Chapter 24
Ibegrudgingly made my way through the grounds of Byron’s excessive compound after being summoned by my mother.
She and Byron were at the small putting green around the back of the house, getting a golf lesson from some golfer who used to play pro. Why they bothered with golf, I had no idea. The sport was a good walk spoiled.
I rounded a section of rose bushes to a clearing, where the golf pro had set up mats and tees. Both Byron and my mother were hitting balls off the tees. Well, Byron was. My mother was hitting fresh air more than the ball.
Since when did she even like golf? I’d never seen her play it as long as I’d been alive. And what were they wearing? They were sporting matching tan plaid vest monstrosities. My mother had paired it with a white tennis skirt far too short for her age.
“You summoned me, Mom?” I said as I approached, careful not to get too close to her errant swings.
She glanced up at me, her face twisting with displeasure. “I didn’t summon you, Dempsey. I wanted to talk to you.”
And you sent a maid to tell me that.
“Well, here I am.”
My gaze snagged on the golf pro giving Byron directions on his swing. He was so much younger than I’d have guessed. And hot, too. Damn.
He didn’t have anything on Dacre, Presley, and Sinclair, but no sane girl would kick him out of bed.
“The annual cotillion ball is coming up at the country club,” my mother said, drawing my attention back to her and away from my blatant ogling. “While you’re much too old to debut, you’ll be required to attend and need a dress for it. Would you prefer to shop for one yourself this time, since you were so outraged by my choice for the last one, or would you prefer to attend the tailor with me and have something made for you?”
Well, the honest answer was that I’d rather stick pins under my fingernails than spend a moment more than I had to with my mother, so that made the decision easy.
“I’ll shop for something.”
My mother lowered her club, propping a hand on her hip, the other leaning on the end of the club. “Nothing too revealing. I want it classy and tasteful, do you understand?”
I bit back my scoff, gaze dropping to her legs in her too-short skirt.
“Sure, Mom. Classy and tasteful.” My tone dripped with sarcasm.
She went on about the importance of the event, but I tuned her out, eyes landing on the hot golf pro again. Only this time, he was looking back at me, his interest evident in the small smile that hooked the corner of his mouth.
“Dempsey? Are you listening to me?”
I startled. “Yes, Mom. Of course I am.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the golf pro, then back at me.
“Alex, this is my daughter, Dempsey.” My mom leaned down to place another ball on the tee.
Alex strolled over, a smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. He slid one out when he reached me, offering me his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dempsey.”
His palm was warm against mine, but I didn’t get the same spark over my skin that I did when one of my stepbrothers touched me.
I smiled back. “Likewise.”
A throat cleared behind me, and Sinclair strolled by, so close I could feel the heat of his body.
“Byron...” He stopped beside his father, talking to him in a low voice about company stock prices and necessary trades.
“Do you play?” Alex asked, motioning to my mother’s terrible swing.
I shook my head. “Never even picked up a club.”
“You should give it a go. Maybe I could give you a lesson sometime.”
My mother brightened. “That sounds wonderful. What a kind offer, Alex.”
She turned back to her ball.
Swing and a miss.
Alex grimaced and I pressed my lips together to fight my laugh. Sinclair glanced my way, green eyes burning into me as he spoke with Byron.
What was his problem? He was acting like I was cheating on his brothers by even speaking to Alex, when Sinclair was the one with a girlfriend but spent half his time staring at me when we were in the same room together.
“I’ve always wanted to give it a try,” I lied through my teeth to Alex.
He shifted closer, smiling. “I’d love to teach you.”
A figure loomed over us, Sinclair suddenly standing a little too close.
Alex glanced at him, offering us both a tight smile and sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Nice meeting you, Dempsey. Hopefully see you around.”
He made his way back over to Byron, offering him some advice to correct his swing.
I clenched my jaw, trying hard to stop myself from releasing the string of expletives I wanted to direct at my asshole stepbrother. Opting to ignore him instead, I turned on my heel and power walked my way through the grounds to the back patio. Sinclair caught up to me just as I was hauling the door open.
His fingers closed around my bicep, dragging me inside and crowding me against the wall.
“What the fuck, Sinclair?”
Hard eyes stared down at me. “Flirting with a golf pro is beneath you, Dempsey. You’re an Aston now.”
My expression twisted and I tried to ignore the way my blood rushed through my veins at his proximity. “What the hell does that mean?”
“We have standards. He doesn’t make the cut.”
“Are you kidding me? Presley fucked a waitress after the wedding. What the hell kind of standard is that?”
He shrugged and the sight of it infuriated me. I hated that he was always so composed when my insides were a jumbled mess every time he came near me.
“He’s allowed.” He shook his head slowly. “You’re not.”
I glared at him, irritation flooding me. “What the hell is your problem, you emotionless robot.”
He blinked back at me. “Robot. That’s a new one.”
“Robots are devoid of all emotion. Reminds me of you.”
His usual stoney expression didn’t falter. Not even a flicker.
“I have emotions. I’ve just learned not to display them for everyone to see and use against me. I keep my weaknesses locked down because that’s what it takes to be a fucking winner.”
“Well kudos on winning at everything.” I rolled my eyes and his expression hardened.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
I stilled, my brow creasing at the sharpness of his tone. He shifted closer, his body flush with mine, my back pressing into the wall until my shoulder blades ached. The ache between my legs increased right along with it.
Why did I have to react this way to him? I wanted to hate him. I really did.
“Get off me,” I snapped, trying to shove him back, but he was a brick wall.
“I would…” He leaned down so his mouth was only inches from mine. “...but you don’t really want that.”
A shiver rippled down my spine. He was right. Damn it. Having him pressed against me like this was exactly what I wanted.
“We can’t do this,” I said, my voice breathy and desperate, solely focused on his mouth.
His voice was low and husky. “And why is that?”
I tilted my face up to his, the smallest of spaces between our lips. Barely a breath. “Because you have a girlfriend.”
His eyes flared, and he pulled back in an instant, the heat and pressure of his body leaving me in a rush. I pressed both palms to the wall behind me to stop my legs from giving out.
For fuck’s sake, he was boiling hot, then stone cold.
He stared at me, the rapid way his chest rose and fell the only indication he felt anything at all.
A beat of silence passed between us.
Then another.
“Sinclair—” I started.
He shook his head, silence descending as we entered into the most sexually charged staring contest of my life.
I wanted him. And I wanted him to want me, too.
“Fuck it,” he said suddenly, closing the space between us.
He gripped my jaw in both hands and crushed his mouth to mine.
Our tongues went to war, and if he hadn’t been holding onto me, I would have hit the floor with the way his kiss weakened me.
It was demanding and self-assured, just like he was. He controlled every second of it, and I was all too willing to let him.
Sinclair kissed like he was mad at the world. Or maybe just me.
When he pulled away, I let out a small whimper, my mouth chasing his.
His eyes locked with mine. “Stay the fuck away from the golf pro.”
Then his hands fell from my face, and he turned and stalked away, leaving me cold at the loss of him.
I took a moment to catch my breath, letting him go. He was a total mindfuck.
I pushed off the wall and headed for the entrance hall so I could take the stairs to my room, lock myself in the bathroom, and take the coldest shower of my life.
I’d barely made it to the stairs when one of the maids stopped me to hand me a letter.
I tore it open, dreading the words on the page.
I’m done playing nice.