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“Why do you dislike him so much?” I actively work to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but Laura is a bloodhound. She can sniff out any sign of disrespect.
Like right now. Her eye twitches when she blows out a cloud of smoke, eyeing me like she’s inspecting me before a big benefit or an event where my presence is required.
“You like him, don’t you?” I pause, my heart nearly stopping in my chest. Mason Carpenter is handsome, but that’s where the attraction stops. He’s crude and an asshole. His fingernails are stained with motor grease and he’s covered in tattoos.
Tattoos that make him hotter, my brain chimes at the worst moment.And the callouses on his hands that felt good against your skin. The way he says your name. Almost like he’s growling it.
Okay, shut up.
My cheeks flame and, of course, Laura picks up on that.
She sneers behind her cloud of smoke. “You do.”
“I’m indifferent toward him.”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes, laughing sardonically.
I glance at Missy beside me for a little backup. I mean, she’ssleepingwith Marcus Parker. Mom’s business partner. Amarriedbusiness partner. Unfortunately, though, she’s got her head leaned against the window, her eyes darting back and forthas she watches the buildings pass by on our way back to the Bel Air mansion.
Is she high?
“You were practically fornicating with him in the garden,” Mother grits, disgust dripping from her tone. “I didn’t raise you that way.”
“You didn’t raise me to be judgmental and cruel, either,” I retort and I know as soon as it’s out of my mouth, it was the wrong thing to say. “We were just talking.”
“The problem with you, Hannah dear, is you’re too naïve. You think he wants to talk to you? He doesn’t evenlikeyou. He just wants what’s between your legs.”
My mouth fills with saliva at the sick feeling brewing in my stomach. I know it’s of my mother’s design, but the sad part is, she’s probably not wrong. Mason’s the same as any other guy that comes to call. They all want the same things. Sex. A good time. Some claim to fucking the governor’s daughter because it’s a fun little story to tell their friends.
I’m an idiot if I don’t accept that he’s not just like the others.
Mom points the glowing red end of her cigarette at me.
“I want you to stay away from him.”
My stomach clenches, remembering the way he’d looked at me in the garden. Like I was something special to him, and he hated it.
“And if I say no?”
She narrows her gaze, finishing the last of her cigarette and smashing it out a little too aggressively in the limo’s ashtray.
“Try me.”
The way she says it, it’s more of a threat than an actual warning. Like she’s hoping I’ll slip up.
A shiver rolls down my spine when I think of that dark, dark place.
“Fine.”
She watches me for a beat as if she’s trying to read my mind and see if I’m lying or planning to sneak out to meet the bad boy in the middle of the night.
“Good.”
We pull through the gates of the Gaines’ LA mansion moments later, after the car falls into an awkward silence of Mom replying to emails, Missy on the trip of her life, and me . . . thinking about my conversation with Mason.
Am I really that different from the rest of my family? Is he?
I suppose he is. The pinnacle black sheep.
