CHAPTER ELEVEN
Olivia
I HAVE AN URGE TO ESCAPE, like a rabbit who senses an approaching wolf. Dean hasn’t seen his younger brother in five years, and I’m part of the reason why. If not the reason. I’d met Archer West once, during Thanksgiving weekend the first year Dean and I were together.
We arrived at the San Jose airport in late morning the day before Thanksgiving. Lines of traffic moved sluggishly over the highway. We drove out of San Jose and into the wealthy computer-money suburbs of Cupertino, Saratoga, and Los Gatos.
The sheer expanse and beauty of the West home was totally foreign to me, the girl who’d lived in cramped apartments and slept on sofas in strangers’ living rooms.
Richard West was a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray hair and an almost tangible shield of reticence. Joanna West looked like she’d been to finishing school with her model-like posture, coiffed hair, and designer suit. I might have had a hard time imagining her capable of an affair if I didn’t know quite well that people concealed all sorts of things behind their facades.
Everything about the West house and family seemed perfect. Direct from the glossy pages of a magazine.
“What do you do, Olivia?” Joanna West asked me during dinner.
I glanced at Dean. “Er, I work in a coffeehouse. Jitter Beans. And I’m majoring in literature and library sciences.”
“Oh. How nice.” She smiled vaguely, and that was the end of that conversation.
“And what do your parents do?” Richard West asked.
“My father passed away years ago, and my mother is in travel,” I said. “This fish is delicious. Whatever did you put in the sauce?”
Later that night as Dean and I were getting ready for bed, I said, “I’m not sure they like me.”
“Doesn’t matter. I like you.” He kissed my forehead. “Don’t let them get to you, Liv. No one can meet their expectations.”
Including him. I knew that without needing to ask, but I still didn’t fully understand why. Dean West was the epitome of the perfect, successful son. Not even Joanna and Richard West could say a word against him.
Reminded me of me, I thought as I tucked myself against Dean in bed. I’d been the same way when I lived with Aunt Stella and Henry. Just in a far less prominent way.
I slept restlessly that first night, feeling out of place in the huge bed, waking at every sound the house made. Even the silence was strained, as if it were stretched tight.
The sky was just starting to lighten with dawn when I woke. The clock read five-forty. Dean’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets and covers rumpled. I crawled out of bed and trudged to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash water on my face. I shrugged into my robe, finger-combing the tangles from my hair before heading downstairs. A rectangle of light came from the kitchen.
As I approached, the low rumble of male voices stopped me. My heart stuttered with a strange sense of foreboding.
“You fucked it up once, you’ll fuck it up again,” Dean hissed.
“Just because it’s not what you’d do,” another voice snapped. “Give me the goddamn money, and I’ll get out of here.”
“No.”
“Then welcome me home for Thanksgiving, brother.”
Archer. My breath stopped in my throat. The deadbeat brother had returned. Unable to stop myself, I peered around the kitchen door.
Dean stood with his back to me, clad in his running clothes, his shoulders rigid. Across from him was a tall, younger man with overlong, unkempt black hair and a sullen expression. Dressed in jeans and a dirty T-shirt beneath a worn leather jacket, he stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips in a stance of insolent defiance.
“You’re not staying here for the weekend,” Dean said.
“Aren’t I? Mom will love it. All of us together for the holidays.”
Dean’s hand shot out to grab the front of his brother’s T-shirt. “You little bastard.”
“Don’t fucking—” Archer stopped. His gaze jerked to me, pinning me to the spot. “Who the hell are you?”
Dean spun around. “Liv, what…”
“I… I couldn’t sleep. Must be the time change.” I pressed a hand to my chest and backed up a step. “I’m sorry.”
Archer looked from me to Dean and back again. Understanding dawned in his expression suddenly. He smiled.
Dean crossed the room and stopped beside me, putting a protective hand on my lower back.
“Hello.” Archer approached, his brow furrowing as he looked at me. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Archer West, Dean’s brother. And you’re Dean’s…?”
Yes, I’m Dean’s.
“Liv Winter,” I said.
“Liv.” He extended a hand.
Up close, Archer was handsome in a scruffy way, with thick eyelashes and a wide mouth. His features were smoother than Dean’s, almost pretty in the way his cheekbones sloped to his jaw, but his eyes contained a gleam that was unnerving at best.
