by Nina Lane
Archer yelped. He had no time to counterattack. His legs kicked out, his torso twisting as he struggled to escape the relentless punches. Dean’s fists flew, striking him again and again. His muscles bunched beneath his shirt, his jaw clenched. He slammed a fist into Archer’s nose. Blood spurted.
“Do something!” Joanna screamed.
The sound spurred the other men into action. Richard West was not one of them. He stood at the sidelines, watching his younger son get pummeled.
Matthew and James grabbed Dean’s arms and tried to pull him off. A growl tore from Dean’s throat as he shoved them away and kept thrashing his brother. Another punch. Another strike. More blood.
Holy Christ…
I ran before I could think, my shoes slamming against the grass. I heard someone shout my name. Wind whistled past my ears. Dean’s fists were a blur, rage firing with every sharp movement. Another Coleman brother tried to yank Dean away.
Beneath him, Archer tried to curl up defensively, his hands over his face. Dean punched through every opening, refusing to stop.
“Dean!”
Not knowing what else to do, I tackled him, bracing myself against his flying fists. His knuckle caught me under the jaw. Stars burst behind my eyes. Pain lanced through me.
I threw my arms around him from behind and held on, praying he would listen. He was rigid, rock-hard with fury, his breath sawing through the air. He seized Archer’s collar and pulled back for another blow.
“Stop,” I gasped. “Dean, stop. Please, please stop!”
He stopped in mid-motion. The instant was long enough for me to shove him to the side. We tumbled to the grass. I landed on top of him and grasped his wrists, pinning him to the ground. His chest heaved beneath mine.
I stared into his rage-dark eyes.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Stop.”
He stared back at me, his breath rasping against my neck. I released one of his wrists and put my hand on his cheek.
“It’s okay.” My voice shook. I brushed my palm over his hair. “It’s okay.”
Some of the rigidity drained from his muscles. One of his arms clamped around my waist, locking our bodies together. I lowered my forehead to his chest. His heart pounded.
“Dean! Are you all right?” Paige shoved at my shoulder. “Get off him, Liv.”
“Don’t touch her,” Dean growled.
I closed my eyes. I absorbed the feeling of him beneath me, the gradual slackening of his body, the subduing anger. My thoughts and emotions tangled in a knotted mess I couldn’t even begin to unravel.
Slowly I lifted my head and opened my eyes to meet Dean’s unreadable gaze. A bruise marked his jaw, and blood was smeared beneath his nose.
A fraught tension coiled through the air. I was struck by the sense that something was about to break wide open, like an egg dropped from a vast height.
Voices rose in a pitch of agitation. I turned to find the Coleman brothers surrounding Archer, who was struggling against their restraining arms, his face bruised and bloody and hard with anger.
“You asshole!” Archer yelled at Dean, trying to dart forward. The Colemans fought him back.
“Archer, come inside,” Joanna pleaded.
I pushed myself to a sitting position. Dean climbed to his feet and scraped his hands through his hair. Strain lined his body, but at least now he appeared in control of his rage. His face was scratched and bleeding from where Archer had gotten a few punches in. He took my hand and pulled me up.
“Dean!” Paige hurried toward her brother. “Dean, how could you—”
He held up a hand to stop her.
“We’ll…” My voice broke. I tightened my grip on Dean. “We’ll go clean up.” I gave him a gentle tug. “Come on.”
I managed to get him into the house without another confrontation. Voices came from the kitchen, where I assumed the rest of the group was tending to Archer. I heard the word hospital and winced.
Before I could turn toward the stairs, Dean pushed me into the library. He slammed and locked the door behind him. Dim light and silence descended.
I pressed my palms to my face. My jaw ached from both the blow and trying to restrain my tears.
I felt Dean’s gaze. He latched a hand around my wrist.
“What the hell?” He cupped my chin with his other hand and turned me toward him, brushing his fingers beneath my jaw where a bruise must have formed. “Did I do that?”
