His mouth opens slightly as though my reaction surprises him. “You waited,” he says. God. He’s sexier somehow.
“What am I going to do run away?”
He reaches for my shoulder. “You could have.”
I twist away without answering.
He raises a brow. “That’s how it’s going to be?”
“Yep.” I can’t have anything to do with him anymore.
If he crooks his finger in the right place, I might not be able to say no. Distance creates safety. I take a deep breath of his cologne.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “It’s good to see you, Whitney.”
“Wish I could say the same. Have you talked to Jessica lately?”
He scowls, and a shadow crosses his face. “Back to that?”
I wish my glare could light him on fire... spontaneously combusting ex. “That’s all there is between us.”
“I told you what—”
“Save it.” I spit the words at him, infusing them with every bit of bitterness I have. Maybe it’ll hide the lust coursing through me.
He rubs a hand over his chin, muttering something under his breath. “As you wish,” he says. “See you at breakfast.”
“Not happening,” I counter.
He barks a laugh. “Don’t have the guts to sit down with us, do you?”
I sway when his challenge hits me. Shit. I’ve never been good at backing down. He knows that. Now, I want to scratch out his eyes. I indulge in a split-second fantasy that includes launching myself at his head.
But I won’t trade this college for a prison cell. If I injure a hair on his pretty little head, his mama will have me thrown in jail. In half-a-heartbeat.
“Well?” he presses. He wants an answer, but I won’t give it to him.
Without responding, I spin around and hurry away. I don’t bother to look back. I can’t bear to see the feral light in his eyes. I won’t give in again. No matter how much he wants me to. We’ve been there. We did that.
Not even for a one-night stand to fulfill the need that’s already started to spread through my middle. So much history. So much lust. So much hate. He had been off-limits my whole life, and then he invited me into bed, and I went as fast as my foolish little legs would take me.
When we were kids, the Kensington patriarch picked out partners for his sons, and those plans never included a second-class woman like me. When Andrew’s dad died, Aunt Nancy angled for me to snare the heir of a multi-billion-dollar fortune and the son of her best friend. I don’t think she cared which one.
It didn’t happen then and it won’t happen now. We’re both too fucked up by the fakery and the façade of the golden world we live in. Everybody wants us for something and making love in closets only lasts for so long.
At the exit, I glance over my shoulder. Andrew stands there with that stupid grin on his face. Like he knows I’m still the girl who runs away. As if he believes I won’t show up to breakfast.
I snort. He has no idea what he’s done or who he’s pissed off. He’s so sure he can push my buttons and win every skirmish. Like he used to.
But I’m not that girl anymore. My lips curl into an evil little smile.
If he messes with the bull, he gets the horns, right? Hook ‘em.
As long as I have to attend his mother’s college, I’ll smash through every challenge he throws my way. The whole campus will soon learn that Andrew Kensington doesn’t mean anything to me. I hate him, and he has no idea what’s in store.
2
Breakfast
Dining Hall
Fuck me sideways. What a blast from the past. Why is she at my college?
Whitney’s hips sway from side to side as she saunters away, her chin pointed straight up at the ceiling. Her sweater hugs her hips, and she’s got her shoulders pulled back as if she’ll fight anybody anytime. With every stride, that ridiculous pompom on top of her winter hat quivers.
She’s the sexiest thing on two legs, and I want her more than I ever have before. I take a breath, trying to inhale the scent of her. Memories explode in my brain.
Desire sucker-punches me in the crotch, and I suck at the air, imagining her tight ass crammed against me. Low and slow.
Jasmine and cherry blossoms scent the air, and memories hammered me in the chest. When I knew her, Whitney didn’t wear perfumes, but she loved smelly lotions. She’d spend an hour massaging the goop into her skin until she turned buttery soft.
Shit. I drag my gaze over her. She’s matured. Her tits are fuller, her curves more... curvy. Sexier. More drop-dead gorgeous. More of everything I loved about her in the first place. Heat pours through my belly. But she’s... my ex.