I shook his hand, disliking the way his long fingers tightened around mine. As he drew his hand away, he slid a forefinger across my palm.
A shudder of revulsion raced through me. I pulled away and wiped my hand on my robe.
“Um, I’ll leave you to talk,” I said. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“No, stay,” Archer suggested. “Dean was just making coffee, right, bro?”
Dean shook his head. “Get the hell out, Archer. Liv, sorry he’s such an ass.”
“Liv,” Archer said. “Short for…?”
“Olivia.”
“Shakespearean.” He raised a black eyebrow. “Nice. I like it. Reminds me of that quote, you know, live fast, die young. Do you live—”
Before he could finish, Dean stepped forward and shoved his brother to the side. Archer’s shoulder hit the doorjamb with a thud. Anger flared, and he whirled toward Dean.
Just when I thought Archer was about to throw a punch, Dean took another threatening step toward his brother. They locked gazes for half a second, then Archer retreated.
Hah.
“Asshole,” Archer muttered, embarrassment coloring his face.
“Come in, Liv.” Dean closed his hand reassuringly around my arm. “If he makes you uncomfortable again, I will fucking kill him, and he knows it. Right, bro?”
Archer shot me a glare, then grabbed a beat-up duffle bag by the refrigerator and stalked out of the kitchen. The instant he left, Dean’s shoulders sagged.
“Sorry.” He pulled me against his side. “I didn’t expect him to come back. No one did.”
“He doesn’t come home for the holidays?”
“He doesn’t come home unless he wants something,” Dean replied, his tone bitter. “What he wants is the money my grandfather left him.”
“Why does he want it from you?”
“My grandfather set what’s called a condition precedent for Archer’s inheritance. That means Archer has to finish college, get a steady job, prove he’s capable of handling the money. My grandfather also designated me as the person who determines if and when Archer has fulfilled the conditions and what percentage of the money he should get at any given time.”
“You?” I wondered why Richard West wasn’t the designated “person in charge,” then remembered that Dean told me his father and grandfather had been estranged.
“Has Archer received any of his inheritance yet?” I asked.
“No.”
“And that’s why he’s mad at you.”
“One of the reasons.” He filled the coffee grinder and watched as the blades pulverized the beans.
“What are the other reasons?”
He didn’t respond, his expression set. A sudden trepidation rolled through me.
“Dean, what—”
I stopped when Dean glanced to the doorway. The sound of heavy footsteps preceded Richard West’s entry into the kitchen.
“Morning.” Richard strode in dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, smelling like cologne. “Liv. Dean. Coffee ready?”
“Couple of minutes.” Dean filled the pot with water. “Dad, Archer is back.”
Richard frowned. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs. He said he’d traveled most of the night.”
“If your mother gives him anything, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“He comes to me because she won’t.”
“She’d better not. You make sure of it, you hear?” Richard picked up the paper and snapped it open.
Animosity radiated from both men. Dean glanced at me, the lines in his face easing into a forced smile.
“What do you want for breakfast, Liv?”
“Just toast, thanks.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Joanna West entered the kitchen, dressed in a straight linen skirt and blue silk blouse, her hair and makeup done perfectly. “It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day out.”
She paused to kiss Richard’s forehead. He ignored her.
“So much to do before our big dinner.” Joanna went to the coffeepot. “I told Alma to make both pumpkin pie and pecan this year. Oh, and those maple-syrup carrots you like so much, Richard.”
I looked at Dean. He was watching his mother. A sudden pain filled his eyes, one that seemed both ancient and weary. My chest constricted.
Dean lowered his gaze to his cup. In that instant, I saw him as a child reading books about knights and stories of a boy detective who solved mysteries and made things right. I knew that Dean had been trying to do the same thing for years.
But to no avail.
“Oh, it’s lovely, Joanna! So delicious.”
The West home buzzed with women’s melodious voices and men’s liquor-enhanced laughter. A crowd of at least forty people—friends, relatives, neighbors—milled around the house and terrace. An elaborate Thanksgiving buffet stretched across the dining room. Richard West manned the bar, while Joanna fluttered around ensuring everyone had enough to eat and drink.
