BOUGHT: A Standalone Romance

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Now you come home,” he said. “Now you decide to show your face. She’s been fighting this for months, and now, now that she’s given up, you decide to come back and see what you can get out of this…out of her. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Miles stood a little taller, but he didn’t respond to his father’s words.

  “Daddy,” Lila said softly, “you know why he didn’t come home before.”

  “I know he acted like a child when he couldn’t have what he wanted. I know he ran away from his responsibilities, turned his back on his family, and pretended that his feelings were more important than our family legacy.”

  “Daddy,” Lila said again, but Jackson wasn’t finished. He pushed past Lila, shouldered his way between Robert and Claire, and came to stand nose to nose with his eldest son. “I know that the moment you decided to run away, you should have never looked back. You aren’t welcome here.”

  Miles was taller than his father, taller by several inches, and wider too. The physical labor that came with his construction company put the advantage in his court. He could have pushed Jackson out of his way with the smallest bit of effort. Yet, he made no effort to defend himself. He simply watched his father, something like apathy in his eyes.

  “I called Joan when she got sick. I know you knew it back then. I know you knew how much she needed you to come home, but you chose to hide from your problems and break her heart rather than come back and face everything you ran away from.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the right place for this,” Keegan said, taking his father-in-law’s arm.

  Jackson simply pulled away.

  “Do you think I didn’t find myself in messes when I first started this company? Do you think I didn’t get myself embroiled in problems?” Jackson shoved a finger into Miles’ chest. “The difference between you and I is that I’m a man and I stood up to my problems. You just ran away and left the rest of us to deal with it.”

  A muscle jerked in Miles’ jaw, a flicker of something—anger, maybe?—flashed in his eyes. But he continued to stand there and continued to listen to his father without responding.

  Robert, of all people, stepped close and said, “Dad, you should probably stop before someone calls security.”

  Jackson sneered at his other son. “You think I’m going to listen to you? You think I give a shit what you think? You stabbed your brother in the back, the only person who was always on your side, you stab him in the back. I don’t really care what you have to say.”

  Robert’s face reddened. Claire grabbed his hand and pulled him away, saying in one of those whispers that’s meant to be heard by everyone, “Don’t worry, baby. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Look at this,” Jackson said, something like a mirthless chuckle slipping from his lips. “My wife is dying. She might die tonight. And my children—my legacy—consists of a son who thought nothing of stealing his brother’s fiancée, and a son who ran when things got too hot. Some legacy I’ll leave behind when it’s my turn to go.”

  “That’s not true,” Miles said.

  Jackson looked up at him—his dark eyes so much like Miles’ in their size and shape, missing just the emerald green he clearly got from his mom—and laughter again spilled from his lips that was so full of bitterness that it sent a chill down my spine.

  “What’s not true about it? What Robert did to you? Or the yellow stripe running down your back?”

  “I didn’t run.”

  “You didn’t exactly stick around to face those people, either. Who do you think took your place? Who do you think stepped up—?”

  “Jackson.”

  My head was spinning, trying to keep up with everything, trying to keep my heart from breaking for the pain I could hear in Miles’ voice. I didn’t understand what was happening. And then a doctor was there, holding Jackson’s hands and speaking low. Something about electrolyte imbalances and fevers. I didn’t catch it all, but it didn’t sound good.

  We moved as a unit upstairs to another waiting room, Jackson disappearing for a while with Lila at his side. Miles tried to sit down, but he was on his feet again after a few minutes, pacing the length of the room. I watched him, unsure what I should do. Claire watched him, too, a tiny frown creasing her model’s brow, even as Robert clung to her hand and stared absently out into space. Keegan took a seat beside me and offered a weak smile.

  “Some introduction to the family, isn’t it?”

  I shrugged, my attention moving back to Miles. I so wanted to do something to make things better for him, but I didn’t know what.

  “My family lives near the Thorns, so I’ve known them all my life. It wasn’t such a shock when I married into the family. But I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you. Maybe it’s better Miles hid you away before introducing you to this chaos.”

  “Is it always like this? I mean, their dad…?”

  “Jackson is pretty intense. But he grew up in a world where perfection was expected of him. Elena used to soften his rough edges, but since she’s been sick, it’s only gotten worse.”

  A part of me couldn’t blame him. It couldn’t be easy to watch the woman he’d loved most of his adult life get sick and suffer. I looked at Miles and found myself wondering if…and then I reminded myself not to let my heart go there.

  Jackson and Lila came back down the hall. Lila was using a worn tissue to wipe at tears, trying not to smear her makeup as she wiped them away. Keegan went to her, and she collapsed into his arms, allowing him to lead her back up the hallway.

  “She’s settled for the night,” Jackson said. “You should go, get some rest. You can visit her in the morning.”

  “I’d rather stay,” Miles said.

  “Me, too,” Robert chimed in.

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “She’s dying. The last thing she needs—the last thing I need—is the two of you around to remind her of her failures.”

