by Kane, Jessa
“Colt Park.” I slam the back door. “Quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
God, what is this possessiveness burrowed so deeply underneath my skin? I don’t like her running around outside, strangers witnessing her beauty, the way she flits around like a fairy from a story book. How selfish of me wanting Cate for my eyes alone, but I can’t seem to help it. She became mine the moment I saw her in the glen, laughing beneath the stars.
My chest tightens at the memory. So tight that I’m almost winded by the time we pull into the lane beside the park and I jump out, scanning the acres of green fields, past the baseball fields to the thicket of trees…
There.
She’s on the top of a hill surrounded by laughing children, showing them how to harness the wind and properly fly their kite. Bystanders are clustered at the base of the hill, watching the scene play out. Watching my stepsister as if enthralled—and I know the feeling too well. Well enough that I don’t want anyone else to have it, especially the men whose notice she’s drawing. More and more by the second.
The tutor is nowhere to be seen.
Teeth clenched, I rip my wallet out of my back pocket and buy a baseball cap from a vendor, securing it on my head and jogging in Cate’s direction. The crowd has grown since I arrived and it’s no wonder, since Cate looks like something from another time and place. In a flimsy, faded pink dress and no shoes, hair wind-tangled and flying in every direction, she’s too beautiful to be believed. Quite literally stopping people in their tracks. Men.
Of course they’re staring. She’s incredible. Laughing the world’s most honest, enthralling laugh. She’s wild, like no one and nothing else. Most pressing, though, is the fact that she’s wearing no bra and her tits are ready to pop out of her dress, her long, lithe legs flexing with the effort to battle the wind. A breeze lifts the hem of her dress and I see the sun-kissed, bottom curve of her buns, my cock thickening painfully at the sight. And I’m not the only one she’s arousing, just by being herself. I hear the soft groans, notice the male onlookers drawing their overcoats tighter around their bodies, hands vanishing out of sight.
“Cate,” I grit out, trying to keep my face averted as I climb the hill. “Give the kite back. We’re going home.”
“Tristan,” she whispers, looking up at me with sparkling eyes—and my breath is robbed straight out of my lungs. My God, she’s an angel. “You’re here.”
I swallow around the object in my throat. “Yes, I’m here. Now, do as you’re told, please. I’m bringing you back to the apartment.”
She hands the kite over to a child and her shoulders slump, making me feel like a bastard. “But it’s so beautiful outside.”
“Yes, but today was the start of your lessons. They’re meant to be taken seriously.” I take Cate’s arm, keeping my head down and guiding her down the hill. I don’t even risk a look to see if I’ve been recognized. “You ran off on your instructor.”
So low I can barely hear her, she mumbles, “She was mean.”
My stride hitches, anger rearing its head inside of me, sharp and ugly. “She was mean to you? How?”
Cate starts to tell me something, but changes her mind and looks down at her bare toes. “Never mind. I’ll go back and pay good attention.”
“No.” I tip her chin up and herd her closer to my body, knowing damn well I’m playing a dangerous game. We’re blocked from view by the SUV now and my driver is discreet as they come, but anyone could walk past, not to mention her apartment building looms across the street, hundreds of windows facing our direction. “If she was unkind to you, sweetheart, I want to know about it.”
My stepsister shakes her head, mouth in a stubborn line.
“Cate.”
After a moment, she sighs. “She told me I had to get rid of my accent fast. Because I sound like gutter trash.”
Red blooms behind my eyes, my temples pounding.
How dare anyone insult this guileless girl?
How could anyone live with themselves after treading on her spirit?
I hear footsteps behind me on the curb and turn to find the tutor coming in our direction. “There you are.” She laughs nervously and hands Cate a pair of sandals, which my stepsister puts on quickly. And I definitely don’t miss the way the tutor’s eyes harden when she looks at Cate. “After you jumped out of the tree, I couldn’t find you. Shall we resume your lessons now?”
“No. She won’t be resuming anything. Not with you.” I turn my body, so I’m blocking Cate from view. “You’re dismissed. Permanently. But you’re going to apologize to my stepsister first or you can count on me to be your worst reference. I doubt a bad review will be taken lightly coming from the governor.”
Justine’s pinched mouth drops open. “I didn’t…I was only trying to impress on her the importance of—”
“Still waiting on that apology.” I tug Cate up against my side. “Direct it at her, please. Not me. And you better hope she accepts it.”
The tutor bows at the waist, sputtering. “I’m so sorry, Cate. I was terribly out of line.”
“Keep going,” I say coldly.
“No, Tristan,” Cate whispers softly, pulling on my sleeve. “Please, no more. I accept.”
“Lucky for her.” Not wanting Cate reminded of the woman’s insult for another second, I take her soft arm and guide her across the street, back toward her building.
“Are you comin’ up with me?” Cate asks, hopefully, jogging to keep up with my stride.
I slow down to match her pace. “I have to work, sweetheart. I’ve already postponed…”
Her crestfallen expression has me trailing off in the middle of what was saying. Jesus. Disappointing this girl is like a knife carving up my guts. But being alone with her is self-destructive. I’m hard. So fucking hard. Jealous over the male attention she courted in the park. All I want to do is rip that dress off her fresh, supple body and bury my cock between her thighs. Turn off my phone, forget my responsibilities and spend a week riding her in every position. I’d die to ignore the fact that she’s my much younger stepsister. Career suicide in the flesh.
