

OFF LIMITS

JL Paul

Copyright © 2014 JL Paul

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved worldwide.

No part of this ebook may be copied or sold or distributed or posted to any website without prior written permission by the author -- if you have this file (or a printout) and didn't pay for it, you are depriving the author and publisher of their rightful royalties.

All characters in this book are entirely imaginary and any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Raised voices lifted me out of sleep, like a large hand ripping warm blankets off my body in the dead of winter. Groaning, I buried my head in my pillow, hoping to drown out the argument. It was no use, though. They'd hit their stride and there was nothing to do but ride it out.

Dragging my body out of bed, I walked across the hall to the shower. Once I finished and dressed, the argument seemed to have blown over, at least for now.

When I got downstairs, Kalvin grinned over his paper, his chunky face alight with pleasure.

"Good morning, India," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Sure," I mumbled, digging a box of cereal out of the cabinet. Kalvin had greeted me the same way for the past three years, ever since he'd married my mother and moved us into his huge house.

"Are you excited about camp?" he continued, his face behind the paper again.

"I guess," I said. 'Camp' was actually a six week summer course that I'd signed up to take. It was being held at an art gallery in Chicago and would take up my entire summer until I started classes at art school in the fall.

And I wasn't sorry one bit.

It wasn't that I hated my stepfather or the big house or even my mother. I just hated this small town with all the gossip. I hated the people that I'd gone to high school with. I hated my life.

"We'll be heading for the airport in about half an hour," Kalvin said, shaking out his paper. "You're all packed, right?"

"Yes," I said, shoveling cereal into my mouth. I'd started packing almost as soon as I'd been accepted into the program. There was only one thing bothering me – my living arrangements.

"Jackson will pick you up at the airport," Kalvin continued, folding up his paper and sipping his coffee. "He has a nice place. You should be very comfortable."

I nodded, not wanting to argue. I'd tried to dissuade Kalvin from the idea of me living with his son, but Kalvin wouldn't hear it. He was determined that we all become a loving family, even though it was quite obvious his marriage was in trouble.

"Is Mom coming to the airport?" I asked.

"No," he said, slowly, avoiding my eyes. "She had a meeting this morning."

"Oh," I said, dumping the rest of my soggy cereal into the sink. Rinsing the bowl, I placed it into the dishwasher, anger erupting in my brain. Meeting my butt. She was probably shopping with her friends, forgetting, once again, that she had a daughter.

Once I was ready, Kalvin helped me with my bags and drove me out of the little town to the airport in Indianapolis. It was only about a four hour drive to Chicago, but Kalvin had insisted on sending me by plane. A waste of money in my opinion but it was Kalvin's money to waste and if he didn't mind, I wasn't complaining.

I didn't settle in on the plane since it was such a short flight – I was far too nervous, anyway. I hadn't seen my stepbrother since the wedding and he hadn't made much of an impression on me. Sullen with a scowl affixed to his face, he'd hardly said a word. He stood beside his father as best man but disappeared during the reception. One of my cousins saw him out back with a pretty girl that was supposed to be serving drinks.

According to Kalvin, Jackson was very smart. He'd graduated high school early, earning college credits his junior and senior year. He left home for college and never came back, opting to register for summer courses and finishing with a degree after a few short years.

Now, at the age of twenty-three, he had some fancy, high-paying job with a recording studio. I didn't know what his position was or even the name of the studio. I didn't much care. If he wanted nothing to do with the family, then why I should bother to find out more about him?

I didn't have much of a choice now, though. Kalvin had arranged for me to stay with Jackson while I attended class. I'd argued that I'd prefer to rent a studio apartment or even a hotel room, but Kalvin wouldn't hear of it.

"You'll be safer and I'll have peace of mind," he'd said. Safe from what, I didn't know.

So, I was stuck staying with a stepbrother who hated me and my mother, only spoke to my stepfather when he had to, and pretty much led some mysterious life.

After a quick flight, I got off the plane, my knees practically knocking. Jackson Wenter was a stranger to me, not family. I wasn't looking forward to this at all.

I found him easily enough. He hadn't changed since I'd seen him three years ago at the wedding. He stood there, looking bored, with sunglasses shoved on top of his dark, curly hair. His brown eyes skipped over the people in front of me, narrowing when they landed on me.

"How much shit do you have?" he asked when I stopped in front of him.

"Just two bags," I said, a little put out with the less than warm welcome. I hadn't been expecting a hug, but this was pathetic.

"Let's get them. I have shit to do today," he said turning toward the carousels. I followed, helpless to stop checking him out. He was dressed in jeans and sneakers, a blue shirt stretched across his back, not hiding his build. Tattoos wrapped around his biceps, some sort of tribal junk that all the tough guys seemed to have. It was sexy, though. Everything about Jackson was sexy – except his attitude.

I pointed out my bags which he grabbed with ease, shouldering the straps, before marching out of the airport. I hurried to keep up with him, lugging my carryon and gasping for breath. He led me to a dark blue sports car, opened the trunk, and dropped my bags inside.

"Get in," he ordered, taking the carryon from me, tossing it on top of the other bags.

I got in the car, admiring the leather and fancy stereo. He must be doing well to afford all this, unless his father bought it for him.

He didn't speak the entire drive from the airport to the condo complex where he lived. It was a beautiful community with handsome, free-standing condos amid gorgeous beds of flowers bursting with color. The yards were small but well-kept, the roads newly paved, and the sidewalks loaded with people walking dogs, jogging, or just enjoying the beautiful June weather.