  “She’s their mother,” I said before I even knew I had something to say. “They should be here.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Jackson said, turning his attention to me for the first time, the full vehemence of his anger burning in his eyes. “Who do you think you are to speak to me that way?”

  “They have as much right—”

  “It’s okay, Riley,” Miles said, grabbing my arm as I stood and began to approach his father. “I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.”

  Miles focused on his father. “Lila has my cellphone number. Have her call me if anything happens.”

  I expected Jackson to balk at such a request, but he didn’t. He simply inclined his head. Miles did the same, like it was some sort of ritual or something, then led me away.

  I wanted to argue. I wanted to defend his right to be where he wanted to be, but there was so much to this family dynamic that I didn’t understand. So I let him take me away without speaking.

  The house was empty when the taxi dropped us off. There was evidence of the party—empty glasses on low tables, half-eaten quiche on small plates, used napkins dropped here and there—but the people and the staff were nowhere to be seen. Miles poured himself a drink, but he didn’t lift it to his lips. Instead, he turned and looked at me, his eyes moving slowly over the dress I still wore.

  “Go put on some jeans,” he said, his voice almost friendly for once. “I want to show you something.”

  I only hesitated a second. If I could help him in some way, and this was it, I wanted to do it.

  I didn’t know it, but I was already gone.

  Chapter 12

  The house had a five car garage in the back. Miles took me there and grabbed a set of keys off a pegboard near the door, walking me past a vintage Rolls Royce, a couple of big, black SUVs, and a BMW not unlike the one he owned back in Texas to a classic 1965 Mustang. I almost giggled as I took a seat on its white, faux-leather seats, thinking of one of my favorite movies and the identical red Mustang the main character drove. I’d always wanted to have one of these.

&n
bsp; “My mom helped me buy it when I was fifteen, and I restored it myself, mostly. I had some help from the mechanic my father keeps on retainer, but only with the really complicated stuff.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah.”

  He started the car, and it purred like a dream. And then we were driving through the night air, the convertible roof tucked away and the wind blowing all around us. I sat back and stared at the scenery, fascinated with everything. Miles reached over and touched my thigh, squeezing lightly before pulling away. I moved closer to him and lay my hand on his knee, happy when he didn’t brush it away.

  We drove for a while, snaking along back roads surrounded by incredible oaks. I thought we were just going to drive, just keep going until his phone rang or the sun made an appearance over the trees. But then he pulled to the side of the road and jumped out, coming around and helping me out as well.

  He held my hand as we walked into the woods. It was dark, and there was a lot of animal activity that didn’t grow as silent as one might imagine at the sound of our footsteps. But there was a smell that was like heaven—trees and flowers and compost—and a sort of peace that felt reassuring, somehow.

  And then the trees opened up, and there was a beautiful body of water that was so calm the moon and the stars were reflected perfectly in its inky pool. I let go of Miles’ hand and walked close to the edge, squatting to slip my fingers into the cool water. Little ripples moved away from me, disturbing the calm of the water briefly, but then becoming a part of the beauty of it all.

  “I discovered this place not long after I got my driver’s license. I used to come out here all the time, just stand here and stare out at the water. It was incredibly calming.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened at the hospital. I’m sorry you had to see all that.”

  I stood and wiped my hands on my jeans, my eyes seeking his in the darkness.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. You didn’t sign up for this.”

  I wanted to ask him about the things his father had said and about the accusations he made, but I knew this wasn’t the time or the place. So I turned back to the water.

  “What did you do out here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you study? Listen to music?” I glanced back at him. “Did you ever swim?”

  “A little bit of all that.”

  “Did you bring girls here?”

  “No. You’re the first.”

  I was honored, even though I had to warn myself again to be careful. It was a difficult night. The fact that he’d brought me here didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  “I can’t imagine you as a teenager. I suppose you were wildly popular.”

  He laughed. “Hardly. I was too tall, too clumsy, and more interested in comic books than sports.”

  “I don’t believe that. I bet you had girls chasing you all over campus.”

  “Sure. But mostly because of my name, not my looks.”

  I shook my head. “Naw. I bet you were that guy that all the girls followed around while whispering about how perfect you were.”

  Miles laughed. “If they were, I didn’t notice. I always had a comic book open when I walked down the hall. I walked into open locker doors more often than whispering girls.”

  That I could almost imagine. It was actually a pretty endearing image. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  “There’s always that boy in every high school, the one all the girls fight over, the one they all want to be ‘the one.’ Jimmy Martinez was that one at my school.”

  “Did you have a thing for Jimmy Martinez?”

  I blushed, glad he couldn’t see it in the dark. “No. I was more interested in Kyle Anderson. He was in all my classes, and he had the most amazing blond hair. I would waste whole class hours wondering what it would be like to wrap those curls around my fingers.”

  “A rebel, then.”

  “I suppose. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that he was the only boy in my class I didn’t completely tower over.”

  “It sucks being tall.”

  I nodded. “Especially for a girl.”

  “Hey, guys don’t have it much better. You can’t even begin to guess how many times I’ve hit my head on low ceilings or low door jambs.”

