Finding Kyler (The Kennedy Boys #1)

by Siobhan Davis

  A dusky skyline greets us when we finally land on the private airstrip attached to Boston’s Logan International Airport. James whisks me into a waiting chauffeur-driven car the minute we step off the plane.

  I’ve barely time to breathe before we set out into the heavy urban traffic. The interior of the car is an ode to Kennedy Apparel—the K logo is splashed everywhere—and I’m beginning to sense a theme. I can only imagine what the house is going to be like.

  My gaze barely strays from the window the entire journey, and I’m mesmerized by my first glimpse of the United States. As I soak it all up, I allow a tiny glimmer of excitement to take root inside me. I imagine Mum whispering in my ear. “You’re on the adventure of a lifetime, love. Embrace it!” A familiar stomach-clenching pang sears through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I wonder if the pain will ever go away. Or if I’ll feel gutted every time I remember her.

  “Faye? Are you okay?” James’ voice is soft as he leans forward in his seat. His eyes are kind.

  “I’m fine,” I say, a little harshly. “Just trying to absorb everything.”

  He looks shrewdly at me. “Of course. I, ah”—he scratches the back of his head—“if you need to talk to anyone about your parents, I can arrange that for you. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel.”

  I grind my teeth down to the molars. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m grand.”

  “If you change your mind, come talk to me.”

  I know he’s only showing concern, but any mention of psychologists reminds me of a part of my past that I’ve buried. I also hate to be pitied, and I refuse to be treated like the walking wounded. My parents died tragically. It was—is—awful, and I will miss them every single day, but I have to stay strong. I know that’s what they would want.

  And I’m more than capable of coping on my own. My parents equipped me well. Independence was something they admired greatly, and I was encouraged to make my own choices. If it were up to me, I’d have stayed at home, finished school, and applied to Trinity College as I intended to. None of this is my choice, but I’m trying to make the best of it.

  Can’t he see that?

  I try to keep my voice respectful but firm. “I don’t need a shrink. Not now. Not ever.”

  He holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No problem.”

  Gradually, we move out of the city, zipping along a vast highway with numerous lanes. Everything is bigger and bolder here. Dublin seems so minuscule and mundane in comparison. The farther we travel, the darker it gets. A smattering of twinkling stars emerges in the nighttime sky. We move off the highway onto less crowded roads bordered by statuesque trees wearing varying shades of green, yellow, and amber hues.

  The car glides by a sign stating “Entering Wellesley. Norfolk County. Inc 1881.” At this hour, the streets are unnaturally quiet. We bypass the main town and head along roads thick with foliage. Houses are ginormous around here, fronted by well-maintained lawns. The farther we travel, the grander they get. There’s an eclectic mix of styles and types, but it works. It couldn’t be further removed from the typical residential estates back home.

  I stiffen in my seat as the vehicle detours into a wide well-lit road. Elaborate mansions extend on either side, barely visible behind huge red-bricked walls. Some peek out behind imposing iron gates.

  My heart starts pounding erratically, slamming against my ribcage, and my palms are sweaty. I know we’re close, and a layer of anxiety is hovering in the wings, waiting for its cue. The car slows in front of an imposing wrought iron gate bearing the signature K logo.

  I rub my hands up and down my jeans as the gates sweep open. The car eases smoothly forward and up a broad tree-lined driveway. A massive flowerbed rests majestically on either side of the lawn, lit up by a multitude of night-lights. The flowerbed is a circular shape, with a precise K-shaped arrangement in the center. White buds rim the border, while vibrant red flowers fill the K, replicating the logo that I feel will be indelibly imprinted on my brain. Honestly, it’s getting a little ridiculous at this point.

  The driver pulls the car around the bend, and my jaw slackens as I take in my new home. It’s not at all what I was expecting.

  Oh, it’s massive—as in White-House-sized proportions—but it’s a sleek, modern, one-story structure made of glass and wood, with differing angled roofs. It screams sophistication and glamour, and the only time I’ve seen anything like it is while watching MTV Cribs or in glossy magazines that showcase celebrity homes. I’m gobsmacked, but I compose my features and hide the whole “deer in the headlights” look I am no doubt sporting.