I made an effort to socialize, watching with amusement as matronly and not-so-matronly women fawned over Dean and batted their eyelashes at him. I caught snippets of conversation about Archer West, faint murmurs of disapproval.
Archer sat out on the terrace, his feet up on a wooden chair, chatting amiably with anyone who stopped to greet him. Paige West, stunning in a clingy, tie-dye print dress and dangly silver earrings, basked in the glow of attention from several young men.
The afternoon sun shone bright and cool, shimmering on the grass. An orange tree swayed in the light wind. Laughter floated. The aromas of herbed turkey, roasted apples, fresh-baked rolls, and pumpkin pie drifted in the air.
Dean maneuvered through the crowd with the ease of a blade cutting through silk. He’d spent the first hour beside me, introducing me to guests and being attentive, until I insisted I’d be fine on my own. Still, his gaze met mine every so often, as if he were keeping an eye on me while he joined conversations and asked if he could get anyone anything.
As an observer, I saw it in full force—the ideal West family with the successful, wealthy parents and attractive children. The flaw of Archer’s rebelliousness marred the perfection just enough to make them even more intriguing.
After most of the food had been devoured, the men gathered in the den to watch football while the women gossiped and fixed coffee.
“You ever been to California before, Olivia?” Archer West pushed a chair away from the patio table and sat down beside me. Too close.
“It’s Liv,” I said, edging away a little. “And yes.”
“Yeah? Where?” His voice was friendly, conversational, unlike the sly tone he’d used earlier that morning.
“LA,” I said. “And Santa Cruz.”
Santa Cruz was just over the mountain, less than forty-five minutes away. My heart clenched at the thought of Twelve Oaks, of North.
Archer lifted a hand to shield the glare of the sun. “Otherwise you’re from Wisconsin?”
I nodded. “Where do you live?”
“Wherever the wind takes me.” He gave me an engaging grin, his teeth flashing white.
“Do you work?” I asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Doing what?”
“Wow.” He leaned forward, studying me with a gaze that was unnervingly like Dean’s. “Third degree, huh? You majoring in law?”
“Literature and library sciences.”
Archer laughed. “Good lord. No wonder you like big brother.”
I got the dynamic. Archer was the baby of the family, the messed-up dropout who couldn’t hold a job and tried to mooch money off his mother. And eldest brother Dean was the responsible overachiever who excelled at everything.
“Hell of a starched shirt, though, isn’t he?” Archer continued. “He was like that as a kid. No surprise. Got all his weekend homework done on Friday night. Took AP courses. Was always on time. Class president. Football hero. You name it, big brother succeeded at it. He could do no wrong.” He shook his head. “Jesus, the fawning that went on over him…”
“Resent it much?” I asked, unable to prevent the challenging note in my voice.
“Nah.” He shrugged. “No one has any expectations for the screw-up.”
No one had had any expectations for me either, but that was exactly the reason I’d had to create them for myself.
A rush of animosity filled me. Archer West came from a wealthy family who’d likely tried to give him everything, and for some reason he’d thrown it all in their faces. Dean had had the same upbringing and hadn’t made a mess of his life. Just the opposite.
I shaded my eyes from the sun as Richard West crossed the lawn and climbed the terrace steps.
“Hey, old man.” Archer tilted his head toward me. “I was just chatting with Dean’s new girlfriend. Nice that he brought someone home, isn’t it?”
“I want you out of here by tomorrow morning,” Richard told him.
“Hey, did I tell you I’m looking for an investor for my new bar?” Archer examined his fingers, digging a ring of dirt out from beneath his thumbnail. “If I find one, I could be on the road in half an hour. If not—”
Richard moved forward so fast that I flinched at the blur of motion. If there hadn’t been people milling around nearby, I swear he would have hit his son. Instead he stopped right in front of Archer, his voice lowering. “Don’t you threaten me.”
“Dad.” Dean’s voice cut into the sudden fury. He pushed himself between his father and brother. “Back off, both of you.”
Richard held up his hands, his eyes shooting daggers at his younger son before he stalked inside.
“Have a seat, bro.” Archer recovered his composure as he slouched back into his chair. “Liv was telling me all about her studies. You got yourself a girl who’s both smart and pretty. Nice work. Better than that cold fish Helen.”
“Shut up, Archer.” Dean took my arm and tugged me to my feet. “Come on, Liv.”
