me, those light blue eyes so like Whit’s, and a shudder moves through me as I pick up my pace.
The portrait is intimidating. I don’t like it. There are all sorts of portraits around the house, all of them foreboding and giving me the creeps.
I’m practically running down the hall by the time I draw closer to my bedroom, aware of Whit’s presence. He stalks me like a cat in the jungle. Quiet. Patient. Confident.
It’s unnerving.
I slip into my room and shut the door, but I don’t lock it. Deep down, I want him to come in here. I want him to do whatever he wants to me, whenever he wants it. It’s still his birthday. I’ll give him whatever he wants, as long as he doesn’t stay mad at me. I’ll let him use me in any way possible for the entire week. I won’t refuse him.
It’s like I can’t.
I push away from the door and go to my duffel, tossing it onto the bed and unzipping the top. I rummage through my clothes, finding the one pair of panties and matching bra set I own. I’ll take a quick shower and change into this, I think, lifting my head when I hear the door slowly open.
Whit enters my room as if he owns it, which I suppose in a sense, he does. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, turning the lock into place. My heart rate ratchets up, my mouth going dry as I watch him. He leans against the door, much like he did earlier in the restaurant bathroom, contemplating me silently, his stance casual. As if he has all the time in the world.
I watch him in return, my underwear still clutched in my hand, my legs trembling at his nearness.
“It’s your birthday too,” he finally says and I blink at him.
I’d completely forgotten.
“Yes,” I finally say. “It is.”
“Was it everything you wished for?” he asks, his tone faintly mocking. He has to know that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“Not at all.”
He approaches me, walking to the other side of the bed and pausing directly across from where I’m standing. “Were you hoping for a gift from me?”
“No.” I actually laugh. He doesn’t care enough about me to give me a present.
His gaze lands on the frilly cream lace I’m holding. “What are you doing?”
“I was going to take a shower.”
“Go take one then,” he says, inclining his head toward the bathroom.
“What are you going to do? Wait for me?” I ask incredulously.
“Is that what you want?”
I shrug.
“I need a yes or no answer, Savage.” He pauses. “Do you want me to wait for you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Go take your shower then.” He runs his hand along the sumptuous duvet cover. “Lock the door, though. There’s no telling what I might do, knowing you’re naked and rubbing soap all over your body while I wait for you.”
My skin prickles at his words and I head for the bathroom, his next words stopping me.
“And don’t bother with that.”
I glance over my shoulder. “With what?”
“Whatever is in your hand. I want you completely naked when you come to bed.”
“I thought it was my birthday.”
“It’s mine too,” he says with a selfish smile. “But don’t worry. You’ll benefit from my wishes. Trust me.”
If I only could trust him, is what I want to say.
But I don’t.