“It was an accident. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Goddammit, Liv.” Self-directed anger speared his expression.
Oh, Dean.
“Don’t.” Tears burned my eyes. “I’m okay.”
A ripple of anger coursed through him. Blackness concealed the gold flecks in his eyes. I stepped back, my heart thudding.
“Dean?”
He advanced, coiled with leashed energy, his fists bunching at his sides. “I want you.”
“I’m… I’m yours.”
“I want to fuck you. Hard.”
Shock jolted me. My hips hit the big oak desk. “You—”
He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in almost painfully. Tension knotted his muscles. His eyes blazed with heat.
“I need to know you’re mine. That you’re all mine.”
“I am.” A dark, thrilling arousal spiraled through me at the anger-edged lust emanating from him. “Of course I am.”
“Let me.”
“Yes. Yes.”
He hauled me against him, his lips crashing down on mine. He pushed his tongue into my mouth with a sharp, possessive gesture, as if he wanted to mark me, claim me. The length of my body pressed against his, every one of his muscles still locked tight. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, the burn of his blood.
Heat rocketed through me. I grasped his biceps, stunned by the flood of excitement. He dug his fingers into my hips and hauled me up onto the edge of the desk, his mouth never ceasing its plundering of mine. He kissed me, licked me, bit my lower lip, dragged his mouth down to nip the throbbing vein at the side of my neck.
I inhaled sharply, spreading my legs around his hips. He shoved himself between my thighs, already hard through his jeans. With a sweep of his arm, he sent the desk clutter behind me crashing to the floor, pens and paper scattering.
I pushed my hands underneath his blood-spattered T-shirt, sliding my palms over his damp skin, the rigidity of his muscles. He yanked my skirt up my thighs, his mouth close to my ear.
“Take these fucking things off,” he hissed.
My heart pulsed. I pushed him away so that I could slither out of my pantyhose and drop them to the floor. Dean tangled his fingers into my underwear, brushing against my sex. I fumbled for the button-fly of his jeans, but my hands were shaking too much. He stepped back and kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned his fly and shoved his jeans and boxers off. His erection sprang up between us, thick and heavy. My throat went dry.
“Oh, God, Dean.”
I reached for him. He pressed his palm to my breastbone and pushed me back onto the desk. He took hold of my blouse and ripped it right down the middle. A fever darkened his eyes. I undid my bra, aching for him to touch my breasts. Panting, I twisted, rubbing my spread sex against the head of his cock as he bent to take my nipple between his teeth.
An intense shudder vibrated to my toes. He slid his hand down my belly, beneath my underwear. His forefinger ran over my folds, spurring my excitement higher. I tightened my legs around his hips.
I need to know you’re mine.
His rough voice echoed in my lust-fogged mind. Didn’t he know that already? How else could I show him?
He pulled my underwear over my legs. A gust of air brushed against my sex. Dean pushed his hands under my thighs, opening me to him fully. For an instant, his hot eyes met mine before he plunged his cock into me.
I was ready. He’d warned me, asked me, prepared me. But the intensity of his thrust, the sheer power of it, rocked me to the core. My emotions exploded. I
cried out in sudden shock, clutching his rigid arms. Sparks spread through my nerves as my inner flesh tightened around his pulsing shaft.
He gripped my thighs, keeping me open, as he thrust again and again, a relentless fucking that shook the desk and made my body bounce. I arched upward, drenched in the fog of desire, the dawning knowledge that I was binding myself inextricably to this man, and that I did not want to be free.
Leashed urgency pulsed through his muscles. His T-shirt dampened with sweat, smearing the remnants of his and his brother’s blood. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. My whole body ached and throbbed.
“Dean!” I gasped, bucking upward to match his deep thrusts.
“Come on, my beauty. Fuck me.” He stilled suddenly, pressing my thighs open, watching me with a seething intensity that made my heart tremble. His hair fell across his forehead. A flush burned along the crest of his cheekbones.