“Dean doesn’t like cold fishes,” Archer continued. “And you don’t look like one to me, Liv, I can tell you that.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snapped.
The instant Archer looked from Dean to me, I saw a realization click in his brain. Apprehension filled my chest.
“Stay away from him,” Dean told me as he pulled me away from his brother, back toward the house. “He’ll be gone tomorrow morning.”
Dean didn’t leave my side for the next couple of hours. By late afternoon, several of the guests had gone home while the others sat out on the terrace with the last of the coffee and pie to watch a pickup football game between neighbors.
The Coleman brothers were three athletic-looking men in their late twenties and early thirties who had greeted Archer and Dean like long-lost friends. I learned they’d all grown up on the same street and had known each other since they were kids. Two cousins joined the game, along with the Coleman patriarch Brian to even out the teams.
I sat to the side on the terrace as the players haggled back and forth about the teams, where the goal lines would be, and which trees would serve as sidelines. I was glad everyone else was worn out from food and conversation because it meant there were no distractions as I sat watching Dean in motion.
A thing of beauty, if ever there was one.
He had changed into frayed jeans and a T-shirt, and his lean, muscular body arched with natural grace as he leapt to catch the ball and run. The sight of him was enough to get my pulse racing—his thighs flexing beneath his jeans, the way his T-shirt rode up to expose the flat, hard muscles of his abdomen, the wind ruffling his thick hair. He was playing quarterback and threw an interception.
“Still got that rag arm, big brother,” Archer called as he dashed just past Dean’s outstretched arm and beyond for a touchdown.
After Dean’s team got the ball back, he threw a long pass down the sideline to Matthew Coleman. Matthew turned to run upfield. Archer was right beside him, thrusting out his arm to knock the ball from Matthew’s hands.
With eight testosterone-and-turkey-fueled men playing, the game soon took on a hard, competitive edge. Archer had a more hotheaded style than Dean, which didn’t surprise me. Whereas Dean’s power was coiled, contained, Archer moved and reacted with a barely leashed energy, as if he were about to explode at any moment.
It also became clear that Archer and Dean brought their personal stuff into the game. Dean eyed his brother every time they lined up, and Archer made a point of going after Dean whenever he had the ball, several times tackling him with what seemed like unnecessary force.
The game progressed with lots of running, shouts, taunting. Archer’s team led by a touchdown. Dean gripped the ball with both hands and dropped it, his right foot connecting with it several feet from the ground.
The ball sailed forty yards into the crisp breeze, and it looked like the other team might let it bounce through the end zone. At the last moment Archer lunged and grabbed the ball, turning upfield in one smooth motion. James Coleman brought him down with a thud that made Joanna West stand up.
“Is he all right?” she asked as Brian helped Archer back to his feet.
“He’s fine, Mom.” Paige sounded bored.
The men lined up. Archer got the ball and ran for the goal line. Dean closed in on him. Archer thrust out an arm, slamming his elbow into his brother’s chest. Dean grunted. He stumbled backward, but managed to strip the ball loose from Archer’s hands and fall on it as he was going down.
The players lined up again. Dean’s mouth set into a hard slash. Grass stained his jeans and shirt, and there was a scrape on his jaw. Matthew snapped the ball. Dean caught it and backed up, looking downfield for an open receiver.
“Go deep!” he yelled at James.
“Hey, Dean, that’s what your hot girlfriend said to me last night!” Archer shouted gleefully from the other end of the field.
My heart lurched.
Joanna West gasped.
Dean froze. For half a second.
Then his anger exploded. He slammed the ball to the ground and raced toward his brother. He was a blur of movement as he passed the terrace, but I saw his face—a mask of rage and hatred.
Oh, no. No…
Dean lunged at Archer so hard that the thud of their bodies hitting the ground shook the earth. Shock paralyzed everyone. Dean wrestled his brother to his back, then threw a leg over him and straddled him. He drew a fist back, his whole body unleashing in a series of fast blows.
Archer yelped. He had no time to counterattack. His legs kicked out, his torso twisting as he struggled to escape the relentless punches. Dean’s fists flew, striking him again and again. His muscles bunched beneath his shirt, his jaw clenched. He slammed a fist into Archer’s nose. Blood spurted.
