Jaz patted the window seat, folding up her pattern chart and moving aside some of the threads. “Want to talk about it?”
Did I? Did I want to admit the havoc Nila wreaked on me, or was it best not to talk about it and hope the power she had disappeared?
I shook my head. “Let me just hang here.”
She smiled. “No problem. I’ll just continue doing what I’m doing.”
She knew me so well.
Her jaw-length black hair flicked at the ends in some fashionable haircut she’d recently adopted and her button nose and heart-shaped face was too kind to be around my brothers. Jasmine Hawk looked exactly like our mother. And only eleven months younger than me, she was practically my twin.
I wouldn’t admit it to Nila, but I understood her connection with her brother. There was something to be said for finding a kindred soul in a person who’d been there right from the beginning.
I probably wouldn’t have survived without Jasmine. I owed her everything.
“Relax, Kite. Let it go.” Her small hands smoothed down her pretty woollen dress. She always looked immaculate in old-world fashions, which was utterly depressing as she never stepped foot off the grounds.
I’d tried many times to take her for a ride, on either Wings or my motorbike, but she claimed she was perfectly content looking through a window and watching others enjoy the world.
One of these days I would drag her out and show her how much she missed by playing Rapunzel in her tower.
Picking up her cross-stitch, Jaz gave me one last smile and continued to work on yet another masterpiece of our imposing monolithic home. Considering she didn’t fit the Hawk traits like me, she was extremely patriotic to her heritage.
Threading her needle, she said, “Rest, brother. I’ll watch over you.”
I woke with a chill.
Gloomy dusk had replaced the grey morning. “Damn, what time is it?” I sat up, holding my head as a rush of nausea battered me. It was always the same. The sickness at the end of a long day. Especially if I’d been subjected to my family for long periods of time.
Jasmine was still in her chair, her legs covered in a blanket she’d crocheted. Her fingers flew, drawing a needle with orange thread through the hoop of her recent cross-stitch.
Not bothering to look up, she replied, “You slept through dinner again. But it’s okay. I had the servants bring you up some cold cuts.” She motioned toward the sideboard by her bed. Resting on the polished surface was a silver dome covering a plate.
I sighed, running both hands through my hair. Chuckling softly, I said, “You know me too well.”
Her eyes met mine. “I know what you are but not who you’re becoming.”
I froze.
It wasn’t uncommon for Jasmine to state such poignant weighty things. She was wise—an old soul. Someone who I leaned on far too much.
Knowing she had questions, I stood up wearily and went to retrieve the meal. Returning to my place, I sighed. “Am I supposed to understand that or is it a helpful way to ruin my sleep tonight?”
She giggled softly. “I think you’ve ruined your sleep by napping here all afternoon.”
Even though she watched me with impatience and expectation, I felt nothing from her but love. Unconditional acceptance.
I sat back contentedly.
Finally, I could breathe again.
Nila tangled me into knots, drove flames through my icicle-ridden heart, and forced me to confront parts of my personality I wished were dead. But Jasmine…she soothed me. She granted me strength in her silence and a place to heal in her adoration.
Pulling the silver cover off, I picked up a piece of honey-cured ham and placed it into my mouth.
Jasmine reached for her glass of sour apple. She refused to drink anything else—water and sour apple quenchers—that was it. “So…you ready to talk yet?”
I ignored her, placing another piece of ham on my tongue.
She huffed, wrapping her tiny hands around her glass. Her fingers were almost as delicate as Nila’s. They were both proficient at needlepoint and of similar build. Everything inside knew they’d probably get along.
But I wanted to keep the two women of my life separate. I had my reasons.
Nila couldn’t know who I truly was and I wouldn’t be able to keep my secrets if she met Jasmine.
Jasmine knew the truth. The whole truth. The truth that could potentially cut my lifespan into pieces and steal my inheritance on the eve of it becoming mine.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it free, I scowled at the screen. The alert on keywords surrounding my family and the Weavers flashed with new information.
