55. Thea
55
Thea
Fuckboy: Meet me by the parking garage
I stared at my phone screen. What was he on? Surely those assholes had got the message by now. I’d been ignoring them for a reason. The campus was large enough that I had successfully evaded all five of them for several days. Go me.
Me: No.
Fuckboy: Florrie’s made cake. She says you’ll love it.
Ugh. Now he was bringing out the big guns. The bastard knew damn well cake was my weak spot.
Me: You better not be playing me Landon Rothmore.
Fuckboy: *angel emoji*
That fucker . He was about as innocent as Donald Trump in a room full of lingerie models. I pushed my phone back into my pocket and diverted from the path to the gym. Tuesday afternoons were usually quiet in there, so I’d been using the time to run on a treadmill. I much preferred running outside, but until some of the snow melted, it wasn’t practical.
The day was bright and clear. Ice crystals sparkled in the sun and the snow-capped mountains reminded me of the Alps.
Dad had taken me skiing one time. At least I’d thought that’s what we were doing when he packed up the car with winter gear. I’d been all excited about the prospect of learning how to ski until I figured out the only reason he took me with him was to carry out a hit on some low-life who’d pissed him off.
Turned out a snowbank was a terrible place to slit someone’s throat. There was no way to hide the mess. The news reports the following day were a mix of horror and outrage. Horror that someone would leave a bloody corpse in the snow like a fucked-up snow angel, and outrage that a killer would do it in the middle of a luxe ski resort full of A-listers.
In my defense, the guy was ten times bigger than 12-year-old me, so I had to wait until he’d drunkenly staggered back to his ski chalet before killing him.
Landon was leaning against his car waiting for me when I strolled into the parking garage, his designer shades firmly in place.
He pushed his shades up and grinned. “Hey, wifey. Ready for the best chocolate cake in the Northern Hemisphere?”
“Sure,” I replied, not looking him in the eye. I was only here for the cake. At least that’s what I told myself. It had nothing to do with the fact he looked like a hot American pro swimmer dude I’d seen photos of online.
Landon’s green eyes twinkled as I shuffled awkwardly while wishing I was wearing something other than skin-tight leggings tucked into boots. Because yeah, anything tight was a bad choice when spending time with a flirt like Landon Fucking Rothmore.
He opened the passenger door for me like a gentleman, and I tried not to swoon. It had been a week since the shit show in the cafeteria. Kyril had tried messaging me, but he was firmly on my ignore list.
Dar’s reappearance made no sense, so it was easier to push him to the back of my mind. I was a pro at locking shit away when it hurt.
Thoughts swirled around my head as we left campus.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Landon said, expertly steering the car around narrow bends lined with snow drifts. It was probably foolish to be out driving in this weather, but he didn’t seem concerned.
“For cake, yes.” I’d had very little appetite since Dar’s reappearance.
“Florrie’s chocolate cake is to die for.”
I hummed a non-committal reply and continued staring out of the window. After a few more attempts at small talk, Landon gave up. He was probably wondering why he’d bothered. I was wondering, too, but grateful for a change of scenery, nonetheless.
Florrie flung the door open the minute we arrived. She hustled out and then gave us both a hug, which surprised me. Landon was family, whereas I was just a stray cat someone felt sorry for.
“Go, lassie, take a seat in the garden room. It’s lovely and hot in there today. The mistress has some new heat-loving plants.”
“Are any of them lethal?” Landon asked. “Does Dad need to worry?”
“Och, you rascal!” Florrie shook her head. “Your sweet wee mother wouldn’t dream of hurting a hair on your father’s head.”
“Not so sure about that,” Landon muttered, but Florrie was already on her way back to the kitchen.
“Are your parents not happy?”
“They have their moments,” Landon replied vaguely, but didn’t elaborate.
The garden room was indeed humid, the air moist and heavy with exotic floral perfume. I slipped my quilted jacket off and quickly pulled my hair back into a messy bun to keep it off my neck.
Landon’s gaze brushed over my tits, but to his credit, it didn’t linger. At least he was trying to be respectful. Not that it was helping. The memory of what we got up to the last time we came here was front and central in my mind.
Our cake and tea arrived a few minutes later. Landon hadn’t been exaggerating. Florrie’s chocolate cake was literally to die for. I managed to stuff down two slices before my stomach revolted and said no more.
Landon wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked up. “So, what’s the story with you and Dario the douche?”
I tensed. Was this why he’d brought me here? To quiz me while my guard was down?
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“He’s not said anything to any of us since he and Kyril got into it the other day. We’ve barely seen him. He spends all his time either in his room or working out in the gym.”
That didn’t sound like the Dar I remembered. He used to work out a bit, but not obsessively. He was more interested in books and art than lifting weights.
“We knew each other when I was younger.” This was nothing Landon didn’t already know. It was bloody obvious we knew each other. Nobody reacted that badly to meeting a stranger they’d never seen before.
Not that I meant anything to Dar now. Whatever awful things he thought I’d done had obviously killed any feelings he might have had.
“Why does he seem to hate you? He said some pretty fucked up shit about you.”
My body tensed at his words. I reached for my jacket, ready to stand and leave.
“And you believed him?” There was no way I was staying here if he was going to trash talk me.
“No, of course not.” Landon rolled his eyes with exasperation. “The stuff he said about giving it up to a bunch of guys is obviously bullshit. We know you were a virgin before Kyril.”
My shoulders relaxed. He didn’t think I was a slut . I picked up my tea, needing something to do with my hands. To distract me.
“What did he mean when he said you were supposed to be his?”
Well, fuck. I had hoped none of them remembered that bit.
