My Real Love Affair

Chapter 1

AUSTIN

Sunlight stabbed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse suite like fucking daggers.

Grimacing, I rolled over in bed to put the light behind me.

It did nothing to ease the relentless pounding in my head, which sounded just like the bass thumping through the speakers at the nightclub last night.

At least the room wasn’t spinning. That was a good sign.

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. A flash of tanned skin and silky dark hair as someone tried to sneak out of my bed. Long legs. Painted toenails. Floral perfume. And that ass. Damn. Talk about good signs.

Part of me wondered if inviting her back into bed would ease the headache. Orgasms fixed basically everything, right? But hell if I could remember her name. Sarah? Sandra? Something with an S, maybe?

Sexy Shannon?

Fuck.

The whole night was a blur of tequila shots, grinding on the dance floor, and stumbling back here with my hands all over her perfect curves, my lips on hers… and other places. Lucky girl.

I studied the way her shoulder blades rolled inward as she stretched her arms over her head. Her spine arched deliciously, and the two dimples in her lower back teased me.

Sasha? Sunshine? Serendipity?

I rubbed at my eyes. Maybe if my head wasn’t throbbing so loudly, I would remember who this vixen was.

She looked around as I watched her, assessing the mess we’d made last night in our haste to undress.

Her red dress was pooled near the door, and I was pretty sure those were her panties dangling from the abstract sculpture in the corner.

A half-empty bottle of champagne sat on the nightstand next to what looked like the remnants of room service from sometime around three a.m.

She rose off the bed and tried to be quiet, God bless her, tiptoeing around in her birthday suit as she gathered her things.

I had to admit, watching her move was pretty damn enjoyable.

The way her ass looked as she bent to pick up her shoes, the gorgeous boobs that swayed just enough to tell me they were the real deal.

Definitely not the worst way to start a morning.

“Leaving so soon?” I rasped, my voice rough from too much whiskey and not enough sleep.

She jumped and spun around, clutching her dress to her chest. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Right. The classic exit strategy. I’d perfected it myself over the years—slip out before things got awkward, before anyone started talking about breakfast or exchanging numbers. Smart girl.

I rolled out of bed, straightening to my full height and embracing the aches of the evening.

Tight hips. Sore thighs. Swollen biceps.

We’d earned our keep last night. I caught her gaze sweep up and down my body as she shimmied into her dress.

The silk fabric fell over her hips and grazed her thighs.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.

Her lips parted as I grabbed the robe from the floor and shrugged it on, not bothering to tie it closed. I could feel her eyes on my back as I made for the door.

She cleared her throat. “So, Bancroft,” she said, a smile coloring her voice. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Uh-oh.

I thought we were on the same page. No strings. No phone numbers. No double-dipping. Boundaries were crucial to keeping this ship sailing the open seas.

I turned to her when I reached the door, my hand resting on the handle. “It was a real pleasure, sweetheart. Maybe we’ll see each other in the club again.”

She pulled part of her bottom lip between her teeth. “Oh.”

I offered her my most dashing smile. “I mean it though. A real pleasure. I won’t forget you.”

She brightened at that. A compliment always seemed to do the trick for the girls who couldn’t make up their minds. One minute, she wanted to sneak out, and the next, she wanted to leave the door open for us to hook up again. Maybe I should have pretended to be asleep to avoid the waffling.

When I opened the door, Susan?—nah, too old—gasped. Frowning, I peered around the open door and looked out into the hall.

Shit.

A dark-haired man in a suit stood there like some kind of expensive statue, all sharp angles and disapproval in his perfectly tailored navy suit. His dark hair was slicked back without a strand out of place, and his gray eyes were colder than a fucking iceberg.

Cash Bancroft, my older brother.

I hadn’t seen him in months. Maybe longer. Cash had been overseas handling the family’s international investments while I’d been doing… well, women like Sicily. Stacy? Serena?

“Cash!” I grinned, pulled my robbed closed, and gestured to the brunette beside me. “I’d like you to meet—” Shit. “This beautiful woman.”

She looked at me like I’d just grown a second head. “Seriously? We spent the entire night together and you don’t remember my name?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart. You’re…” I scrambled through my alcohol-soaked memory banks, coming up empty. “You’re unforgettable… Shelby.”

She rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t fall out of her head. “Unbelievable.” She pushed past Cash, hesitated, and spun back to face me. “My friends were right. You’re a waste of time.”

She marched off down the hall, chin up, perky ass swaying. I leaned out the door to admire her fiery exit.

I rubbed my bare chest and chuckled. “She was a lot sweeter last night.”

Cash didn’t crack so much as a smile. Instead, he pushed his way into the penthouse like he owned the place.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice carrying that authoritative tone that made him sound exactly like our old man. He was ten years older than I was, but sometimes he acted like he was fifty years older than all of us.