My blood boiled at the latest leak online about our private affairs. I’d been watching him, just waiting for him to do something stupid.
That little shit-stirrer has gone too far this time.
“I have to make a call.”
Jasmine shrugged. “I don’t mind. Do what you need to do.”
Gritting my teeth, I dialled the number and placed the phone against my ear. I did my best not to crush the device in my fingers. I was angry. Fucking pissed. If I had time to drive to London and tell him in person, I would. Only, I would invariably end up using my fists—not my voice.
“Hello?”
My heart thundered viciously.
“Hello, Vaughn.”
“Uh, hi…who’s this?”
I laughed coldly. “As if you don’t know who this is. Listen, whatever you’re doing, stop it. This is the only friendly warning you’ll get. She’s ours now. Not yours. And you can’t win against us so don’t even fucking try. Got it?”
Deafening silence came down the line.
“Last warning, Mr. Weaver. Tell the press to mind their own business and put a gag on whatever bullshit you’re spreading.”
Harsh breathing filled my ear. “Listen here, you arsewipe. Nila is my sister. I love her more than fucking anything, and I will get her back. She’s not happy with you. If you think I’m going to sit back and let her be subjected to you maniacs, you’re completely fucking nuts. Soon, everyone will know what you’ve done. Soon, every law enforcer and newspaper will understand how sick and twisted you are. And then you’ll be ruined, and we will have won. Go suck on that, fuckface. Don’t call me again.”
He hung up.
I threw my phone across the room.
“Shit!”
Not only did I have to deal with my own fucking weaknesses, but now I had to find a way to stop Nila’s brother from destroying everything, too. Christ, this day couldn’t get any worse.
Jasmine looked at my phone as it bounced against the wall. “Well…I’m guessing that didn’t go as you wanted.”
“He’s determined to kill himself.”
“And take both our families’ reputations down with him.”
I nodded. “Exactly. He has to be stopped.”
I didn’t relish the thought of killing Nila’s brother, but what else could I do? He couldn’t be permitted to steal what was mine. He couldn’t ruin what I’d found. And he definitely couldn’t take the one thing that I needed to make it to my thirtieth birthday.
“Don’t be too hard on him. We took his mother and his sister. He’s allowed to be—”
“He thinks having a dead mother grants him compensation?”
Jasmine’s face fell. “No, of course not. Just like we don’t expect anything after what happened to ours.”
Colossal pain howled in my chest. Memories of a woman who looked so like Jasmine filled my mind. I never let myself think about her because that one incident had scarred me for life. It didn’t make me who I was, but it had taught me death and pain and horror—things I’d never be free of.
“Kite…”
I swallowed my agonising memories, glaring at my sister. “I know, Jaz. We agreed not to bring up that day.”
She nodded. “You came in here to find peace, yet you brought anger and pain instead. Let it go.”
I sighed, han
ging my head in my hands. “I’m trying. Just…give me some space.”
She shook her head. “If you wanted space, you would’ve taken Wings for a ride. Don’t bullshit me, brother. It’s getting worse for you, isn’t it? All of this…it’s too much.” She put her empty glass down, leaning forward in her chair. Her cherub cheeks were flushed from the roaring fire that a servant had set in the white marble fireplace. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”
I choked. “Excuse me?”
She reclined, shoving aside all thoughts of our mother and focusing once again on my damn issues. “You heard me.” Waving a hand in my direction, she added, “You’re the worst I’ve seen you since you were fifteen. You’re stressed and angry. You’re hurting, brother.” Her voice softened with worry. “It’s been a long time, Jethro, and I hate to see you in pain. But I think…I think you finally need to learn to control it, rather than bury it. It’s not helping anymore.”
My heart thumped in horror at the thought of being denied freedom from the horrendous disease I battled. If Jasmine couldn’t grant a reprieve, how could I get through the next ten months and finally take my place as heir?
It’s so fucking close. I’ll make it. I have to make it.