  The house faces onto an expansive well-manicured lawn. Huge trees border the property at the rear. “We have our own private woods, along with a basketball court, putting green, and an indoor and outdoor swimming pool,” James says. I perk up at the mention of the pools and he notices. “You like to swim?”

  I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Yeah. I was on the county swim team back home.”

  “There’s a swim team at the school. You should try out.”

  The car pulls into an empty spot in the massive garage, beside a souped-up flashy red sports car. James notices my interest. “That’s my baby. Isn’t she a beauty?”

  It looks like something a teenage joyrider would steal back home, but I keep that opinion to myself. “Absolutely.”

  I’m such a lick arse.

  Several black SUVs line up in a row, and I’m guessing those belong to his sons.

  The driver stops the car, and I wrap my arms around my waist to stave off the violent trembling that’s taken hold of me.

  Their obscene wealth intimidates me.

  Not the people.

  The money.

  The driver opens my uncle’s door first before attending to mine. James doesn’t make any move to exit. He looks contemplative. “I hope you’ll be happy here, Faye. Truly, I do.”

  “Thank you. Me, too.” I hop out of the car as the driver retrieves my suitcase from the boot.

  A splash of color in the corner of the garage captures my attention. Three racing motorbikes rest on an elevated platform. One is orange and blue and there is a multitude of brand logos on the side. The other two bikes are no less impressive. One is painted in a dark shade of green, the other bright yellow. A myriad of similar stickers decorates the side panels. I’m inexplicably drawn to them, and my feet move of their own accord.

  Reaching out, I run the tip of my finger along the bodywork and up and down the wheels, my fingers dipping into the grooves in the tires. I can almost feel the enhanced adrenaline in the air. Motorbikes have always excited me, and the pure rush I’m getting is sending tingles of anticipation ricocheting all over my body.

  I’m so entranced that I barely register the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “Get your hands off my bike.” The deep male cadence verges on a predatory growl. The possessive quality to his voice isn’t lost on me either.

  Giant goose bumps sprout on my arms, but I smother my fear and lift my head up in a confident manner. A red flush creeps up my chest and over my neck as a devastatingly good-looking boy reaches my side.

  I’m tall—for a girl—and I’m usually pretty much on the level with most guys, but the top of my head barely reaches this dude’s chin, so he’s got to be at least six-two to my five-nine.

  His body exudes warmth like a weapon. It crashes into me, almost knocking me off my feet. Slowly, my eyes travel up his body, taking in every ripped, lean, taut inch of him. He’s wearing dark navy jeans and a plain white shirt that’s molded to his perfectly chiseled abs like it’s painted on. I gulp.

  They sure don’t grow them like this in Ireland.

  My eyes continue their journey, up beyond the inviting, exposed strip of skin at the top of his shirt, and note voluptuous lips that are pinched tight, the light layer of
dark stubble on his sculpted chin and cheeks, and the tan, smooth lines of his handsome face. I brace myself, rocking back on my heels, as I stare into stunning pale blue eyes. Framed by a thick layer of inky-black lashes most girls would kill for, his eyes are vast pools that I could easily drown in.

  This guy is seriously good-looking, and he knows it, too. Crossing his arms over his chest, he pins me with a venomous look, and I shrink back from the dangerous vibes he’s emitting.

  “Are you done drooling yet?”

  Chapter Four

  Poison drips from his words, and everything locks up tight inside me. No matter that he’s right—I was ogling him like he’s my favorite Belgian chocolate ice cream—there’s no way I’m admitting to that. I spread a sneer over my lips and level him with one of my extra-special looks. The ones I usually deploy for cocky, arrogant dickheads. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re the first specimen of prime American A-hole I’ve seen. I wanted to memorize the form so I know what to avoid the next time.”