I grit my teeth. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. She made that clear. She doesn’t have any idea how much I want to chase after her.
Atticus punches me in the shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”
I shrug. “Ghost from the past.”
He smirks. “You mean Whitney Cargill? You always had a thing for her back then.”
Neither of my brothers have any idea how bad I had it. She was mine right up until Atticus got me tipsy, and I got caught up in his triplet experiments. Whitney didn’t give me a second look after that.
We leave the auditorium and stroll across the Quad, working our way toward the cafeteria. We take the door marked Faculty. The hostess doesn’t bat an eye when we enter. They’re used to us meeting our mother for meals. We pretty much have free reign on campus.
Atticus leans close to the hostess’s ear and whispers something I can’t hear. Her eyes widen, and she arches against him. Dammit. He’s got plans.
“Would you like that?” he asks, loud enough I overhear.
“Yes, please,” she whispers.
Then she bites his earlobe, and he shoves his hand up her skirt to clutch her ass cheek. She whimpers, and the sounds drags old memories into my thoughts. The first time we had sex... after a swim and sauna. We had sex on the redwood bench. I picture Whitney riding my cock, her nipples erect in the cold of an empty house.
“Get a room,” Adam snarls, edging past me.
I push my fantasies away and punch my oldest brother’s shoulder. “Jealous, much?”
Adam flips me off and enters the dining room. Big brother definitely needs to get laid. There has to be a million and one ladies around ready to make that happen.
Atticus makes a face, and I nod at him. I’ll cover for Atticus. I’m good at it.
Atticus whispers something else, and his girl nods. He winks at me. “Tell mom I’ll be along once I finish studying... anatomy.”
I roll my eyes. “Lame.”
He pauses with a questioning look on his face.
“Sure. I’ll make the appropriate excuses.”
The hostess laces her fingers through his, and he leads her down an adjacent hallway. Atticus has every fuck-corner on campus mapped out in that horny brain of his.
Making my way into the dining room, the clink of real silverware against china fills the air against the murmur of hushed conversation. Entirely too cultured and civilized for my taste. The polite behavior covers collegiate intrigue and all sorts of misbehavior.
The excess of wanna-be scholars file into the student cafeteria, extra eager for the once-a-semester free meal, and the tumult bleeds over into the faculty room.
Our mother arches an extra thin eyebrow. “Where’s your brother?”
I gesture at Adam, glaring at me from across the table. “He’s right there.”
“That’s not who I mean, and you know it.”
“He’s studying freshman anatomy,” I offer. “He’ll be here as soon as he can.”
Adam snorts.
“Is that so?” Mother asks.
I shrug and take a seat, not caring whether she believes me or not. It doesn’t matter whether she does or not. Our tuition is a part of her benefits package. They can’t kick us out us without firing her. We don’t attend because we want to, but because we make her l
ook good. I shove a sweet roll into my mouth.
Across the room, the only waitress catches my eye. I give her a little nod, and she leans forward far enough for me to see the swell of her breasts and the lacey bra that holds them. Then she drops a fork and has to bend over to pick up, sticking her ass out ever so slightly.
I’m getting breakfast and a show. On her way up, I re-catch her eye and wag my eyebrows. I imagine Whitney’s face and body instead, but it doesn’t hit the spot like I expect it to.
Atticus jogs into the dining room, his cheeks flushed. He’s missed a button on his hastily tucked-in shirt. He’s disheveled to the max, but he plops down in the empty chair.
“What grade do you think you’ll get on your first test of the year?” Adam growls.
Atticus scowls. “Huh?”
“Isn’t that what you were studying?”
“Oh. That.” He chuckles. “Definitely an A-plus.”
Mom sniffs derisively. “Is Miss Cargill on her way?” she asks me.
“I doubt it,” I say, taking a long drink of orange juice.
At that, Adam chuckles, his gaze on something behind me. “Think again, Andrew. She’s full of surprises.”