“No idea,” I lied. “As I said, we knew each other as kids, and then he left.” I steeled my expression, giving nothing away, just like my father taught me. “I’ve not seen Dar… Dario for years. Him showing up was as much a surprise to me as seeing me was to him.”
Landon ground his teeth some more, clearly unhappy with my explanation. “You can talk to me, Thea. I’m like a vault - nothing goes beyond these four walls.”
Did he really expect me to trust him with my secrets? Secrets that could get us both killed? Nope. Not a chance.
Swallowing the last dregs of my tea, I made a show of glancing at my watch. “I think we should get back. I have a class at 4.”
He shot me a wink.
“There’s enough time for a quick tour of the house.”
My stomach cramped, but not because I’d stuffed my face with cake. Oh no. It was more the unspoken promise in his words.
The sexual tension swirled between us like a thick, musky fog. He’d been nothing but gentlemanly since we arrived. Aside from a few heated glances when I leaned forward to add more tea to my cup, which inadvertently displayed some cleavage, not one flirtatious comment had fallen from his lips.
It was quite unlike Landon Fucking Rothmore.
Ignoring the fluttering sensation between my thighs as I watched his ass, I followed him out of the humid garden room. The hallway felt cool compared to the hot, fragrant air of the garden room, and I shivered.
The main staircase led upstairs to a galleried landing. Paintings lined the walls, most of them featuring men on horseback, all wearing kilts.
“Do you have a kilt?” I mused, almost to myself. Landon could pull off a skirt. He had great legs. Thick and muscular. I pictured his thighs flexing as he took me to pound town and had to stifle a whimper.
I heard him chuckle. “Of course. Do you want to see me in it? Happy to model one for you, wifey. Kilts are great. Easy access.” He winked again.
“No, it’s fine,” I blurted before I self-combusted and set fire to the staircase. It would be an awful shame to ruin a centuries old oak staircase.
Landon led me along a wide landing, past several bedrooms with four-poster beds, and down a narrow passageway that seemingly ended at a tapestried wall. “Are we lost?” I asked him, not sure what the point of being here was. Sure, it was a nice tapestry, but seen one, seen them all was my motto.
“Just wait.” He pushed the thick fabric to one side to reveal a small, concealed door. “This house has lots of hidden rooms and passageways. There’s one that leads from the cellar and goes outside to the stables. Rumor has it that one of my ancestors escaped through that tunnel when English soldiers came to arrest him after Culloden.”
“Did he get away?”
“Not for long. Someone betrayed him. Three days later, soldiers found him in bed with his mistress. They took him to Tilbury Fort. He was executed not long after.”
I shuddered, picturing soldiers dragging the poor man out of bed in the dead of night and then stringing him up on the gallows at dawn. Grim.
“But luckily for me, he was a randy old goat who’d fathered a few kids, so our bloodline continued.”
Landon climbed the steep, narrow staircase. Up it wound, on and on, lit by small sconces set into the stone walls. When we finally reached the top, another small door opened into a large attic, comfortably furnished with sofas and a bed.
“Is this your room?” I asked in surprise.
“I have an official room, but growing up, Isla and I spent more time up here. Away from my father.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister?” Not that I’d done a lot of research on Landon. All I knew was his family were mega rich and owned a billion acres of forestry land, as well as a much-lauded whiskey distillery.
“Yeah. She’s married now.” From the way his jaw tightened, he didn’t seem too happy about it.
“Do you miss her?” I wondered why her being married bothered him.
“It’s more that her husband is a raging cunt. He’s Catholic and refuses to use birth control, so she’s basically a baby-making machine.”
A horrible sense of foreboding slithered down my spine. If my father had his way, that would be my future. A rich man’s toy, nothing more than a walking womb.
“Landon, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.” Before I could overthink it, I reached out and squeezed his arm.
He shook his head and threw me a bright smile. “It’s OK. I think she’s happy in her own way. She loves kids.”
I didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t my place to comment on someone I hadn’t met and probably never would.
“Anyway, the reason I brought you up here was to see the amazing views.” He took my hand and tugged me over to a window. I rested my hands on the leaded glass panes and peered out over the valley.
The loch twinkled in the sunlight far below, the water inky black. Snow-covered mountains gleamed so brightly they hurt my eyes, and high above, a few small clouds scurried across a cerulean sky.
“It’s lovely. I almost wish I was artistic,” I commented. Sadly, stick figures were the sum total of my creative talent.
“Isla loves to paint. She used to spend hours up here painting the landscape.”
“Does she still paint?” Landon stood so close I could feel the heat of him burning into my back.
“No, she doesn’t have time these days. Not with four children under the age of five.”
“Maybe when the kids are older, she’ll get back to it.”
“Maybe. But I don’t want to talk about my sister.” He pressed into me, pushing me against the cold glass so I had nowhere to go.
“Landon…what are you doing?” Having him so close made it hard to think. He stole the oxygen from my lungs.
“Do you have any idea how jealous I am, Thea?”
“Jealous? Of who?”
“Kyril,” he ground out. “It should have been me.”
“You?” I repeated, not sure what point he was trying to make.
“I wanted to be your first.”
“Oh.”
“He may have stolen that first from me, but I promise you this, Thea, I will be your last.”
“What about…” Milo popped into my mind, then my brain caught up, and I slammed my jaw shut.
“Milo?” Landon smirked as he looked down at me. “I know all about Milo,” he said, demonstrating remarkable mind-reading skills. He pushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Milo gets a free pass. He’s one of us. Cassian, too.”
“Cassian?” I scoffed. “He doesn’t know I exist.”
“Oh, wifey, you have no idea.”