But I can’t do that.
I can’t.
Still, she blinks up at me and the world around us becomes an afterthought.
There’s only her. This sweet firefly fairy from the glen.
“I can come up for a little while,” I say, my voice like gravel.
4
Cate
Trying not to stare at Tristan as he makes himself comfortable in my apartment is an impossible challenge. He’s so gloriously vibrant and strong and heroic. How quickly he’s become the man who saves me. Pulling me down into his arms from the tire swing. Rescuing me from that mean woman who seemed to loathe me on site. And he touches me.
Remembering the sensation of his solid arms holding me close, I clamp my lips together so I won’t moan out loud.
I haven’t been touched much in my life at all. Before my parents started fighting all the time and Mama left, she used to give me hugs. Back when I was in school, others students used to brush up against me in the hallway, but until Tristan hugged me in the glen, I didn’t realize how much I’ve been craving skin to skin contact.
Although I don’t have a lot of experience being touched, I know there is a difference in the way Mama hugs me and the way Tristan does it. There’s also a vast difference in the way my stepbrother’s touch makes me feel. Ticklish and tingly between my legs. Breathless. Like my heart could up and race right out of my body. I don’t know if that’s the right or wrong way to feel when my stepbrother holds me, but I don’t think it’s something that can be controlled.
He removes his suit jacket and loosens his tie, sauntering to the balcony door and staring out across the park while rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “I owe you an apology, too, Cate.” Brows drawn together, he looks back at me over his broad shoulder. “I should have been more careful about who I hired. Impeccable credentials don’t speak to a person’
s character. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“You don’t have to ’pologize.”
“Yes, I do. Your feelings being hurt is unacceptable.” He holds my gaze. “If anyone does it in the future, you’ll tell me immediately and I will handle it.”
This time he’s not even touching me and I feel tingly. Everywhere. In the tips of my breasts, my lips, my fingertips. “Okay,” I murmur. “I will.”
He turns, crosses his arms, looking so mighty and powerful, I have the urge to kneel. “How am I going to make it up to you?”
Kiss me.
I almost say it out loud, but manage to refrain. Maybe the tutor was right. Maybe I am trash, wanting my stepbrother to plant his big body on top of mine. To rut on top of me, the way I once saw Daddy do with Mama. The way the animals do in the marsh. “I, um…” I swallow, looking around for a distraction, and my attention snags on the remote control. “Could you maybe show me how to work the television?”
Tristan stares for a moment, a line bunched in his cheek, then nods. “Of course.”
Slowly, we approach the couch from opposite ends, meeting in the middle. His gaze trails down my neck, lingering on my breasts, his lips parting slightly on a rocky exhale. Is it because he likes my breasts? Or am I wearing the wrong thing and he disapproves? The whole time the tutor was here, she frowned at my chest, like it offended her. Does it offend Tristan?
Not knowing what else to do, I sit down on the couch.
And I spy that hard part of my stepbrother, protruding thickly from his lap, straining the zipper of his black suit pants. I know the male appendage is there for reproduction. Learned that much from the books I used to sneak from the town library, right before closing so no one would see me. But I didn’t know it remained stiff all the time. Tristan’s has been hard since the first time I met him in the glen, the rough bulk of it pressing up between my thighs. It’s taken everything inside of me not to rub against it, instinct compelling me to do so.
Now, my curiosity gets the best of me and I lift a hand, trailing my fingers down the stiff ridge and Tristan curses vilely, grabbing my wrist. “Jesus Christ, Cate. What do you think you’re doing?”
Heat prickles my cheeks. Lord, can I go five minutes without embarrassing myself or causing trouble? “I…I’m sorry. I jus’ wondered why…”
“Why what?” Tristan snaps, adjusting the bulge so it’s not as prominent.
Oh my, the sight of his hand there makes me feel sweaty and achy in odd places. And my voice sounds unnatural when I speak again. “You’re…it’s just that, i-it’s always hard.”
“It’s not always hard. It’s…” He shoves a hand through his hair and sits beside me on the couch, leaving only the barest inch between the outsides of our thighs. “It’s complicated, Cate.”
“It is?”
He closes his eyes for long moments, as if attempting to control his breathing. “How much do you know about men and women?” His throat bobs. “About sex?”
“Not too much. I know it’s how people make babies.” Talking about such intimate things with my stepbrother makes me feel shameful and excited all at once, my fingertips curling into the couch cushions. “And I accidentally walked in while my parents were, um…bein’ together once. So I know how b-bodies fit together.”
Tristan’s eyes trace up my thighs.
He wets his lips.
“A man gets hard when his body decides it wants to be inside of a certain woman,” he rasps, tearing his eyes from my lap with seeming effort. “Sometimes…a man’s body doesn’t have the ability to discriminate whether it’s right or wrong. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” I breathe, caught off guard by the warm pooling of moisture between my legs. The urge to squeeze my thighs together tightly. “Your body…likes mine? And it shouldn’t?”
