Chapter One
Charlotte
“Oh, my God. He’s gorgeous.”
I’d been the center of attention for the past half hour—after all, it was my twenty-first birthday, so I deserved to be the center of attention—and I was a little bit tipsy. So when my friends all started staring at the doorway of the bar, I couldn’t help pouting a little.
“Hey,” I complained. “I thought we were here to celebrate my birthday, not to check out the local boys.”
“Oh, honey, you know we love you.” My best friend Angela Robinson barely glanced back at me. “But…well, take a look, will you?”
Reluctantly, I looked toward the door.
And promptly stopped breathing.
Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe it. This guy looked like he’d stepped straight out of my fantasies. Tall, broad-shouldered, and ebony-haired, he exuded confidence, arrogance, so much so that the crowd automatically parted for him as he moved forward. He wore an old, worn leather jacket and tattered jeans, with a black motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm.
One of my friends whistled loudly. He glanced in our direction, disdain written clearly on his features, contempt gleaming in his golden-brown eyes, and I almost fell over.
Because I’d seen those amber eyes before. I’d dreamed about them every night for years.
“Hunter,” I said very softly. “It’s Hunter.”
“What?” Angela’s head whipped around. “You know this guy, Char?”
I nodded. “He was my brother’s best friend. In high school, they were inseparable. Anyway, he’s a Kensington. The oldest son, in fact.”
The Kensingtons were the biggest employer in the little town of Pinecone, Virginia. Kensington Media was a rapidly growing conglomerate, and although the company was now headquartered in DC, there were still subsidiary offices in Pinecone. As a family of billionaires, none of the Kensingtons tended to hang around seedy bars, so it wasn’t really surprising Angela didn’t know Hunter. He wasn’t the sort to hang around with the common people, my brother notwithstanding. In fact, he’d only gone to the local public high school because he’d been thrown out of pretty much every private academy in the state.
“Wow.” Angela’s eyes went wide. “Do you think he’d remember you?”
I thought about the way I’d looked when he’d last seen me—scrawny, buck-toothed, and with carroty orange hair. I had improved quite a bit since then with the assistance of adolescence and a really good orthodontist, and I liked to think I didn’t much resemble my twelve-year-old self.
“I don’t think so.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Angela decreed. “You’ve got dibs, girl.”
There were mutters of protest from the group, but Angela shushed them firmly. “She knows him, so she’s got an in. Besides, it’s her birthday. And that guy is the best present a girl could ask for. Am I right?”
The girls all nodded and laughed, and I gave the suggestion serious consideration. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have been inclined to throw myself at a stranger in a bar—even a gorgeous, powerfully muscled stranger—but this wasn’t just any guy. This was Hunter Kensington, the bad boy of Pinecone High School…and the man I’d dreamed about marrying since I was in the sixth grade.
Anyway, I looked pretty damn good, if I did say so myself—I’d ditched my usual jeans and college t-shirt for my night out with the girls. And my body, which was no longer scrawny, was encased in a slightly too-tight little black dress cut in such a way that it showed off my boobs and legs. Besides, the two glasses of sangria I’d drunk gave me a small jolt of courage I might not ordinarily possess.
“Okay,” I agreed at last, slipping out of the booth. “I’m going to unwrap my present.”
Hoots and catcalls followed me as I made my way across the crowded room. Hunter had settled down comfortably at the bar, looking like he spent all his time in seedy bars rather than at the country club in nearby Richmond. Gathering my nerve, I perched on the stool next to him. He’d stripped off his jacket to display a black t-shirt, and he was lean and muscled as a jungle cat, with eyes to match. People had always compared him to a panther, and now I knew why.
“Hey there,” I said. I tried for a sultry voice, but the amused glance he shot me told me I hadn’t quite succeeded. Well, I was a busy college student, and I didn’t spend a lot of time hitting on boys. In fact, I hadn’t ever…
Well. Like I said, I was busy.
“Hello.” His gaze traveled over me, and the impressed look in his amber eyes left me breathless. There was no doubt he liked what he saw. “Care to let me buy you a drink?”
“I would love a drink.” I offered him the sexiest smile I could manage. “I’m thirsty.”
“I just bet you are. You look like the thirsty type. What do you drink, honey?”
“Sangria.”
“That’s a girly drink. How about something a little more potent?”
“I would love something a little more…manly,” I said and was delighted to see his eyes widen. But he recovered quickly.
“How about some whiskey?”
I’d never had it, but at least I’d heard of it. “That sounds great.”