“You know that isn’t possible, Jaz.”
“You don’t have a choice. It’s eating you alive, and unless you face it, you’re going to massacre your feet or lose your mind. Either way, both aren’t healthy and both will only bring disaster.”
I shoved away the food, no longer hungry. “Then what the fuck do you propose I do?”
Jasmine narrowed her eyes, conclusions and solutions already formed in her gaze. She looked at me as if all of this had an answer. Which it didn’t.
After a moment, she murmured, “Use her.”
I froze. Blood roared in my veins. “You know I can’t do that. I’m risking everything by letting her get this close to me.” I bent forward, resting my head in my hands. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.”
I had too much on my shoulders. Worrying about what Vaughn was doing. Fearing what my father would do. Stressing about my feelings for Nila.
I’m done. Literally about to fucking snap.
Jaz ignored me, diverting my thoughts back to her original statement. “You’ll have to. If you’ve let her in enough to sleep with her—”
My head shot up. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
Jaz raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. “Oh, really? You forget I can see through your lies.”
My forehead furrowed. “I fucked her, but I didn’t sleep with her.”
Even as I said it, my subconscious screamed the truth.
If I had fucked her, I wouldn’t have let her affect me. It would’ve been purely physical and nothing more. She wouldn’t have this hold over me—this damn fucking power.
“You’re lying, Kite.” Jasmine sighed, running a hand through her glossy hair. “And until you fess up and see that you’re the one ruining the only thing that might work for you, I can’t help you.”
My blood ran cold. “What do you expect me to do? She’s a Weaver!”
She didn’t flinch at my outburst—completely used to me. “Doesn’t matter. If you have to use her to cure yourself and realise you can be who you are, even after a lifetime of being told you can’t, then do it.”
Goosebumps broke out over my skin. “What are you saying?”
She stiffened, looking a lot older than her twenty-eight years. “I’m saying you need to find another way. If you don’t, you won’t survive, and I refuse to live in this family without you.” Reaching forward, she took my hand, linking our fingers together. “In another few months all of this will be yours, Jethro. Don’t let her destroy you—not when you’re so close.”
I squeezed her hand, wishing it were that easy. “I can’t let her in.”
Jaz smiled. “You don’t have to. Make her fall in love with you. Do whatever it takes for her to ignore the reality of her circumstances and fall head over heels for you. Then deal with her brother and make peace with who you are.
“Only then will you find your salvation.”
MONDAY MORNING.
I stood in the shower, letting warm water cascade over me.
The past few days had disappeared with no event and the weekend was a distant memory. Not that I had any reason to hate Mondays anymore. I had no deadlines, no runway shows to organise, or orders to fill. My new life was a constant holiday, interspersed with fabric sorting and designing that was a passion rather than a chore. Yet I couldn’t stop my body from waking up and hurling me into work mode at dawn. I’d never been able to sleep past sunrise—a curse that Vaughn didn’t share. He was a night owl where I was the morning starling.
Leaning my head back, I opened my mouth and welcomed water to trail over my lips and across my tongue. It felt good. Almost as warm as Jethro’s tongue when he kissed me.
Ever since tattooing each other, everything turned me on. My bra rubbed against my nipples. My knickers whispered across my clit. I ached with the need to release but had no idea how to give myself an orgasm. I needed to come, but there was no way I would sleep with Jethro again.
I couldn’t. It was too dangerous.
My finger, with its glowing , had scabbed and healed enough for me to bear the itch as my skin acquainted itself with the foreign ink.
What does he think of his tattoo?
After sneaking down the corridor and watching him disappear, I’d battled every night with the need to return to the unknown floor to investigate the unknown room and interrogate the unknown woman.
He’d gone into her room but didn’t come out.
I hadn’t waited long—I couldn’t. After all, cameras watched my every move. But I needed to find answers, and I had a horrible feeling that everything I needed to know was in that boudoir on the second floor.
Just thinking of Jethro sent a spasm of desire through my core.
