Princess Amelia.

The memory of Sir Towhead addressing me as such makes me smile even in my dreams.

Sir Towhead.

I pop up in my bed, having just remembered that was what I called Brooklyn that day we played together.

My brother Brandon always called him a towhead because his hair was so blond when he was younger. When he came to our house that day, I adopted the name and knighted him so. You see, it was my brother Cam who forced me to play with Brooklyn. He said we were the same age and it only made sense. I didn’t really want to, so I acted bossy. I wondered why he did everything I told him to do.

Fear of my father.

I should have known.

I fall back onto my pillow.

Trying to get comfortable, I have the strangest feeling in my belly as I lie on Maggie and Keen’s bed, and I have no idea why. I’m not hung over. I’m not hungry. Maybe too many Doritos before bed.

Who knows?

In the state I woke up in yesterday, I should have slept soundly all night and a good portion of the morning, too. Perhaps I should have gone to bed earlier, not as late as I did. Somehow, though, The Deep led to Brooklyn making me watch Creature from the Black Lagoon because I hadn’t seen it before. Or perhaps he had to cover up the Haitian black magic with a big green creature.

The thought makes me laugh.

When that movie ended, Brooklyn asked me a very important question. “Would you rather get taken out in a few big chomps by a shark or in tons of vicious nibbles by a piranha?”

Rather thought provoking. Wouldn’t you say?

When I couldn’t answer, he made me watch Piranha. After that, the answer was clear. Hands down, I’d take the sharks any day of the week. That’s how much the Piranha movie freaked me out.

For some reason I’m lying here and forcing myself to stop thinking about Brooklyn, when it’s Landon I should be thinking about. Yet, if he really is my unicorn, my prince, I wonder why I haven’t thought once about him until now. From what I know of him in the short time we spent together, he is perfect for me in every way. If I had my phone, I’d send him a text. Ask him what Brooklyn asked me—piranha or shark? I wonder which he’d choose.

The wind is howling as my thoughts start to wander again. Something has me jerking my head toward the beach. The French doors are rattling as if someone is attempting to get in. Trying to remain calm, I turn the bedside lamp on, but nothing. The power has gone on and off all night. Looks like it’s off again. It has to be close to six in the morning because there is the faintest amount of dawn light coming through the windows.

With the flashlight Brooklyn bought at the grocery store last night, I hop out of bed and navigate to the stairs that lead to his room.

Maybe he could check it out for me?

Once upstairs, I hear something else—nothing scary this time, but something that sounds an awful lot like a groan.

I’m not certain.

Immediately, I turn the flashlight off.

The door is slightly ajar.

I know he’s alone, or I’d think—well, you know what I’d think.

The thought of what is going on between the sheets makes my pulse start to race with an odd excitement. Listening for more sounds, I hold off on knocking, my heart beating faster and faster with each passing second. Then I hear it again.

Peering inside the room, it’s dark except for the faint light of the sunrise through his partially opened blinds. Brooklyn is on his bed, sheet just below his waist, his hand right where I thought it might be.

I should turn around and leave.

I don’t.

I can’t.

I mean his hand is on his cock. And, well, I want mine there, but since I can’t very well walk in and ask to join him, to help him jerk off, I settle for watching.

I hold my breath as his hand moves beneath the sheet. He goes up and down his cock in long, strong pulls and pushes. And then he kicks the sheet away and arches his back. One hand going to his balls, the other gripping the tip of his cock loosely so he can thrust up into it.

So turned on, I slap my hand over my mouth to stop my moan.

I have never actually seen a man pleasure himself before in person, and this is beyond what I ever thought it would be. Sure, I’ve seen it happen in the porn movies that Carter watches, but in those, the guy is always yanking his cock so hard, it looks painful.

That is not what I’m watching now.

This is so much more erotic.

Slower.

More intense.

I want to touch myself. To rub my fingers over my clit in small circles in tandem with the rise and fall of his hips, but I don’t.

All of a sudden, Brooklyn’s fist pumps faster, and his hips rise and fall to meet every quick stroke, which in turn causes my heart to beat at an alarmingly high rate. Now I want to finger myself and press my thumb against my clit with enough pressure to make myself come.

Another groan, and this time I see his mouth open and his face contort in pleasure.

I think he’s coming.

And I think I might be too.

Suddenly my clit starts to throb and I’m aware of how very wet I am.

He stills.

My legs are wobbly.

And then there is nothing but silence.

I want more, so I strain my eyes to see if he’ll do it again.

Oh my God, I’m a peeping Tom. A perverted peeping Tom. This is bad. Really bad. And yet for some reason, that makes me smile.

I’m so going to hell.

Turned on in a way I never knew I could be, I find myself squeezing my thighs together, and then I feel another slight tremor in my sex.

I look down.

Had I come twice?

No.

No way.

Not like this.

Not standing up and watching a boy I hardly know jerk off and thinking of touching myself.

Refocusing my attention through his door, I catch a glimpse of his very fine naked ass as he strides into his bathroom.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Time for me to leave. Yet my brain is still focused on those tremors that have left my nerve endings feeling tingly.