He signaled the bartender, and in a moment two shot glasses of whiskey materialized in front of us, poured from a bottle marked Lagavulin. The whiskey was only a barely darker shade of amber than his eyes, and it looked delicious. He lifted the glass to his lips and tossed it back easily, and I did my best to imitate his practiced motion.
A second later, I was coughing and sputtering, my eyes watering, my throat burning.
He burst out laughing. “Maybe you’re not ready for something quite that manly,” he said between chuckles.
I sputtered a moment longer, then wiped my eyes and looked up at him. It felt like the whiskey was still scorching a hole in my esophagus, but I was determined not to let him see my discomfort.
“Believe me,” I said, leaning forward and placing a hand on his forearm, feeling the heat of his skin, the solidity of his muscles. My palm itched to touch more of him. “I’m ready.”
This close he smelled incredibly masculine—like leather and heat, with a touch of some soap or cologne that made him smell like winter breezes. I hadn’t ever really had the time to be into boys in high school or college, and I’d never cared that much. In fact, I’d wondered more than once if I might be asexual, because boys had never felt like much of a priority to me. But all at once I discovered that I was in fact a sexual being. Heat tingled between my thighs, a heady sensation I’d rarely felt before.
He looked down at me, long black lashes sweeping down to veil the brilliance of those eyes. “I’m Hunter,” he said, his voice low and dark. “What’s your name, honey?”
I took a deep breath, wondering if he’d remember me after all this time. Wondering if I wanted him to.
“Call me Char,” I said.
*****
Hunter
Shit.
When the gorgeous redhead had perched on the stool next to mine at the bar, I’d had a weird feeling that I knew her from somewhere. Something about those dark eyes and that sunset hair had struck a chord of faint memory deep within me. But I hadn’t been able to put it all together in my mind until she told me her name.
Char, my ass. This was Jacob Evan’s little sister Charlotte. Jacob had been my best friend in high school, and the last time I’d seen Charlotte, she’d been a skinny little thing with teeth that badly needed braces and orange hair that stuck out in all directions, like she had no idea what a comb was. It was hard to imagine that awkward kid had grown up into this incredible creature.
I glanced back at the table festooned with Happy 21st! balloons, did the math in my head, and sighed. It all added up.
Which was a damn shame.
“Charlotte,” I said, consciously dropping my voice into the cooler tone I used with servants and underlings. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“I recognized you.” She grinned at me, displaying perfect white teeth. Some orthodontist had done a hell of a job on her. “The minute you walked in.”
Her fingers—long and slender, tipped with short, pale pink nails—tightened on my arm, and my balls instantly tightened in response. She might be Jacob’s little sister, but she was also a hell of a sexy woman.
“Aren’t you going to college somewhere?” I consciously tried not to keep tabs on Jacob and his family, considering how everything had gone so badly between us, but Pinecone was a small town, and people talked.
“Uh-huh. UVA. I’m studying journalism.”
She smiled innocently, but despite myself, I was impressed. The University of Virginia was one of the better public schools in the state, and if she’d gotten in, she must obviously be a pretty smart young lady. Which was no surprise—in high school Jacob had sailed right on through, while I’d floundered.
Admittedly my floundering had probably had less to do with my lack of intellect than it had to do with the fact that I kept getting thrown out of school, not to mention the fact that I smarted off constantly to all my teachers. It’s hard to get decent grades when the teachers all loathe you. But still.
“Well.” I pulled my arm away and cleared my throat awkwardly, feeling like a high schooler again. I didn’t usually have a problem turning down women, but something about her made it hard to say no. Her smile was just so sweet. “Nice to see you again, Charlotte. Uh, Char. Guess I better get going.”
She looked up at me with a hopeful expression. “You just got here.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t looking for trouble. And you look like trouble to me, kid.”
Her eyes—dark blue, like the sky at dusk—filled with hurt, and I was almost certain I saw her lip quiver.
“I’m not a kid,” she said softly, and sure enough, there was a faint tremor in her voice. “And I’ve never caused trouble, not for anyone. But I look at you, and I think maybe I’d like to start.”
The soft, earnest tone made me want to say yes instead of no, and I decided I’d been right. I needed to get the hell out of here. I rose to my feet, trying to intimidate her with my height. She stood up too, and the top of her head came barely to my chin despite the stiletto heels she wore. But she didn’t look intimidated, even so. She looked determined.
“I’m leaving,” I informed her.
“I’m going with you,” she answered.