“Do something!” Joanna screamed.
The sound spurred the other men into action. Richard West was not one of them. He stood at the sidelines, watching his younger son get pummeled.
Matthew and James grabbed Dean’s arms and tried to pull him off. A growl tore from Dean’s throat as he shoved them away and kept thrashing his brother. Another punch. Another strike. More blood.
Holy Christ…
I ran before I could think, my shoes slamming against the grass. I heard someone shout my name. Wind whistled past my ears. Dean’s fists were a blur, rage firing with every sharp movement. Another Coleman brother tried to yank Dean away.
Beneath him, Archer tried to curl up defensively, his hands over his face. Dean punched through every opening, refusing to stop.
“Dean!”
Not knowing what else to do, I tackled him, bracing myself against his flying fists. His knuckle caught me under the jaw. Stars burst behind my eyes. Pain lanced through me.
I threw my arms around him from behind and held on, praying he would listen. He was rigid, rock-hard with fury, his breath sawing through the air. He seized Archer’s collar and pulled back for another blow.
“Stop,” I gasped. “Dean, stop. Please, please stop!”
He stopped in mid-motion. The instant was long enough for me to shove him to the side. We tumbled to the grass. I landed on top of him and grasped his wrists, pinning him to the ground. His chest heaved beneath mine.
I stared into his rage-dark eyes.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Stop.”
He stared back at me, his breath rasping against my neck. I released one of his wrists and put my hand on his cheek.
“It’s okay.” My voice shook. I brushed my palm over his hair. “It’s okay.”
Some of the rigidity drained from his muscles. One of his arms clamped around my waist, locking our bodies together. I lowered my forehead to his chest. His heart pounded.
“Dean! Are you all right?” Paige shoved at my shoulder. “Get off him, Liv.”
“Don’t touch her,” Dean growled.
I closed my eyes. I absorbed the feeling of him beneath me, the gradual slackening of his body, the subduing anger. My thoughts and emotions tangled in a knotted mess I couldn’t even begin to unravel.
Slowly I lifted my head and opened my eyes to meet Dean’s unreadable gaze. A bruise marked his jaw, and blood was smeared beneath his nose.
A fraught tension coiled through the air. I was struck by the sense that something was about to break wide open, like an egg dropped from a vast height.
Voices rose in a pitch of agitation. I turned to find the Coleman brothers surrounding Archer, who was struggling against their restraining arms, his face bruised and bloody and hard with anger.
“You asshole!” Archer yelled at Dean, trying to dart forward. The Colemans fought him back.
“Archer, come inside,” Joanna pleaded.
I pushed myself to a sitting position. Dean climbed to his feet and scraped his hands through his hair. Strain lined his body, but at least now he appeared in control of his rage. His face was scratched and bleeding from where Archer had gotten a few punches in. He took my hand and pulled me up.
“Dean!” Paige hurried toward her brother. “Dean, how could you—”
He held up a hand to stop her.
“We’ll…” My voice broke. I tightened my grip on Dean. “We’ll go clean up.” I gave him a gentle tug. “Come on.”
I managed to get him into the house without another confrontation. Voices came from the kitchen, where I assumed the rest of the group was tending to Archer. I heard the word hospital and winced.
Before I could turn toward the stairs, Dean pushed me into the library. He slammed and locked the door behind him. Dim light and silence descended.
I pressed my palms to my face. My jaw ached from both the blow and trying to restrain my tears.
I felt Dean’s gaze. He latched a hand around my wrist.
“What the hell?” He cupped my chin with his other hand and turned me toward him, brushing his fingers beneath my jaw where a bruise must have formed. “Did I do that?”
“It was an accident. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Goddammit, Liv.” Self-directed anger speared his expression.
Oh, Dean.
“Don’t.” Tears burned my eyes. “I’m okay.”
A ripple of anger coursed through him. Blackness concealed the gold flecks in his eyes. I stepped back, my heart thudding.
“Dean?”
He advanced, coiled with leashed energy, his fists bunching at his sides. “I want you.”
“I’m… I’m yours.”
“I want to fuck you. Hard.”
Shock jolted me. My hips hit the big oak desk. “You—”
He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in almost painfully. Tension knotted his muscles. His eyes blazed with heat.