His cock was halfway inside me. With a moan, I pushed forward, impaling myself on him. I squirmed, twisting to try and repeat his heavy plunges. It wasn’t the same, I needed more, needed his power… and then he thrust forward again and filled me.
I shrieked, convulsing around him with a force that shocked me to my bones. It went on and on, an endless stream of sensation blasting light through me. And still he fucked me, urging every shudder out of me before pulling out and gripping his shaft.
Gasping, I pushed up onto my elbows and watched as he stroked his slick cock, his movements quick and urgent. His body tensed. A groan rumbled from his chest the instant before he came, ropes of semen pooling onto my belly and mons. The smell of sex filled my head.
I shivered and reached down to rub my still-quivering clit. Dean levered himself over me, sealing our damp bodies together, his mouth descending on mine for a bruising kiss.
“Say it again,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
I brushed his hair away from his forehead, stroked my hand down the side of his face.
“I’m yours,” I said, then looked into his gold-flecked eyes. “Say it back.”
“I’m yours.” He leaned his forehead against mine and drew in a breath. “Jesus, Liv. What are you doing to me?”
Falling for you. Hard.
Oh, no. What was at the end of that descent?
Joanna West insisted that Archer go to the hospital, then reported that he had a black eye, a split lip, numerous contusions, and a broken nose. Dean didn’t seem bothered by his own minor injuries. Certainly Archer had taken the brunt of the fight.
Not a fight. More like a beating.
I shuddered. I knew what had happened. Archer had never been able to surpass his older brother in any other way, but he’d quickly realized that he could get to Dean through me.
And he’d been right.
“What were you thinking?” Joanna West’s face was a mask of anger. “On Thanksgiving, Dean, really? Look at him!”
She waved a hand to where Archer slouched in a chair, one eye swollen half-shut, a few white gauze bandages taped to his face, dried blood crusted under his nose, bruises covering his jaw.
“What will people say?” Joanna snapped, her slender body shaking with fury. “Everyone saw what you did, Dean, everyone! They’re all talking about how you beat up your own brother!”
“I should press charges,” Archer said. His voice sounded foggy and drugged.
“Yeah, do that,” Dean challenged, his fists clenching at his sides. “See if you get any of your money then.”
Archer’s mouth thinned. “You fucker.”
“You fuck-up.”
“Stop it!” Joanna pressed her fingers to her temples. “You’re not pressing charges, for God’s sake, Archer.” She pivoted to face Dean. “What’s the matter with you? Since when do you act like a barbarian because of—”
She stopped short. And looked at me.
My stomach roiled. Dean stepped in front of me, as if to protect me from his mother’s needle-sharp, accusing glare.
“Enough,” he said. “Liv and I are leaving.”
“You fix this, Dean,” Joanna ordered. “I don’t care what you do, but you figure out how to fix it.”
“It’s not fixable, Mom,” Dean said, his voice cold. “You need to stop thinking it is.”
“Wow,” Archer muttered. “Is the only non-bastard son admitting defeat?”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard that right.
“Shut up, Archer,” Paige muttered, looking away from both her brothers.
Joanna stalked from the room, her back as rigid as metal.
I put my hand on Dean’s arm. His muscles were stiff with fury.
“I need to leave,” I whispered, so low I didn’t think he’d hear me.
He turned, his eyes pitch-black. “What?”
“I don’t want to cause… trouble.” The ache in my head pressed harder.
I was a good girl. I caused trouble for no one. I did what I was told to do. I followed the rules. Even when I was torn inside out, I patched myself back together in secret, in seclusion. No one would know anything bad had happened. No one would have reason to doubt me.
“You’re not causing trouble, Liv.” Dean forced his voice to steady. “It’s not you. Not at all. It’s them.”
“But they… they’re your family.” I couldn’t think of another way to say it. Couldn’t think past the undeniable fact that he had two parents, a sister, and a brother. Whatever else there was… it didn’t negate that fact.