In the back of the bar, I could hear her friends cheering for her, and it irritated me. What was I to her, anyway? A trophy to be bagged? A prize to win? As a Kensington, and a reasonably decent-looking guy, I was unfortunately accustomed to women treating me that way, but it never failed to piss me off. I didn’t care to be treated like a side of beef.
The fact that I tended to treat women the same way was irrelevant.
Annoyed, I yanked on my jacket, tucked my helmet under my arm, and stalked toward the door, not bothering to see if she was following along or not. When the cool air outside hit my overheated face, I sighed in relief. It had been hotter in that bar than I’d realized.
Or maybe it was just that Char had been hot.
Part of me wanted to stay, to get to know her better, but a larger, smarter part of me thought I better get the hell out while the getting was good. I headed for my bike—a vintage Harley that was older than I was by quite a lot—but before I got there, her hand closed around my arm.
I outweighed her by a good hundred pounds, and I could’ve kept walking, but I didn’t. Slowly, I turned around.
In the darkness, her eyes looked like the night sky, deep and mysterious. She was staring up at me, her lips parted, and I wanted—
Oh, hell, I wanted her. There was no point in trying to deny it. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, yank her against me, and crush my lips to hers. I wanted to take her, right here and right now, regardless of who might see us, regardless of my long and stormy history with her big brother. Regardless of the fact that Jacob would probably hunt me down and kill me afterwards. I wanted her like an addict craves a hit, with a savage and unconquerable yearning.
And I knew that I didn’t have the strength to say no to the hopeful plea in those eyes.
“Come on,” I said gruffly. I took her hand in mine and tugged her toward the alley behind the bar.
It was quiet and dark in the alley, bricks rising on both sides of us like canyon walls. There was a nip in the air that said fall was coming, but between the buildings there was no wind, so the coolness of the evening was tolerable. The only light came from the stars scattered thickly above, visible in the gap between the buildings, and a sliver of moon. It might have been almost romantic, if not for the beer cans, discarded French fry containers, and other debris scattered on the asphalt. As it was, the best that could be said for it was that we weren’t near the dumpster, so it didn’t smell too bad.
And it was private.
I looked down at her. She was staring up at me, her eyes brimming with what looked like happiness, her mouth curved in a faint smile.
“Do you really want to do this, Charlotte?”
“Call me Char,” she murmured. “And yes, I want this. I want you, Hunter.”
It was the first time she’d said my name that evening, and the sound of it—soft, breathy, seductive—lit a fire in me. I knew I should say no, knew she was young and innocent and probably didn’t know exactly what she was getting herself into. And yet I pushed her back against the rough brick wall, none too gently, and braced a hand on either side of her.
She sighed, like she’d been waiting for this a long time, and tilted her head back. I bent, bridging the distance between us, and brushed her lips with mine.
Her lips were like velvet, soft and gentle and yielding. For an instant, it was perfection. But then her hands came up and gripped my jacket, and she lifted up on her toes and tried to deepen the kiss all on her own. She was demanding but clumsy.
Our teeth scraped together, and I winced, drawing back as an incredible suspicion took hold of me.
“Haven’t you ever kissed anyone before, Char?”
Even in the faint light from the stars above, I could see that she was blushing. But although she was clearly embarrassed, she met my gaze steadily.
“I never wanted to kiss anyone except you,” she whispered, and instantly I was lost.
I bent again, capturing her mouth more firmly. Her lips parted, but this time she let me be the aggressor, let me show her what to do and how to do it. My tongue traced carefully over the delicate flesh of her lips and then slipped into her mouth, and I felt her shiver. Her hands let go of my jacket and crept upward, tentatively, until at last her gentle fingers slid into the depths of my hair.
It was my turn to shiver.
I kissed her more deeply than before, letting my body press against hers. I was already hard, aching and hot, and I sought relief by pressing into her soft, warm body. She slipped her arms around my neck instinctively, surrendering to me, and I tightened my arms around her waist and lifted her against the wall.
Her long, slender legs wrapped around my hips, and I let myself lean into her, let myself move against her. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to. I was still wearing jeans, but through the denim I could feel that she was hot and wet, and that what I wanted so badly was covered by nothing more than the thin fabric of a pair of panties. I wondered if her panties were black to match the dress, imagined stripping off the dress to find out, and the thought of her beautiful, pale skin clad in nothing but midnight silk made a shudder run through me.
I wanted to yank off her panties, undo my jeans, and fuck her right here and right now. But an unwelcome thought intruded.
If she’s never kissed anyone before, she’s a virgin.
