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A very hot stepbrother whose hair fell over his brow while he focused on his food, giving me a moment’s reprieve from his unsettling stare.
A jackass who would turn our high school upside down in a few short weeks.
We moved into the parlor after dinner—an honest to goodness sitting room like ancient people had. It was where Mother spent most of her time and I avoided at all costs since I held no memories of fun within its walls—merely instruction and criticism when called into her presence.
Stiff-backed chairs covered in yellow damask didn’t appear as welcoming as Mother seemed to think. At least the fireplace’s lit logs crackled against the cool, fall air outside the tall windows overlooking the northern mountains. A wall of books. Knickknacks on the tables and mantle. Throw blankets and footstools—all shades of yellow, of course—for getting comfy when Mother wasn’t watching close enough to snip at me about proper posture and poise.
Everything sat in its place without a spot of dust thanks to the staff who moved on silent feet and hid in shadows.
They saw everything. Heard every word.
And papers Mother had made them sign kept their mouths shut about what went down in Widow Reed’s house.
Mostly the two of us screaming at each other whenever I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
Mr. Destil poured liquor from the decanter of whatever Mother sipped every night and offered her the drink. He went without, I noted. At least her expensive taste in alcohol wasn’t what made Mother appealing to him. The last man she’d brought home ended up rip-roaring drunk at our first dinner. That was the last I’d seen of him.
They sat side by side on a couch far from where I had settled near the door, ready to bolt the second she suggested I retire for the night. Mr. Destil angled close to Mother, their knees touching, heads close together while speaking quietly.
Gideon lounged in a chair across from me, and I ignored him, chin lifted, studying the ugly printed paper on the wall above his head as though it held more interest to me than his pretty face.
Stuffy and old fashioned with its golden roses, the wallpaper made my upper lip curl. Mother seriously needed to do some updates—
“Bad enough Dad’s gonna drag me all the way up here to Alaska, but to be stuck with a goddamn snob for a sister? Could my life be any more fucked?”
I turned my attention downward, narrowing my gaze and hating that Gideon was close enough to make out a few freckles across his nose. Even more endearing. I prayed he wouldn’t reveal dimples if he ever smiled for real. “Pardon me?”
He sprawled in the chair, arms over the back, that damn smirk curling his lips upward. I glanced at Mother, waiting for her to admonish him for his slouching posture, but she couldn’t be torn away from her latest lover and whatever bull he spouted against her ear that made her cheeks flush.
“He’s weaseled his way in, and now you’re stuck with him—and me. Just would be nice if you at least acted—” Gideon glanced down over me with a semi-sneer “—normal so we could get along and shit.”
“I am normal.”
He snorted, his gaze narrowing. “Spoiled, rich princess. You don’t know the first thing about a life beyond your mother’s money.”
As if he did with his expensive clothing, shined shoes, and that rented Mercedes out in the circular drive beyond the parlor’s window. Car rental or not, it still cost his father some cash to borrow it for their weekend visit.
While I was only fifteen, I had been through enough heartache to make any person an old soul, not that he knew or cared. I glared harder, hating that my spine stayed straight and my hands clasped lightly in my lap as Mother had taught. “And I suppose you’ve got it all figured out at the ripe old age of what? Seventeen?” I hissed quietly across the short distance between us.
“Yep.” He popped the P and chuckled. “Lived the high life down in sunny, warm California.”
“Being sent to a juvenile delinquent center three times in three years and having anger management therapy is hardly the high life,” I shot back the gossip I’d heard Mother sharing over her cell with one of her country club friends.
He studied me with those sinful bedroom eyes until I shifted on my seat, but I refused to look away. Mother would have a fit if she heard what I’d said to him.
This boy is going to be major trouble. Major.
He let out a quiet curse but without heat or threat. Gideon’s head swiveled his father’s way, his brow furrowing same as when he’d first arrived.
My shoulders relaxed at the assurance he wasn’t too pleased with what was going on between our parents either. “You hate what they’re doing to us too, don’t you?” I kept my tone low so Mother wouldn’t overhear.
“What gave it away?” That damn smirk—but sarcastic—returned as did his attention full on my face. His eyes held no hint of happiness though.
“It’s not my fault, you know,” I told him, hoping he’d stop taking his anger out on me. “I don’t want or need another father.”
Gideon raised one eyebrow in a perfect upside-down V like the evil vampire I’d considered him to be. A sexy as hell vampire. One who would nibble on my neck and tell me how good I tasted.
“How about an overly protective stepbrother?” he murmured, his focus sliding down over me.
I crossed my arms over my breasts, trying to hide my nipples’ pebbling reaction to his gaze. “And why would you care what I do?”
His gaze lingered long enough on my boobs that my face heated. A slow, genuine smile revealed not one, but two dimples, damn him. “Maybe I care more about what those around you might do.”