  He smirks, tilting his head to the side, and waves of smooth, sleek hair hover over his forehead. His hair is shorn real close at the sides but longer on top, styled back off his face. At home, all the guys are into skin fades with slick backs. This dude has a more stylish upper-class version of that.

  Figures.

  I deliberately force my eyes to stare blankly at him. There’s no way I’m letting him see how much I’m affected. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He oozes raw sex appeal and danger by the bucket load.

  It both thrills and terrifies me.

  My fingers twitch at my side with an almost compulsive need to touch him. His smirk grows, and my lips curl into a snarl of their own volition. Now, the scumbag is truly starting to irritate me.

  Behind me, James is issuing instructions to someone. A-hole leans down, pressing his delectable mouth against my ear. “I don’t know how they do things in Ireland, sweetheart, but you’re in my house—in my domain. And you don’t get to talk shit to me. Keep out of my way, and I’ll keep out of yours. Same goes for my brothers.”

  Wow. He’s friendly. Not.

  A fiery shiver rips up and down my spine as his warm breath trickles over me like some form of magical mist. He steps back, leering as he spots all the giveaway signs on my face.

  Any hint of blossoming desire evaporates.

  Smug, good-looking bastard. What an arrogant ass.

  Well, good. I’m glad he’s ugly on the inside because I should have no trouble repelling him. I’ve never been attracted to obnoxious boys, no matter how tempting they are on the outside.

  “This family is fucked up enough without additional complications. You shouldn’t have come. You’re not wanted,” he adds in a much louder tone, glancing briefly over his shoulder.

  “Kyler! That’s enough!” James walks toward us with a fierce look on his face.

  “Screw you.” Kyler glowers at his dad and they face off.

  Well then.

  I watch father and son as they enter into some form of silent confrontation. After a few minutes, Kyler drops back, laughing. Deliberately eyeing me, he runs the tip of his tongue slowly over his upper lip, and it takes considerable effort not to track the movement. Good God, this guy has all the moves down pat. Is this what I’m up against with every American boy? Rachel and Jill are going to flip out when I tell them about this.

  Quick as a flash, Kyler moves in front of me until there’s barely any space separating us.

  Time seems to stand still.

  I hold my posture erect and stare right back at him. James is shouting at him and tugging on his arm, but he doesn’t budge. There is scarcely an inch between us, and I can sense the powerful thudding of his heart. My heart races at the naked threat in his eyes. He stares deep into my eyes, pushing and searching, scanning me with his scorching gaze. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move, hardly capable of breathing. As he probes me with his determined eyes, I lose control for a second, and my shield drops. A spark flares in his eyes the moment he sees me. Truly sees me. Scrambling to put my invisible wall back up, I quiver all over, and my limbs turn to jelly. I don’t think I’d feel any more violated if he’d stripped me bare. I might as well have lain down before him openly exposing all my flaws and my fears, inviting him to psychoanalyze me.

  Steadfast resolution seizes me. It’s taken years to put my past behind me. It’s a part of me I don’t share with anyone—a part I can’t even bear to acknowledge for fear of what’ll happen. No one has penetrated that wall in years, and I’ll be damned if this arrogant fucker is going to invade that most private, most abhorred part of me.

  I guess it takes one to know one, and two can play that game.

  Spearing him with a determined look, I reverse the intrusive lens—turning it on him. My eyes explore hidden, dark depths filled with loathing and self-hate. It’s a melting pot of wild, out-of-control emotions. Heartfelt pain has a vice grip on his heart. As I continue looking at him, I see it, churning and snarling and closing him off to the world. His face pales, and our eyes meet in a moment of shared understanding.

  We both jerk back at the same time, and whatever bubble we were in bursts, leaving us both vulnerable. My back hits against the handlebars of a bike, and a sharp ache rips across my upper back, but I barely feel the impact.

  James is yelling at Kyler, but I can’t make out the words over the blood rushing to my brain and the alarm bells flaring like warning beacons in my ears.