Dammit, what’s happening to me?
A daydream of Jethro slamming to his knees before me and wrenching my legs wide stole my mind. It was so vivid, so real—a trickle of need ran down my inner thigh. I gasped as I imagined his tongue lapping at my clit, his long fingers disappearing inside me—the same finger that I’d tattooed with my name.
Would I come harder knowing he touched me with a finger branded by me? Or would I hold on as tight as I could and make him work for it?
Oh, God.
I needed to get rid of this satanic desire. I needed to be free.
My eyes opened, latching onto the detachable showerhead.
I could do it myself…
My heartbeat whizzed with need. I couldn’t fight the churning demand any longer.
Reaching upward, I unhooked the showerhead and turned the water temperature down so as not to burn myself.
Feeling awkward and ridiculous and a hundred times guilty for what I was about to do, I braced my back on the tiled wall and spread my legs a little.
My teeth clamped on my bottom lip as the water pressure tickled my clit.
Oh. My. God.
My eyes rolled back as I grew bolder and pressed the stream of heavenly water harder against my pussy.
Water cascaded down my legs while my torso shivered from sudden cold. My nipples stiffened as I wickedly angled the jet down and down until water shot inside me. Every jet and bubble aroused sensitive flesh, sending my muscles clenching in joy.
I moaned.
Loudly.
My legs trembled as my neck flopped forward and I gave myself over to the exquisite pleasure conjured by an innocuous showerhead.
Starbursts flashed behind my eyelids; Jethro loomed into my mind. I pictured him shrugging out of his black shirt, prowling toward me while unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers. I moaned again as my daydream shed his clothing and stood proud and naked before me. He grabbed his cock, pumping himself hard and firm, while his eyes feasted on what I was doing. He didn’t say a word, only watched, then crooked his
finger and beckoned me closer.
My heartbeat exceeded recommended limits as I forced myself higher and higher, locking my knees against buckling as an orgasm brewed into being. I rocked the showerhead, biting my lip as the pressure spurted over my clit and then inside me. The rhythm I set was exactly like fucking and I daren’t overthink how I looked or how depraved I felt getting off this way.
My daydream forced its way past my misgivings. My forehead furrowed as I trembled, both welcoming and fighting an orgasm.
Daydream Jethro crept closer, working his cock, a dangerous glint in his eyes. The moment I was within grabbing distance, he captured my waist. “I need to be inside you, Nila.” I put words into Jethro’s mouth, but it was his voice I heard in my heart.
I moaned again, angling the showerhead harder against my clit.
“How do you want it?” my fantasy whispered in my ear as he spun me around and pressed me hard against the wall.
I swallowed hard, answering in my mind. “Fast and…”
“Filthy?” Daydream Jethro’s nose nuzzled the back of my ear, sending shockwaves down my spine. “I can fuck you filthy.”
I couldn’t speak. But I didn’t have to. My fantasy knew exactly how I needed it. Jethro bit the back of my shoulder, spreading my legs wider with his.
“Fuck me, Jethro Hawk,” I whispered.
“Oh, I will. Believe me, I will.” Without further warning, he dug his fingers into my hips and slammed inside me.
My fingers went numb as I slid the showerhead from clit to entrance. I cried out as water shot inside at the same time as Jethro thrust into me from behind, sliding deep and fast, stretching me deliciously painfully.
My heart exploded with bliss. An orgasm squeezed every atom, getting ready to hurl me into the stratosphere.
Jethro thrust again and I rode my new friend the showerhead.
“Oh, God. Yes,” I hissed, rocking harder. “Yes, yes…”
A masculine cough sounded. “You continue to surprise me, Ms. Weaver; at least this time, I rather enjoy it.”
Everything crashed into awareness. My daydream shattered, fracturing by my feet like broken glass. I squealed and dropped the showerhead. It turned into a water snake, spewing water left and right, wriggling like some terrible demon.
Second Debt Page 8