“That’s it exactly.” Tristan swipes at the perspiration forming on his upper lip and I can’t help it, I can’t help but devour the sight of that huge ridge behind his fly. He’s just admitted it’s stiff like that because of me and again, shame and excitement clash like swords inside of me. “You have a very beautiful body, Cate. It’s so tender and ripe. And Jesus…” He shakes his head, curses. “I shouldn’t be saying these things to you.”
“I don’t mind,” I rush to say.
“You should,” he says harshly, his nostrils flaring. “I’m just trying to make you understand…it’s difficult for me to be around you. I’m going to do my best to stay away.”
Panic surges. “But not yet, right? You’re not leaving yet.” I rest a hand on his leg and he hisses a breath. “You’re goin’ to stay for a little while. Aren’t ya?”
He exhales shakily. “Long enough to teach you how to use the television. And then I have to go. I have to. Please try and understand. Hurting your feelings is the last thing I want to do, sweetheart. God, you have to believe that. But I can’t act on what my body wants.”
Because I’m his stepsister. Obviously.
It’s proof that I’m not from this world, this proper society, that I’m so eager to break that rule, my body not much caring that we’re related by marriage. But I don’t push for my stepbrother to break the rule, because Tristan doesn’t think I’m trash. I don’t want him to change his mind. I don’t want him to look at me in disgust, the way that tutor did.
“I understand,” I say, forcing a weak smile, scooting an appropriate distance away on the couch.
He watches me go with a hard swallow, looking for all the world like he wants to drag me back. “There are two buttons at the top of the remote,” he says hoarsely. “One turns on the cable box, the other turns on the actual television.” He shows me the buttons as he refers to them. “This is the guide. You use the arrows to scroll through. When you find something you want to watch, highlight it and press enter.”
Biting my lip and nodding, I do my best to commit everything to memory.
“Here.” He hands me the remote, electricity sparking when our fingers brush together. “Test it out. I’ll make sure you’ve got it, before…before I go.”
My heart sinks, but I try not to let the disappointment show on my face, holding the remote in front of me and pressing the top two buttons, one after the other.
The television blinks on and I smile, a rush of laughter tumbling out. I got it on.
Feeling Tristan’s eyes on me, I move on to the guide button, pressing it and looking at the words on the screen, all crowded up in their little boxes. Just like I am in this apartment. There’s a show called General Hospital playing right now and it sounds like as good a show as any, so I highlight and hit enter.
And suddenly there are a man and a woman kissing on the screen.
Passionately.
The man’s hand drags up the woman’s thigh slowly, clutching at the hem of her skirt, twisting the garment in his hold, the sounds of their mating tongues reaching out and filling the space between me and Tristan. I’m riveted by the motions of their mouths, the anxious, unrepressed hunger on display. The way the man presses his body so tightly to the woman’s. Does he have a hard shaft, like Tristan? Does he want to be inside the woman?
I don’t realize my breathing has turned to shallow pants until Tristan takes the remote from my hand and flips off the television, leaving the screen black. And the sound of our labored breathing fills the room.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, pressing trembling fingers to my lips. “I didn’t know what it was.”
“It’s okay,” he says sharply.
“He…he had his tongue in her mouth. Is that normal?”
“For the love of—we can’t talk about this, Cate.” His head falls into his hands, his perfect hair ruined by frustrated fingers. “Yes, it’s normal,” he rasps, after a tense pause.
“Is it nice?”
“Cate.”
My eyes close and I try to imagine the texture of an open-mouthed kiss. It must be divine to connect with another person in such a way. To know one another’s taste. “I
hope someone kisses me real good and proper like that someday,” I whisper.
When I sense Tristan go still beside me on the couch, I open my eyes and look over—and find him regarding me with a warning in his eyes. “That’s a dangerous game, sweetheart. Talking about kissing other men while I’m sitting here with a hard-on for you.”
“It doesn’t have to be other men.” What am I doing? Am I trying to convince my stepbrother to put his mouth on mine? Yes, I think I am. Even though he told me any touching between us couldn’t happen. That warning hasn’t saved me from being starved for the feel of his body, starved for connection with him. I have been since he held me, told me he would take good care of me. His words, his arms around me, the safety he offered…I want all of that on a higher level. An intimate level. “My first kiss could be with you.”
“I’ve told you it cannot,” he fairly heaves.
But he’s looking at my mouth.
I try not to be obvious about scooting closer.
“Cate, our parents are married. I’m twelve goddamn years older than you. Everything I’ve worked for, everything my staff has worked for, would be gone in a blink if I pursued this…thing between us and we were found out. These affairs never stay hidden. Not in politics. And worse than my own downfall…” He’s still staring at my mouth, the black of his pupils bleeding into the forest green of his eyes. “Much worse, you would be dragged through the mud. You’d be labeled as something you’re not. And I wouldn’t be able to stand that.”
“I don’t much care what other people think of me.” I swallow hard, disappointed in myself from trying to tempt him into something that could ruin his life. “But I don’t want to hurt your career, Tristan. I would never want that.”