I didn’t know where my mother was.
Dean took my arm and led me upstairs to get our suitcases. I managed to convey my apologies to Mrs. West before Dean got us both out of there and drove to a hotel near the airport.
He sank onto the bed, his shoulders slumping. “So fucking sorry. Never should have brought you here.”
“Was it…?”
“We were…” His voice was dull, exhausted. “When we were kids, Archer and I were pretty close. I’m four years older than he is. We fought a lot, but we were brothers, you know. Taught him how to play football.”
A sick foreboding rose in me. I couldn’t speak.
“The affair my mother had…” Dean dragged his hands through his hair and expelled a heavy breath. “She got pregnant with Archer. I was nine when I heard her talking to her sister about it. When my mother realized I’d overheard, she told me it was a secret, never to tell, that everyone had to think Archer was my father’s biological son. She and my father couldn’t risk a divorce or the rest of her family finding out. They were helping with some outstanding debts that could have damaged my father’s career.”
“How?”
“The governor of California had just nominated him as a potential judge in the Court of Appeals,” Dean said. “Big deal for him. Step on the road to Supreme Court. He had to go through a whole review process, investigation, public hearing. He was already worried about the possibility of his financial troubles getting out. If people discovered the truth about Archer, it would have ruined everything, especially for the retention election.”
“So you kept the secret?”
“For four years,” Dean said. “Then Archer and I were arguing one day… can’t even remember what it was about. I was thirteen. Paige was in the room too. I shouted at Archer that he wasn’t our father’s real son. Of course, the kid didn’t believe me, but then he ran to ask our father and… all hell broke loose. Archer has hated me ever since.”
He fell silent, staring at the opposite wall.
“What… what did your parents do?” I asked.
“Nothing. Everyone had to fall into line. They had to pretend they had a perfect marriage. We had to pretend we were a perfect family.”
I saw it then, clear as glass. For years, Dean had blamed himself for divulging the secret that had cracked his family apart from the inside and created the cold silence. Spurred by guilt, he’d thrown his energy into being a success, an overachiever, the best at everything… all to make up for his mistake and protect the West family image of perfecti
on.
And Archer West had done the exact opposite.
“Told you it was fucked-up,” Dean muttered.
I shook my head, unable to speak. I knew it was part of his blood now, the urge to be the perfect son.
Just as I’d always tried so hard to be good.
An ache was building inside me like steam, rolling and pitching. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing.”
A lump clogged my throat. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I never should have told him.”
“Dean, you were a boy.”
He shrugged. “My mother… well, she never forgave me either. She and Paige have always stuck together, and they all blamed me, especially when Archer rebelled. Obviously he’s never stopped. And… then my grandfather got sick and I had to deal with him. But I’m done with it now. All of it.”
“I can’t let you choose me over your family, Dean.”
“No, you can’t. You can’t not let me either.”
I swallowed hard. “You can’t make that choice if I walk away.”
Tension rolled through him. “You’re not walking away.”
Despite my fear, I could not prevent the surge of warmth at his possessive tone.
“You can’t stop me,” I whispered.
He pushed off the bed and went to his suitcase. He rummaged for something and turned, extending his hand to reveal the key to his apartment.
“I’m going to make a copy of this,” he said. “And I want you to take it. But don’t use it until winter break.”
“Winter break?”
He nodded, his eyes determined. “For two weeks of winter break, I want you to live with me. Twenty-four hours a day. You and me. No classes. No work. Nothing and no one else.”
I pressed a palm to my chest. Electricity crackled in the air. My heart suddenly felt brittle.
“I… I thought you were going on a research trip over winter break.”
“I leave on January ninth and get back before the semester starts.” He stepped closer to me. “I want you for two weeks, Liv. Completely. I haven’t even begun to show you everything we’re going to do together. At the end of those two weeks, you’ll know exactly where you belong. And you won’t want to walk away.”