  The shouting stops and I look up. James prods his son in the side. Kyler pierces me with another inquisitive look, but this one is loaded with caution. Blood turns to ice in my veins as a deathly cold chill rockets through me.

  He knows I’ve seen something in him. Something I recognize, only because it exists in me too. He’s issuing a clear, silent warning.

  I’m not a fool. I don’t need to make any enemies at home because I’m sure I’ll have plenty of those once I rock on up to the high school. Yes, he’s in pain, and a part of me empathizes, but my bet is he lashes out at the world in a misguided attempt to feel better.

  I’m not about to become his new punching bag.

  A smart antagonist always knows when to back down.

  I arch my back, standing tall. I’ll make it clear that I understand, but there’s no way I’m letting him think he’s intimidated me. Kyler is not going to walk all over me. I promised myself years ago that I wouldn’t be a pushover any more. It’s a mantra I’ve clung to, and I’m not about to regress. Especially not for a wanker like him.

  So, I’ll stand down. For now.

  “No touching the bikes. Got it.” My eyes widen automatically as I move aside, palms raised in a token gesture.

  His lips pinch tightly as he nods, and the smug, smirking look from earlier is gone.

  We have an understanding, of sorts.

  I’ll pretend that I didn’t see that hidden dark void inside him, and he’ll keep quiet about the empty shell that exists in place of my heart.

  Seems like a fair trade-off.

  As Kyler strides out a side door, I twist my neck from side to side, trying to get my head on straight for the next meet-and-greet. James plants a gentle hand on my lower back and urges me forward. “I’m sorry about Kyler. That was rude, but he doesn’t mean it. He’s going through some stuff, so don’t take it personally.”

  I’ll say, if that teeny glimpse is any indication. But I seal my lips as James leads me through a large utility room out into a narrow corridor. The sound of several voices chatting grows louder as we advance. I’m surprised, and a little uncomfortable, when James takes my hand and leads me into a vast open-plan kitchen and dining area. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the room at the front, facing out onto the magnificent gardens.

  All conversation mutes instantly, and eight heads fixate on me. I clasp James’s hand more firmly, previous discomfort forgotten. �
�Everyone,” he says, smiling warmly, “This is Faye.”

  I do a quick scan of the room, and my eyes almost bug out at the sight of so much male hotness. Three near-identical-looking boys are seated on benches surrounding a long narrow table at one end of the room. They have the same dark hair and blue eyes as Kyler, but their faces are rounder and still a little babyish. The triplets, I’m guessing.

  Two older boys are propped against one side of a long, wide island unit, eyeing me intensely. One of the boys straightens up, crossing his arms around his chest as he blatantly stares at me through almond-shaped blue eyes. Biceps bulge under the short sleeves of his shirt, and my eyes gravitate to the edge of the tattoo peeking out. His hair is longer than the others, but that messy bed-head look suits him.

  Kyler is leaning back against a marble countertop, sporting an impressively blank expression. Another boy is at his side, blatantly checking me out. He’s a couple of inches shorter than Kyler and every bit as obnoxiously good-looking. He is wearing an unbuttoned black shirt and khaki shorts. Wide blue eyes lock on mine, and he winks. I lift a brow and his grin expands.

  This gene pool is completely unfair to the rest of us mere mortals.

  Add the obvious obscene wealth to the mix, and you have quite a heady combination. Girls must be crawling all over these dudes.

  James squeezes my hand, and I refocus. Clearing my throat, I offer up a semi-confident smile. “Hi.”

  A stunning blonde-haired woman steps forward to greet me. Wearing a figure-hugging black pants suit with a cream silk blouse and a string of pearls at her neck, she is the epitome of classic chic. Her short hair is styled into an edgy bob that works well with her heart-shaped face. Her pale blue eyes are carbon copies of Kyler’s.

  “Oh my gosh, honey,” she says, smiling as she reels me in for a hug. “It’s so wonderful to meet you. I’m Alexandra Kennedy, but you can call me Alex.” I stand awkwardly in her embrace, conscious of the focused stares of her seven sons.