I twist toward the entrance. There, she stands with that ridiculous knit hat on top of her head. Her long brown hair reaches nearly to her waist. She speaks to the hostess, and Atticus’s latest partner points to our table with a grin. Whitney smiles and starts toward us.
Adam mutters something about her being one of his favorite spitfires. I can’t tell if he means the hostess or Whitney, and I don’t think I like it either way.
I whip back around and frown. “What did you say?”
Adam drums his fingers on the table surface and moves closer. “I’ll bed her before you do, brother,” he whispers. “You wouldn’t know how to treat that girl if you’re life depended on it.”
I gape at him. What’s gotten into this asshole?
Atticus lets out a low whistle. “A contender enters the ring.”
Adam’s eyes hold a challenge that makes my blood boil. Whitney has always been meant for me. Adam knows that as well as any of us. He doesn’t get to stake a claim.
“You will not embarrass me,” Mother speaks under her breath and then stands to offer her hand to Whitney. “Welcome, Miss Cargill.” Mom waves for another setting.
A chair appears within moments, and Adam scoots to make room between his place and our mother’s. Without hesitation, the waiter places the seat in the allotted space and hurries away. Whitney settles in her seat, and Adam, ever the gentlemen, pushes her chair in.
“Hello, Whitney,” I say, trying to salvage the situation. Then I clamp my mouth closed, mentally cursing his forward thinking.
She shows her teeth, but her full, kissable lips aren’t stretched in a smile. She grimaces like she ate week-old sushi. “Andrew,” she says.
“So glad you could join us for breakfast,” Mother interjects. “It’s lovely to have you. We have so much to catch up on.”
Whitney pauses as though considering what to say next. She leans forward, her eyes flashing. “I didn’t have much of a fucking choice, now did I?”
Mother blinks twice. Then she spits out, “Language, Miss Cargill.”
Whitney’s gaze narrows. “Language is pretty fucking amazing, isn’t it? I might take it next fucking semester.” She lingers on the double fuck part of her sentence.
Spitfire, indeed. All three of us guffaw. I want to cheer.
Mom blanches, and I have the hard-on of the century beneath my linen napkin. Where had little, demure Whitney Cargill gone? She’s getting more interesting by the second.
Our waiter returns. “Could I get you something to drink, miss?”
“Water,” Whitney says as sweet as sugar. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. Heat tears through me. I can’t tear my gaze away from her mouth. I haven’t wanted anything more in my life.
“Do you know what you’d like to order?” the waiter asks.
Mother shakes her head. “Not yet.” She sounds breathless, as though Whitney’s attitude knocked the wind from her, and she was only now able to take a breath.
Atticus makes eyes at the hostess on the other side of the room. He’s checked out of the conversation entirely.
“Where have you been since high school?” Adam asks.
Whitney’s eyes widen slightly. “Doing my best to avoid turning into an entitled asshole.” She glares at me.
“She told you,” Atticus whispers.
“Go back to making eyes at the hostess.”
Adam chuckles. “What classes do you have?” he asks her.
Whitney takes a breath. “I’m doing Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I have Comp I, Psychology, US History I, and Intro to Art. In that order.”
“Only twelve hours?” I ask. The basic classes will be a breeze for her. She could have taken fifteen hours. Easy.
“You always were smart,” Adam says, inching his seat closer to her.
I kick his chair, miss his leg, and jam my toe. “Fuck.”
She glances from me to him. “My afternoons are free. I thought I’d look for work.” She doesn’t add anything else, and I scowl. Why would she need work? Maybe I can find her something. It’ll be as simple as checking with mom’s secretary.
“Which class are you looking forward to most?” Adam asks.
She shrugs, and her lips turn pouty. She catches the bottom one between her teeth again. I want to push all the stuff off the table, shove my hands into her hair, and climb on top of her. I can put us both out of her misery.
I draw my hand across my mouth. I can almost taste her in the air. She’s been my drug. I consumed her any time I could. Devoured her. Bent her over the antiques in the attic. Spread her wide and relished every inch of her. Put my tongue...