I closed the door and followed him into the living room, where he stood taking in the disaster zone with obvious distaste. Empty bottles, takeout containers, and an empty condom wrapper decorated the expensive furniture like party favors.

Cash had always been the responsible one, the golden child who could do no wrong in Armand Bancroft’s eyes.

While I’d been getting expelled from prep schools and making headlines for all the wrong reasons, Cash had been studying abroad, learning the business, proving he was worthy of inheriting the throne.

He was going to be the head of the snake one day—we all knew it.

And Cash being here in my penthouse looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world was probably a bad sign.

Really bad.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he tried to lie.

“I like it.” I walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Thankfully, there was a bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the counter. I snatched it, popped two pills into my mouth, and swallowed them down while he continued to look around the rented suite. “It suits my lifestyle.”

Cash turned to face me, disapproval radiating from him like heat from asphalt. He was all barbed wire and sharp edges, every inch the Bancroft heir apparent. “Sit your ass down and clean your ears out, Austin.”

“My ears work fine.” And as much as I wanted to defy him and stay standing, I had a bit of the shakes. I needed protein. And carbs. And a lot more water.

I flopped onto the couch. Cash’s eyes dropped to where the robe had fallen open. I grinned and closed it. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

“Dad is going to cut your access to your trust if you don’t get your shit together.”

I laughed—actually laughed—because I’d heard this song before.

Hell, I could probably sing it from memory at this point.

“Right. How many times has the old man threatened that now? Ten? Twenty? At this point, it’s like crying wolf.

The threat doesn’t mean anything anymore.

He already cut off the bulk of it. Whatever.

Fuck it. I told him before I don’t care. ”

“This time is different, and we both know you do care.”

“Is it different?” I stretched out on the couch, making myself comfortable. “Because I thought things were all good after Christmas. We had that whole touching family reunion thing where everyone pretended to give a shit about each other.”

And that was the truth. This past Christmas, when I’d actually shown up to support Kent up north, Dad had shown up.

There’d been handshakes and back slaps and talk about moving forward.

I thought maybe, just maybe, they were finally ready to accept that I wasn’t going to fall in line like my brothers.

That I was going to keep doing exactly what I’d always done: whatever the hell I wanted.

But apparently, there had been strings attached.

They’d expected me to drop my head, tuck my tail between my legs, and transform into a good little Bancroft boy overnight.

When I kept living my life the way I always had, I’d felt the familiar chill of disapproval creeping back in.

The gradual freezing out that I knew so well.

Cash moved closer, towering over me like some kind of grim reaper. “You think this is a joke? You think Dad’s just blowing smoke?”

“I think the old man’s been threatening to cut me off since I was sixteen and got caught with the mayor’s daughter in the pool house. It’s his go-to move when he doesn’t like what I’m doing.”

“This isn’t about some teenage rebellion, Austin. This is about you being thirty years old and acting like you’re still in college.”

“And what’s wrong with that? I’m not hurting anyone. I’m just living my life.”

Cash reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. “You want to know what’s wrong with it? Listen to this.”

He tapped the screen, and suddenly my own voice filled the room, slurred and unmistakably mine. I was clearly hitting on someone, my words loose and careless from too much alcohol.

“What’s it like being one of the wealthiest bachelors in New York City?” A female voice giggled.

My recorded voice laughed, and I could hear the arrogance dripping from every word. “It’s a joke, sweetheart. The last name doesn’t mean shit to me. I’m just happy to keep spending their money.”

The girl giggled again, and the recording cut off.

Shit. That was definitely my voice, and those were definitely my words, but I had absolutely zero memory of saying them. Which meant I’d been pretty hammered. Again.

Cash leveled me with a dark look that could have frozen hell over. “You drunk dialed one of your flings this morning at four a.m. She’s a reporter.”

The words made my already churning gut churn a whole lot faster. A reporter. Of course it was a fucking reporter.

“It’s going to hit the media,” Cash continued, his voice deadly calm. “And then Dad’s going to hear it. I suggest you make sure he hears it from you first, not from some scandal rag with a catchy headline about the Bancroft family disappointment.”

He walked into the bedroom. I got up and followed him. He stepped on another condom wrapper. It had been a good night.

He muttered under his breath and walked to the closet. I watched as he jerked open the doors and cursed again. He yanked out a clean shirt and pants and tossed them at me. “Shower. You smell like a fucking brothel. Get dressed. We’re going to the estate.”

“Now? It’s not even noon.”

“Now. And Austin?” He turned to face me one more time, and something in his expression made my stomach drop. “After today, you’re getting neutered. Figuratively speaking.”