Staring into the empty room, I know I should go. I make myself take a step back, then another. I flick the flashlight back on when I reach the dark staircase and try to decide if I want to turn around or go down the steps backward to avoid making any noise.

His footsteps on the hardwood floor send me staring wide-eyed into the darkness, and then the squeak of his door hinges makes my heart stop.

Immediately, I turn the flashlight off.

A square of sunlight appears, and it’s right then that the door swings open.

Closing my eyes tight, I stifle and slow my breathing.

“Amelia?” Brooklyn asks.

I freeze like a deer in headlights. Busted. I’m so busted. Wonder if I still have time to run back to my room? No, I absolutely do not. Perhaps I should pretend I’m sleepwalking? Maybe. No, that will never work.

“Amelia?” he asks again.

I look across the small space toward him and turn the flashlight back on, accidently shining it right in his face. “Hey,” I try to say calmly. Acting as if I’m just reaching the top step. Acting as if the whisper of a thrill in my voice is not from the fact that I caught him masturbating, but rather excitement from reaching the top after my climb up the narrow steps.

Thank God, he’s dressed. Somehow, some way, in the midst of my insanity, he pulled on a pair of track pants. He raises his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light. “What are you doing up here?”

I deflect the flashlight to the side wall. “I…I…I ummm…I thought I heard someone trying to open Maggie’s door. But now that I’m up here telling you about it, it sounds absurd.”

Much to my surprise, he strides toward me as if to act on my ludicrous concern. “Stay up here.”

Panic grips me. “Wait!”

Brooklyn stares me directly in the eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he says with that sinful bad-boy thing he has going on. His total I don’t give a fuck attitude resonating with each step he takes.

“You can’t go there alone.”

Turning, he goes back in his room and comes out with a baseball bat. There is a raw edge in his gaze that sends shivers up my spine.

I stare at the bat.

The wood slaps against his palm. “A present from Maggie to Keen, some kind of inside joke, but hey, a Louisville Slugger nonetheless. I confiscated it when they moved out.”

“Maybe we should call the police?”

He’s shirtless, and all I can see is the silhouette of his rock-hard abs as he threads the bat through one arm, across his back, and under the other arm. “No phones, remember, but seriously, don’t worry; it’s probably one of Maggie’s old boyfriends. I’ll go tell the guy Maggie’s married now, and her husband will gladly cut his balls off if he finds him anywhere near her.”

I give him a questioning look.

His sexy bare feet take a step toward me. “She has a few stray former boyfriends who come calling once in a while. It’s nothing new. I think I’ve had to get rid of at least three since she moved out.”

“Oh.” My hand flies to my fast-beating heart. “So someone is really out there?”

Brooklyn is beside me now with the bat in a new position at his side, and suddenly everything about him gets serious. “Possibly. Good thing he didn’t get in.”

All I can do is stare, wordless, maybe looking a little scared, although I try not to.

Perhaps sensing my anxiety, he seems to let whatever issues go that are troubling him, and the corners of his mouth quirks upward. “He would have had a real surprise when you scratched his eyes out.”

I suppose he has a right to make that comment. Self-defense classes were something I’d attended regularly while going to college. My father had insisted on them when I insisted on living in Greenwich Village. Although I hated them, I went, always the dutiful daughter. To help ease the tension of those classes, I attended yoga sessions even more frequently. I guess you could say I kept fit for my own sanity.

The stairs creak as he takes them two at a time, and I watch the muscles of his back bunch.

Even though he told me to stay put, I follow him slowly through the house and to the door that leads to Maggie’s room. And then even slower still inside the bedroom, where I find him standing in the open doorway overlooking the beach with no one in sight.

“It looks like I was wrong and no one was there?” I say.

Brooklyn whirls around, and it’s in the brighter light of the bedroom that I feel his stare like a fire burning out of control. “I told you to stay upstairs.”

Very aware that I am wearing only a T-shirt, I find myself uncomfortably tugging at its hem. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His nostrils flare. “Jesus Christ, Amelia, do you ever listen to anything anyone tells you to do?”

My breath stutters raggedly over my lips as I try to find equal ground. “I’m a grown woman who is capable of making my own decisions, Brooklyn, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped treating me like a child.”

Stop treating me like Cam’s little sister is what I want to say. Yet I don’t. I don’t want to bring my brother’s name into the conversation. This is between Brooklyn and me, and it is a matter of wills.

Slamming the door closed, he locks it with a jerk and struts toward me. “I’m going for a run and then I have a few errands to take care of. The keys to Maggie’s car are on the kitchen table and there’s a spare key to the house hidden under the pot on the patio. Do you think you can handle the rest of the morning without supervision?”

Annoyed, I find my brows furrowing and my lips pursing just like that child I told him I wasn’t, and if that doesn’t make my blood boil. “Fuck you, Brooklyn James.”

The way he strides past me without a second glance tells me what I should have already known…in his eyes I will always be Cam’s pain-in-the-ass little sister.

And nothing more.

So much for getting the bad boy.