“Andrew?”
Shit. They’re all looking at me like they’re waiting for an answer. “Yes?” I dance on a razor’s edge. Whitney drives me crazy.
She sits ramrod straight and pushes food from one side of her plate to the other. Adam leans close to Whitney and whispers something in her ear. When she turns toward him, their faces are inches apart.
My skin prickles from head to toe, and I fight to keep from pelting my brother with the new batch of sweet rolls the waiter drops by the table.
“Do you have any of those classes?” Mother repeats.
“No, I’m in Figure Drawing,” I grind out.
“I thought so.” She frowns. “Don’t you have two art classes?”
I wipe at the condensation on my water goblet. “Intro to Art.”
“That’s what it is. Maybe you two could work together in the intro class.”
Whitney stands so abruptly her thighs jostle the table. Water and orange juice splash all over the white linen surface. She nods toward my mother. “Ms. Kensington, thank you for the invitation. It’s been fucking great, but I have to make sure my luggage reached my dorm room.”
My mother dips her chin, graciously, but doesn’t take the time to admonish Whitney about her language.
Adam stands. “I could escort you.”
Whitney shakes her head. “No, please, stay. Please. Fucking. Stay. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She tosses her napkin on her empty plate and makes a beeline for the exit.
I dart after her. Adam and Atticus follow. We catch up to her in the foyer.
“Hey, Squeaks,” I say and reach for her hand.
She spins around. Something slams into my cheek. Dark spots explode in my vision. I didn’t see it coming, and I stumble, catching myself on the door frame.
“What the hell?” Adam bellows, coming up from behind. He lunges toward Whitney. “What the hell was that?”
Atticus dives between Whitney and Adam, and Atticus gets his arms around Whitney to pull her out of Adam’s reach. Adam’s had it out for me lately, but he takes his job as the oldest pretty seriously. It doesn’t matter if the difference is only five minutes between him and me.
Whitney struggles in my brother’s arms, trying to get away. She jabs her finger at me. Fury rolling off her in waves. “Don’t call me that. Don’t you ever call me that.”
I scowl at her. “What are you talking about?”
Her face flushes. Her lips turn bright red. Her light brown eyes sparkle. “You’re not good enough to be the shit on my shoe, Andrew Kensington.”
“What are you talking about?”
She jerks against Atticus’s arms. “You’re not allowed to call me that anymore. You gave it up for two freshmen whores.”
The hostess approaches, blinking rapidly. “Atticus? Should I call campus security?” She doesn’t mean call them on us. All three of us know that. The woman knows our mom runs the place. I don’t want Whitney to go out like that.
That’s when it hits me. Squeaks. The nickname. It slipped out accidentally, but she doesn’t care. Her expression announces that truth as loudly as a billboard that reads Fuck Off, Andrew.
“Let her go,” I say, waving my hand toward Atticus.
He frowns, but he doesn’t argue.
Whitney explodes from the faculty dining room and out into the chilly morning air. She kicks at a half-frozen bush and disappears around the corner.
Adam straightens his shirt. “What was she talking about?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
The lie slips out as easily as the truth. I know exactly what that was about. Squeaks. She makes the sexiest noises I’d ever heard when she got off. The first time I called her squeaks was the morning after her first orgasm after we’d secretly spent the night together. Naked, but wrapped in sheets, she blushed from head to toe and asked to do it again. It became our secret, our juvenile codeword. She melted into my arms whenever she heard it.
Squeaks meant sex. Her squeaks were my aphrodisiac. The pet name slipped out without my willing it. Old habits die hard, but loved habits fight to survive.
How she hates it now.
Somebody told me once that hate is a good sign. It’s much closer to love than indifference. Passion can come from hate as easily as love.
An idea forms, and a grin spreads across my face. I don’t know how much of that was true, but I was determined to give it the best shot I could.
I stroked my cheek. My skin still stung from where her hand impacted. I make a fist and relax it. None of that counts for anything anymore.
Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection Page 104
