My behavior toward her in the past was horrible. As a thirteen-year-old, I’d blamed her for taking my father away from me and shattering my mother’s heart and our family. Years, maturity, and life have taught me differently, opening my eyes about the true nature of my parents and their relationship. Dad hadn’t been faithful—hence my two half sisters. Oh yeah. Dad had been a rolling stone.
The truth is, if it hadn’t been Katherine, it eventually would’ve been someone else Dan would’ve left us for. Someone else he would’ve chosen over us. So my resentment toward her is gone.
But not toward him.
As irrational as it may be, there’s this lingering sense of betrayal and anger that lurks in my chest.
My mother longed for this—longsfor this. My father. A family with him. Sunday dinners with him beside her. Over a decade has elapsed since Dan walked out on us for the Gordons, but Mom would take him back in a second if he showed up on her doorstep. Hell, she still lives in the same apartment they shared because it reminds her of him. I’d tried to convince her to move out to California with me, but she turned me down time and time again.
Love. Is it any wonder I don’t want any part of it? After having a VIP pass to the devastation and wreckage it leaves behind? My father used it as an excuse to cheat on my mother and, eventually, as a reason to abandon the woman who refused to leave him.
The strictly physical relationships I’ve indulged in, the one-night stands like Jude—they’re far more honest, less destructive. I’d rather be upfront with a man about what I want and for how long I want it than become a slave to my heat and body, so emotionally out of control I’m ruled by my needs. Or worse, waste away for the “love” of someone.
Unbidden, my gaze drifts to Jude again. Skims over his masculine beauty.
He’s the kind of man a woman could get wrecked over.
Unlike last week, I’m heeding that flashing neon warning now. If I’d obeyed it at the bar, I wouldn’t be in this sticky, worthy-of-a-cheesy-romance-film moment right now.
“Thanks for having me,” I say to Katherine, accepting her hands in mine and squeezing them in a small assurance that I’m not the disrespectful brat I used to be. Well, mostly, I’m not.
A soft smile curves her lips, and the nerves in her eyes don’t disappear, but they lessen.
“Let me introduce you, and then we’ll get to the reason we’re all here. Food.” She laughs, and hooking her arm through mine, guides me around the room.
Even through the introductions to her priest and neighbors, Jude’s scrutiny is a caress that strokes over the hair I spent forty minutes ruthlessly straightening, sweeps down the black cocktail dress that is a relic from my past life, and even brushes over the toes of my stilettoes. I don’t have to peek behind me to verify; Ifeelhis visual touch. It pokes at and stirs the flames that haven’t simmered since I first caught sight of him.
I agreed to attend this dinner because I need Dan’s help—more accurately, his money. I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options, but at the moment, I don’t. I need him to help me with my mom’s medical bills. Not to reconnect with him and establish a relationship that hasn’t been there for too many years to count. Not to reacquaint myself with his chosen family.
And definitely not to revisit a night that was a one-time event.
Okay, so I might have touched myself to the memories of Dan’s middle stepson once or twice in the last week. Fine, four or five.
But now more than ever, Jude is off-limits.
Because he’s my stepbrother.
Now if I can just stop soaking my panties and get my nipples to stand down.
Damn. This is going to be a long dinner.
“So, Cypress, are you enjoying being back home?” Katherine asks, lowering to her chair across the table from me.
I lift the coffee cup she just filled for me, as she did for everyone else at the table, taking a moment to formulate my answer. My first response of “hell no” isn’t the politest response. Not to mention, offending Dan’s wife before I ask him for thousands of dollars isn’t smart either.
“It’s an adjustment after living so long in California, but it’s going fine.” I’m amazed I could admit that with a straight face. Either I’m becoming a good liar or beginning to believe my own brand of bullshit.
“I know your father’s glad you’re back,” she says, placing a hand over Dan’s.
Instead of replying, I sip my coffee. It’s not my business what Dan tells his wife about our relationship, but the fact that he’s “Dan” to me and not “Dad” should be a clue. So should the detail that I’ve been in Chicago for months and this is just the second time we’re seeing each other. We’re more of the call-on-major-holidays-that-commemorate-the birth-or-death-of-Christ relatives. He ceased being a father figure to me years ago—about when he abandoned me at thirteen to clean up the emotional mess he left behind, to sweep together the pieces of a broken woman. Pieces I’m still trying to hold together with duct tape and a prayer.
Which is why I’m here now at this table, pretending. He owes me.
No, he owes Mom.
Setting down my cup, I lift my head and am instantly ensnared by a bright green stare. Over the course of the dinner, I’ve tried to avoid Jude. Which is damn hard to do with him sitting across from me, next to his mother. But it’s either that or drown in memories of the other night.
A small electric pulse tingles in my clit. He’d fulfilled my request; I’d felt him deep inside me as I gathered my clothes and sneaked out of his place. And it wouldn’t require much concentration to close my eyes and feel the lash of his tongue on my sex. Or the stretch and branding of his thick, big cock as it forged a path through my flesh. Or the burn in my ass as his fingers opened me up, possessed me. Underneath the table, I squeeze my thighs together and focus on evening out the breath that threatens to rattle from my throat.
