Prince Albert(127)

My father's estate is a sprawling, Texas-sized mansion on twenty acres. I told my father it was ridiculous when he bought it. The house itself is a monstrosity with too many rooms to count – I think thirty or something – and he bought it the year before he and Anja got married. My mother had custody of me since she split with my father, and we lived in New York after that, with me spending summers with my father, in the less ostentatious house he had before this one.

All that changed my sophomore year of high school when he bought this place. I hate everything about the house.

Except for the sunroom. Anja calls it the solarium, because sunroom is apparently not the correct fancy word for it. It's enclosed in glass on the rooftop, like a greenhouse, filled with tropical leafy plants and lots of chairs for sitting. Anja says it makes her allergies crazy. But I love it.

I pop into the kitchen on the way, startling the cook, Deborah, who insists on making me a cup of tea, even though I insist I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself. She also insists on preparing dinner for me, finally acquiescing to leave something in the refrigerator, since there's no one else in the house. My father and Anja are gone tonight, some business thing with foreign investors my father is entertaining, Saudi contacts, I think. Deborah tries to protest when I send her and the housekeeper home, but if at this point in my life I can't fend for myself, that'd be pretty messed up.

I set my tea down on this little table beside one of the lounges and stretch out on my stomach, my novel in front of me. No cell phone and no one around. Now hopefully, Gaige will stay gone.

My luck in the Gaige department lasts for all of thirty minutes before he's standing right in the doorway in front of me. "Getting rid of my date wasn't enough screwing around with my life earlier?" I ask. "You came back for more?"

"I came back for more." The way he looks at me, like he's hungry, makes that statement drip with innuendo. Damn it, why does Gaige have to look so irresistible?

I sit up and cross my arms over my chest. "So you're no longer just fucking around with me? You're screwing around with my dating life too?"

"Oh, please," he says. "You should be thanking me."

"I should be thanking you?" I can already feel myself getting more irritated, my voice rising. At least I don't have to keep it down now, since no one is here but us. "For acting like a total Neanderthal and sending my date home?"

"You weren't into him anyway, so don't act like I didn't do you a favor by getting rid of the guy," he says. "You could have at least stayed and finished your drink with me like a civilized person."

I jump to my feet. "Civilized, huh?"

Gaige nods, the edges of his mouth curved up in a smile. "There's no excuse for poor manners, Delaney."

I think I might have to clock him across the head with a vase. I can see the headline now: Gaige O'Neal, Murdered by Stepsister in Completely Reasonable act of Aggression. I'm almost positive the cops would understand.

Gaige's stupid voice interrupts my fantasy. "What, you're tongue-tied now?"

"I'm thinking of ways to dispose of your body."

"You should be more grateful," he says. "I got you out of a boring situation with a boring guy – come on, Delaney, he's a fucking accountant – and I don't even get a simple thank you."

"He was nice." I say. Why is he suddenly so close to me? I put my hands on his chest, and shove him back.

Gaige reaches for me, his hands wrapped around both of my wrists. "And I'm not nice. You don't want someone nice," he says, his voice guttural, like a growl.

"Let go of me," I say through gritted teeth. "You have no idea what I need."

He pulls me against him, hands tight on my wrists. "You're a damn liar, Delaney."

"Screw you." My blood is thumping in my ears, adrenaline coursing through my body. He's so close to me, lips near mine, that I can practically taste him.

"You want someone who's going to tell you exactly what he wants to do to you. Someone who will tell you exactly what he wants you to do to him. That's what you need."

"No." I shake my head, but his grip on me loosens, and then he lets go of my wrists. I could step back and walk away, but I don't. I just stand there, my feet rooted to the ground.

Gaige doesn't touch me. He steps close to me, his body nearly touching mine, and whispers in my ear, his warm breath against my skin. "I keep thinking about that night by the pool."

"Don't, Gaige," I warn, but my voice falters. All I can think about is the practically magnetic pull of my body toward his. But I don't move.

He walks, slowly, his movement languid, behind me, and then pauses. He still doesn't touch me, but I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and it makes me shiver. "Do you know what I keep thinking about, more than anything?" he asks.