As a virgin, she needed to be treated gently—needed me to tease her nipples, kissing and licking and sucking until she sobbed for more. For me to go down on her, to tease her clit with my tongue until she was trembling, until her body was soft and wet and ready for me. She was beautiful and sweet and innocent, and her first time shouldn’t be a hard, fast fuck against a rough brick wall.
But her fingers clutched my shoulders, her hips rolling against mine, and I couldn’t stop or even slow down. She had attached herself to me like a starfish, so I let go of her waist and groped for her panties, shoving them out of the way. She lowered her feet to the ground for an instant and kicked off the little scrap of fabric, but in a heartbeat she wrapped herself around me again.
I supported her with one hand and fumbled at my jeans with the other, somehow managing to unzip them. My hands were shaking, and I felt as clumsy and uncoordinated as the first time I’d made out with a girl. Which was ridiculous. I was the furthest thing from a virgin. In fact, I’d had so many women I’d lost count.
But none of them had been this woman, and maybe that made all the difference.
I shoved my jeans and boxers out of the way, pressing up against her eagerly. She was warm and wet, and I felt myself throbbing with need. But I forced myself to wait.
“Are you sure about this, Char?”
This wasn’t the way her first time should go, and I knew it. She should have scented candles and satin sheets and soft, romantic music. Instead, she was losing her virginity in a dark alley, up against a brick wall, with empty beer bottles and other assorted trash scattered around us. It was, I was guiltily aware, not even a little romantic.
But she pulled back and looked right at me, her gaze steady and calm.
“I’m sure,” she said.
I groaned and shifted slightly, pressing into her. She moaned, her head falling back against the bricks, and her hands gripped my leather jacket tightly. In the throes of passion she looked beautiful, her lips parted, her eyes drifting shut. She felt incredible, tight and wet and hot, and I paused with the head of my cock just inside her, trying to give her a chance to adjust.
But she moaned and squirmed and clutched my jacket more tightly, making it clear she didn’t want to wait.
My spine flexed despite my best intentions, and I sank into her soft flesh another inch. She felt so good, so damn good, and I couldn’t have stopped even if I’d wanted to. I didn’t think I could ever stop. I wanted to fuck this woman every day for the rest of my life.
No—I wanted to make love to her. Forever.
She wiggled, trying to take more of me inside, and I gave her what she wanted, sinking into her deeply. Another thrust, and I was balls-deep inside her, my aching cock sheathed completely in her satin heat. I bowed my head and pressed my face against her shoulder, struggling not to move.
For a long moment, we stood there motionless, our bodies melded together. But then she wiggled again, and the slight movement stole away what remained of my self-control. I withdrew, almost all the way, and then thrust hard.
She cried out, a short, almost anguished sound, and I froze.
“Okay?”
“Fine,” she whispered, “fine, don’t stop, don’t stop—“
Reassured that I hadn’t hurt her, I began moving in her hard and steadily, and with every thrust she cried out with pleasure. A little worried about attracting an audience—not that I cared personally, but she probably didn’t want this in the papers tomorrow—I caught her mouth with mine and kissed her deeply.
I didn’t often kiss the women I fucked. Not while I was fucking them, at least. But her mouth was so sweet that I couldn’t seem to stop myself. And somehow kissing her made it all more intense, more profound. I felt so strangely connected to her that my chest ached.
I wanted to make love to her forever, but it felt too good. Within moments I was gasping into her mouth, my hips stuttering as I fought to hold back my climax. I struggled for self-control, and for a moment I thought I’d managed it.
But then she moaned into my mouth, shuddering all over, and once again I was lost.
My orgasm crashed over me in wave after wave of ecstasy, drowning me as I spilled my seed inside her, groaning helplessly. At last my climax died off into a soft wash of pleasure, and I all but collapsed against her, crushing her between my body and the wall.
She didn’t seem to object. She buried her face in my neck, and I could feel the soft brush of her breath against my skin. Her fingers gently caressed my hair.
I’ve never been a cuddler after sex, either. All I usually wanted from sex was shallow pleasure, rather than any sort of deeper interaction. But for some reason, with her all my lifelong rules were forgotten. I sighed, letting her stroke my hair, and pressed light kisses to the top of her head.
I wanted to remain there for the rest of my life, to be part of her forever, but biology was against me, and eventually my softening cock slipped out of her. She gave a little noise of disappointment, but I straightened up and fastened my jeans. She pushed her skirt down, wisely choosing to abandon her panties on the grimy asphalt of the alley.