“I need to know you’re mine. That you’re all mine.”
“I am.” A dark, thrilling arousal spiraled through me at the anger-edged lust emanating from him. “Of course I am.”
“Let me.”
“Yes. Yes.”
He hauled me against him, his lips crashing down on mine. He pushed his tongue into my mouth with a sharp, possessive gesture, as if he wanted to mark me, claim me. The length of my body pressed against his, every one of his muscles still locked tight. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, the burn of his blood.
Heat rocketed through me. I grasped his biceps, stunned by the flood of excitement. He dug his fingers into my hips and hauled me up onto the edge of the desk, his mouth never ceasing its plundering of mine. He kissed me, licked me, bit my lower lip, dragged his mouth down to nip the throbbing vein at the side of my neck.
I inhaled sharply, spreading my legs around his hips. He shoved himself between my thighs, already hard through his jeans. With a sweep of his arm, he sent the desk clutter behind me crashing to the floor, pens and paper scattering.
I pushed my hands underneath his blood-spattered T-shirt, sliding my palms over his damp skin, the rigidity of his muscles. He yanked my skirt up my thighs, his mouth close to my ear.
“Take these fucking things off,” he hissed.
My heart pulsed. I pushed him away so that I could slither out of my pantyhose and drop them to the floor. Dean tangled his fingers into my underwear, brushing against my sex. I fumbled for the button-fly of his jeans, but my hands were shaking too much. He stepped back and kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned his fly and shoved his jeans and boxers off. His erection sprang up between us, thick and heavy. My throat went dry.
“Oh, God, Dean.”
I reached for him. He pressed his palm to my breastbone and pushed me back onto the desk. He took hold of my blouse and ripped it right down the middle. A fever darkened his eyes. I undid my bra, aching for him to touch my breasts. Panting, I twisted, rubbing my spread sex against the head of his cock as he bent to take my nipple between his teeth.
An intense shudder vibrated to my toes. He slid his hand down my belly, beneath my underwear. His forefinger ran over my folds, spurring my excitement higher. I tightened my legs around his hips.
I need to know you’re mine.
His rough voice echoed in my lust-fogged mind. Didn’t he know that already? How else could I show him?
He pulled my underwear over my legs. A gust of air brushed against my sex. Dean pushed his hands under my thighs, opening me to him fully. For an instant, his hot eyes met mine before he plunged his cock into me.
I was ready. He’d warned me, asked me, prepared me. But the intensity of his thrust, the sheer power of it, rocked me to the core. My emotions exploded. I cried out in sudden shock, clutching his rigid arms. Sparks spread through my nerves as my inner flesh tightened around his pulsing shaft.
He gripped my thighs, keeping me open, as he thrust again and again, a relentless fucking that shook the desk and made my body bounce. I arched upward, drenched in the fog of desire, the dawning knowledge that I was binding myself inextricably to this man, and that I did not want to be free.
Leashed urgency pulsed through his muscles. His T-shirt dampened with sweat, smearing the remnants of his and his brother’s blood. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. My whole body ached and throbbed.
“Dean!” I gasped, bucking upward to match his deep thrusts.
“Come on, my beauty. Fuck me.” He stilled suddenly, pressing my thighs open, watching me with a seething intensity that made my heart tremble. His hair fell across his forehead. A flush burned along the crest of his cheekbones.
His cock was halfway inside me. With a moan, I pushed forward, impaling myself on him. I squirmed, twisting to try and repeat his heavy plunges. It wasn’t the same, I needed more, needed his power… and then he thrust forward again and filled me.
I shrieked, convulsing around him with a force that shocked me to my bones. It went on and on, an endless stream of sensation blasting light through me. And still he fucked me, urging every shudder out of me before pulling out and gripping his shaft.
Gasping, I pushed up onto my elbows and watched as he stroked his slick cock, his movements quick and urgent. His body tensed. A groan rumbled from his chest the instant before he came, ropes of semen pooling onto my belly and mons. The smell of sex filled my head.
I shivered and reached down to rub my still-quivering clit. Dean levered himself over me, sealing our damp bodies together, his mouth descending on mine for a bruising kiss.
“Say it again,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
I brushed his hair away from his forehead, stroked my hand down the side of his face.
“I’m yours,” I said, then looked into his gold-flecked eyes. “Say it back.”