  “Probably not as many times as I was called ‘Amazon’ in junior high when I was a full foot taller than most of the boys.”

  “They must make them really short in your hometown.”

  “No. I’m just an Amazon.”

  “But I’ve got you beat by a full five or six inches.”

  “Then you must be a giant.”

  He grunted, but then it turned into laughter, as he gave me a little shove, catching me with his other hand just before I fell into the water. I pulled away and scooped up a couple of handfuls of water and threw them at him.

  “Oh, yeah?” he asked, moving around me and diving away from another scoop of water. He grabbed his own handful, spraying water over the top of my head and down my back. I hissed under my breath from the sudden chill of it, but it didn’t stop me from grabbing more water and tossing it at him again.

  He charged me, grabbing my hands before I could get more water, soaking his shoes in the process. Then he pulled me up against his chest, both of us laughing so hard that neither could catch our breath. And then he was looking at me with that same hooded look he’d offered me after the kiss we shared earlier in the evening. It forced me to catch my breath, knocking the laughter away as I stepped into him. He cupped my jaw even as his other hand snaked around my back, pulling me as close as we could get without defying physics.

  His lips were warm and a little salty as he pressed them to mine. I opened to him quicker than I probably should have, welcoming him inside of me, loving the way he knew just where to touch me, just how much pressure to apply, how to make those waves of pleasure dance through me. I touched his face and let my fingers slide over his cheek before moving them into his hair, playing with the curls that lived there, as I had wanted to do the moment I first met him. There was just something so erotic about running my fingers through a man’s hair, using it to tug him closer to me, losing myself in the contrasting textures of his masculine body.

  I could feel his body responding to me, could feel his breaths quicken, his heart pound. I moved a little closer, and I could feel his arousal, as his hand slid down my back, cupping the roundness of my ass as he tugged me so much closer to him. His other hand dropped from my jaw, dragging his fingers over my side, over the curve of my breast. And then his fingers were digging their way under my shirt, his palm pressing against my back for a long moment before sliding further up, sliding under the band of my bra.

  My belly quivered, something deep inside tightening so much that it was almost painful. I ached in a way I’d never felt before, the need so strong that I might have begged if he didn’t have my tongue completely occupied. And then he was pushing me back, leading me to higher ground, to the soft grass that grew not far from the tree line. I was falling through the air, but it felt more like floating on a cloud. His weight was draped against my side, his hand moving over my ribs, exploring the bottom edge of my bra, his mouth moving from my lips to my chin to my throat. A low, keening moan filled the air, and I didn’t realize at first that it came from me. I’d never made such a sound before, but I’d never known a passion like this before either.

  He pushed my t-shirt up and kissed the tops of my breasts, his tongue stealing a little taste here and there. Then he was nibbling at my hardened nipples, tugging them into his mouth and doing things that made me arch my back and moan again. But he didn’t stay there long. He moved on, his hot kisses weaving and bobbing over my belly, his tongue stealing a taste of my navel, his hands tugging at my jeans as his fingers sought the depths of me, that place that so desperately wanted his touch.

  I wanted him.

  I know that seems
obvious. I know that everyone says they need the man who turns them on at the moment. But it was more than that. There was this connection that his touch seemed to bring to life, something about the way his touch spoke to my soul that made me almost desperate to feel him, to be close to him. I wanted him in a way I’d never understood the definition of the word.

  He tugged my jeans over my hips, and his hand cupped me, the pressure like a soothing balm on a burn. It felt so good, at first. But then I needed more, needed so much more. He seemed to know that. But, at the same time, he seemed eager to make me wait. He kissed my inner thigh, taking a deep breath of the musky smells that lived there. Then he kissed my other thigh, his teeth nipping like a puppy who hasn’t quite learned yet that biting is undesirable. Rather than pain, his nips sent more and more waves of need through my body, waves that came to concentrate themselves in my clit. I needed his touch like I needed my next breath.

  When he began to tug my panties away, I thought my heart might shatter with the anticipation. At the same time, the uncertainty that came with inexperience wagged its ugly head. I pressed my thighs together almost unconsciously, blocking him from what it was I wanted just as much as his confused glance told me he did. I sat up and kissed him, trying to remind myself that this was my husband, this was the man I wanted. But that instinct…

  “I want you,” he whispered against my lips.

  Again, the melt, the puddle that was once my muscles, my nerves, my sanity. And his hand touched me in a place no one else had ever gone. Pleasure burst through me, threatening to take even the tiny bit of reality that was left. But my thighs betrayed me again by pressing together, holding him hard against me, but refusing him further entry.

  “Riley,” he said, confusion in his voice as he pulled back to look at me. There must have been something in my eyes, something in my expression, whatever it was brought understanding to his eyes.

  He nodded just slightly and slowly pulled his hand away.

  “It can wait.”

  “No, Miles. I want to. I’m just—”

  “It shouldn’t be like this, Riley. You don’t want your first time to be with some asshole who’s only using you because he’s hurting.”