I looked at her. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick was smeared, and her eye makeup was smudged. And yet she was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. She looked bright-eyed and happy, her lips swollen from my kisses, and her skin glowing with the flush of pleasure I’d brought her.
I thought about my come mingled with her moisture on the inside of her thighs, and heat arrowed through me. I couldn’t get hard again so soon, but the thought of filling her with my come still made my cock twitch. I wanted to do it again and again. I’d never before—
Ah, shit. I’d never forgotten to use a condom before.
I swallowed uncomfortably. “Um, listen, Char, I kind of forgot to, uh…”
“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “I’m on the pill.”
She still shouldn’t be having sex with near-strangers without protection, but I didn’t say so. As it happened, I’d seen a doctor recently and knew I was clean, so I wasn’t too worried about it. She’d be okay, and so would I. It was fortunate she was on the pill, because I could only imagine my father’s rage if I impregnated such a middle-class woman. I could hear his voice in my head: A Kensington may use women, Hunter, but he must choose a lady!
Yeah, there would be hell to pay with the old man if I ever got someone like this pregnant. And even though I was twenty-seven, I still didn’t enjoy getting into squabbles with my dad. I’d had enough fights with him to last a lifetime. So it was just as well she’d taken care of it, although I had to admit that the thought of impregnating her made something inside my chest swell, made me feel hot and hungry in a way I didn’t quite understand.
Which was weird. I was the bad boy of the Kensington family, very much the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sort of guy, and I’d never once thought about settling down, marrying, and having children. Not until this very moment.
Char was having all sorts of weird effects on me. But oddly, I didn’t mind.
“Okay,” I said and then hesitated. This was the part when I usually hit the road without looking back. But I couldn’t do that to Char. Not because she was Jacob’s little sister. But because she was…
Well, she was special somehow.
“Can I call you tomorrow?”
She blinked up at me. I saw a dubious expression cross her face, and I understood it well enough—everyone knew I wasn’t the kind of guy to get involved in a real relationship. And the truth was that I hadn’t been that kind of guy…till tonight.
Whatever she saw in my face must have reassured her, because she smiled slightly.
“I’d like that.”
I added her to my phone’s contacts, picked up my motorcycle helmet from where it had fallen into a puddle of something that was definitely not rainwater, and looked down at her.
“Goodnight, Char.”
And then, spurred by a strange impulse, I did something I’d never done with any woman.
I bent and kissed her goodbye.
The Harley’s Shovelhead engine roared as I sped up the hill toward the sprawling Kensington mansion, called simply but accurately Hilltop. My mom had been dead for years, and although I wasn’t rich in my own right, I nevertheless had enough money of my own to reside wherever I wanted. And yet I still lived in the house I’d grown up in. I told everyone it was because I liked having an army of servants at my disposal, but I suspected it was more because after all these years, I was still pathetically striving to win my dad’s approval, to make him see me as something other than the black sheep of the family.
Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
Particularly not Dad.
My younger brother Austin lived in the mansion too, but he was more inclined to spend his time in New York or DC. Which was fine, as Austin and I didn’t get along. Where I’d always been the bad boy, in trouble more often than not, he was the shining star of the family, able to do no wrong in the eyes of the world. He’d sailed through private school, handling AP and honors classes with ease at the same time he was the star quarterback, and then he’d gone on to Harvard where he’d graduated summa cum laude a couple of years ago. He was universally beloved, and the press adored him, referring to him as Au the Golden Boy.
I loathed that kid.
I parked my Harley in its customary spot in the massive, heated garage that stood behind the mansion, and then headed for the back of the house. As I entered the house, I saw there were three cops in the kitchen. I hadn’t spotted their cars because I’d approached the grounds from the back drive.
A cold hand clutched my chest. Shit. Austin had taken the private jet to New York; had something happened to him there? Had the jet itself gone down? All sorts of horrible, appalling scenarios ran through my head, making it hard for me to breathe. Yeah, sure, I couldn’t stand the kid…but he was my brother, and I didn’t want anything to happen to him.
I heard my father’s voice in my head again: To a Kensington, family is what matters most!
And God help me, it was true. No matter how annoying Au was, I’d have protected him with my life.
I paused at the doorway, feeling my heart thundering with fear. The cops looked back at me, as expressionless as if they were carved out of stone.
“Is…is everything all right?” I asked, hating how tentative I sounded. But I was worried about Au, damn it. “My…my brother…is he…?”
The cops exchanged looks. Then one of them stepped forward.
“Hunter Kensington,” he said, “you’re under arrest.”