“I’m yours.” He leaned his forehead against mine and drew in a breath. “Jesus, Liv. What are you doing to me?”
Falling for you. Hard.
Oh, no. What was at the end of that descent?
Joanna West insisted that Archer go to the hospital, then reported that he had a black eye, a split lip, numerous contusions, and a broken nose. Dean didn’t seem bothered by his own minor injuries. Certainly Archer had taken the brunt of the fight.
Not a fight. More like a beating.
I shuddered. I knew what had happened. Archer had never been able to surpass his older brother in any other way, but he’d quickly realized that he could get to Dean through me.
And he’d been right.
“What were you thinking?” Joanna West’s face was a mask of anger. “On Thanksgiving, Dean, really? Look at him!”
She waved a hand to where Archer slouched in a chair, one eye swollen half-shut, a few white gauze bandages taped to his face, dried blood crusted under his nose, bruises covering his jaw.
“What will people say?” Joanna snapped, her slender body shaking with fury. “Everyone saw what you did, Dean, everyone! They’re all talking about how you beat up your own brother!”
“I should press charges,” Archer said. His voice sounded foggy and drugged.
“Yeah, do that,” Dean challenged, his fists clenching at his sides. “See if you get any of your money then.”
Archer’s mouth thinned. “You fucker.”
“You fuck-up.”
“Stop it!” Joanna pressed her fingers to her temples. “You’re not pressing charges, for God’s sake, Archer.” She pivoted to face Dean. “What’s the matter with you? Since when do you act like a barbarian because of—”
She stopped short. And looked at me.
My stomach roiled. Dean stepped in front of me, as if to protect me from his mother’s needle-sharp, accusing glare.
“Enough,” he said. “Liv and I are leaving.”
“You fix this, Dean,” Joanna ordered. “I don’t care what you do, but you figure out how to fix it.”
“It’s not fixable, Mom,” Dean said, his voice cold. “You need to stop thinking it is.”
“Wow,” Archer muttered. “Is the only non-bastard son admitting defeat?”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard that right.
“Shut up, Archer,” Paige muttered, looking away from both her brothers.
Joanna stalked from the room, her back as rigid as metal.
I put my hand on Dean’s arm. His muscles were stiff with fury.
“I need to leave,” I whispered, so low I didn’t think he’d hear me.
He turned, his eyes pitch-black. “What?”
“I don’t want to cause… trouble.” The ache in my head pressed harder.
I was a good girl. I caused trouble for no one. I did what I was told to do. I followed the rules. Even when I was torn inside out, I patched myself back together in secret, in seclusion. No one would know anything bad had happened. No one would have reason to doubt me.
“You’re not causing trouble, Liv.” Dean forced his voice to steady. “It’s not you. Not at all. It’s them.”
“But they… they’re your family.” I couldn’t think of another way to say it. Couldn’t think past the undeniable fact that he had two parents, a sister, and a brother. Whatever else there was… it didn’t negate that fact.
I didn’t know where my mother was.
Dean took my arm and led me upstairs to get our suitcases. I managed to convey my apologies to Mrs. West before Dean got us both out of there and drove to a hotel near the airport.
He sank onto the bed, his shoulders slumping. “So fucking sorry. Never should have brought you here.”
“Was it…?”
“We were…” His voice was dull, exhausted. “When we were kids, Archer and I were pretty close. I’m four years older than he is. We fought a lot, but we were brothers, you know. Taught him how to play football.”
A sick foreboding rose in me. I couldn’t speak.
“The affair my mother had…” Dean dragged his hands through his hair and expelled a heavy breath. “She got pregnant with Archer. I was nine when I heard her talking to her sister about it. When my mother realized I’d overheard, she told me it was a secret, never to tell, that everyone had to think Archer was my father’s biological son. She and my father couldn’t risk a divorce or the rest of her family finding out. They were helping with some outstanding debts that could have damaged my father’s career.”
“How?”
“The governor of California had just nominated him as a potential judge in the Court of Appeals,” Dean said. “Big deal for him. Step on the road to Supreme Court. He had to go through a whole review process, investigation, public hearing. He was already worried about the possibility of his financial troubles getting out. If people discovered the truth about Archer, it would have ruined everything, especially for the retention election.”
“So you kept the secret?”
“For four years,” Dean said. “Then Archer and I got into a fight one day over a video game. I was thirteen. At some point during the fight, I got so mad I yelled at Archer that he wasn't our father's real son. I'll never forget the look on my brother's face. He's hated me ever since.”
He fell silent, staring at the opposite wall.
“What… what did your parents do?” I asked.
“Nothing. Everyone had to fall into line. They had to pretend they had a perfect marriage. We had to pretend we were a perfect family.”
I saw it then, clear as glass. For years, Dean had blamed himself for divulging the secret that had cracked his family apart from the inside and created the cold silence. Spurred by guilt, he’d thrown his energy into being a success, an overachiever, the best at everything… all to make up for his mistake and protect the West family image of perfection.
And Archer West had done the exact opposite.
“Told you it was fucked-up,” Dean muttered.
I shook my head, unable to speak. I knew it was part of his blood now, the urge to be the perfect son.
Just as I’d always tried so hard to be good.
An ache was building inside me like steam, rolling and pitching. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing.”
A lump clogged my throat. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I never should have told him.”
“Dean, you were a boy.”
He shrugged. “My mother… well, she never forgave me either. She and Paige have always stuck together, and they all blamed me, especially when Archer rebelled. Obviously he’s never stopped. And… then my grandfather got sick and I had to deal with him. But I’m done with it now. All of it.”
“I can’t let you choose me over your family, Dean.”
“No, you can’t. You can’t not let me either.”
I swallowed hard. “You can’t make that choice if I walk away.”
Tension rolled through him. “You’re not walking away.”
Despite my fear, I could not prevent the surge of warmth at his possessive tone.
“You can’t stop me,” I whispered.
He pushed off the bed and went to his suitcase. He rummaged for something and turned, extending his hand to reveal the key to his apartment.
“I’m going to make a copy of this,” he said. “And I want you to take it. But don’t use it until winter break.”
“Winter break?”
He nodded, his eyes determined. “For two weeks of winter break, I want you to live with me. Twenty-four hours a day. You and me. No classes. No work. Nothing and no one else.”
I pressed a palm to my chest. Electricity crackled in the air. My heart suddenly felt brittle.
“I… I thought you were going on a research trip over winter break.”
“I leave on January ninth and get back before the semester starts.” He stepped closer to me. “I want you for two weeks, Liv. Completely. I haven’t even begun to show you everything we’re going to do together. At the end of those two weeks, you’ll know exactly where you belong. And you won’t want to walk away.”
I stared at him, feeling as if I were poised on the brink of something both exhilarating and terrifying. Something I had never had before. Never expected to have.
“Liv, I told you once that I’ve never been able to start a new life,” he said. “But I want to now. And I want to start it with you.”
I felt something loosen inside me, something that had been knotted for longer than I cared to remember. The sick guilt and shame I’d harbored since Fieldbrook seemed to dissolve, as if it were being overwhelmed by the urgency in Dean’s voice, the heat we generated, the growing certainty of our belonging together.
Belonging. For the first time in my life, I had the chance to know what that word meant.
And so did Dean.
My heart thumped. A wild tenderness filled me as I looked at him standing there in his wrinkled shirt and torn jeans, his face still scratched, his hair spilling across his forehead.
I couldn’t bear to let him out of my life. And I knew I could be everything for him that he was for me. I could heal his wounds, be his anchor, treasure him. Together we could create our own world, one of warmth and affection, protected from the slings and arrows of the world.
For despite our differences, our struggles, our childhoods at opposite ends of the spectrum… Dean and I were the same.
We had both been weighted by destructive secrets at too young an age. We’d both been forced into actions we hadn’t wanted, and then we’d blamed ourselves when things went horribly wrong. At thirteen, our lives had changed drastically, starting us on a twisting path toward freedom and redemption.
Dean had tried to appease his guilt by caring for his sick grandfather. I’d escaped back to Twelve Oaks. We had both worked so hard to uphold an ideal image of who we thought we should be. But even as we struggled to extricate ourselves from our pasts, we’d become inevitably tangled up in them.
Until now.
Our gazes locked and held. We understood each other down to our very bones. We were the only people who ever would.
“Say yes,” he said.
I said yes. There was no other response.