Jackson pulled into the drive of a condo located in the back of the community and hopped out of the car, quickly gathering the luggage. I trailed behind him, snatching my carryon bag before walking up stone path to the house.

The condo was large and clean and tastefully decorated. I wondered if he'd done it himself or if he'd paid someone to do it. The first floor held a large living room with a fireplace and bowed windows looking out onto the street.

"There's the kitchen," he said, pointing to his right. The ceramic tiled floor glistened in the sunlight gleaming through the French doors that led to a deck and a fenced yard. An island sat in the middle with gleaming copper pots hanging above.

An open door showed me a blue powder room with a pedestal sink.

"Upstairs," he said, carrying my bags up a set of stairs. The long hall was carpeted, art prints hanging on the walls. He pointed at a door at the end. "My room. Stay out of it."

Like I wanted to go into his room. The baby.

"Your room," he said, opening the door to a plain bedroom painted neutral beige. There were no curtains on the windows, only mini blinds. The bedspread was a pretty sage green and the furniture heavy. "There's a bathroom across the hall that you can use. Just clean up after yourself. I'm not your maid."

"And I'm not a slob," I snapped, weary of his attitude.

He snorted, dropped my bags, and left the room.

I sank to the bed, contemplating my new life. How was I going to deal with this for the next six weeks?

Slowly, I began to unpack, hanging up my blouses, shoving jeans and shorts into the dresser. Lastly, I unpacked my art supplies, placing them neatly in the empty bookshelf. Grabbing my sketchbook and a few pencils, I climbed on the bed and began to sketch my new bedroom, adding details, decorating the room on paper like I'd never decorate it in real life. I sat there for hours, drawing, my fingers starting to cramp, until Jackson pounded on the door.

"What?" I called.

He opened the door, his chiseled face appearing around the corner. His features were sharp and beautiful, urging me to draw them. "I have food. Come eat."

"Okay," I said, closing my book and placing it carefully on my pillow.

I plopped down the stairs to the kitchen where I found two pizza boxes open on the island. I picked up a plate and placed two slices on it before sitting on one of the stools.

"We need to get a few things straight," Jackson said, gnawing on his crust. "I work a lot and I don't have time to drive you all over the place."

"I don't expect you to," I said, wishing that I had my own car. I had a feeling that I was going to need an escape.

He pointed at an envelope on the counter. "There's a bus pass, schedule, and a house key. The bus will take you to the gallery every day and bring you home."

The bus. Great.

"Fine," I said as he opened up the fridge and grabbed two sodas. He pushed one to me. I didn't bother to thank him.

"I don't give a shit what you do as long as you don't bring anybody to my house or trash my house in any way. Also, stay away from my car. Don't bug the piss out of me or my friends when they're here. My father gave me your cell phone number. Did he give you mine?"

I nodded.

"Good. You can text me if you're going to be out with your friends or something just so I know," he said, narrowing his eyes. "In case your mother bugs the piss out of me about your whereabouts."

My mother wouldn't bug him because she wouldn't care. And even if she did, she'd call or text me, not him.

"Fine," I said, my appetite disappearing.

"I go to work early and sometimes get home late," he said. "You can make your own meals; I'm not cooking for you. Just clean up when you're done."

I rolled my eyes.

"There's a debit card in the envelope from my father," he said with a snarl. "You can buy whatever crap you like to eat."

Sure, and drag it home on the bus. How convenient.

"There's a store down the street," he added.

Placing two more slices on his plate, he grabbed his drink and stormed into the living room, leaving me by myself.

I finished my pizza, rinsed my plate, and set it in the dishwasher. Closing the pizza box, I placed it in the fridge, wondering what to do with the other box which was empty.

"Leave it," Jackson said as he walked into the kitchen to place his plate in the dishwasher. "There's a recycling bin in the garage."

As if to prove his point, he snatched the box off the counter and carried it into the garage. I finished my drink and waited for him to return to the house before opening the garage door and tossing the can in the red bin.

I returned to my room where I opened my laptop and browsed the internet, bored. It was too early to go to bed, but I was tempted, just to escaped the boredom.

There was no TV in the room, although I did see a cable hookup thing in the corner. I wasn't going downstairs to watch TV with the idiot, though. I was just going to have to make do with the computer.

Before turning in, I studied the bus schedule, discovering that I was going to have to get up really early to catch the bus. Hatred for Jackson swept over me. The man had to work in the morning; certainly he could drop me off on the way.

I wasn't going to ask him, though. He wasn't thrilled with me living here and definitely wouldn't want to take me to the gallery. He'd made that much clear almost immediately.

Setting the alarm on my phone, I plugged it into the charger and set it on the nightstand beside the bed. I changed into pajamas and crossed the hall to brush my teeth, nearly crashing into Jackson who was headed toward his room.

"Sorry," I mumbled, looking up at him. His dark eyes were narrowed, grazing my body. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I realized that I was wearing a flimsy pink shorts and tank combination. My mother, who rarely had time for me, had insisted that her daughter not be tomboyish. She constantly bought me stylish clothes and expensive makeup. She even took me to her favorite department store and had the girls working the makeup counter teach me how to properly apply the stuff.

The pajamas were something my mother had picked out, too, and probably a little too sexy for her eighteen-almost-nineteen year old daughter. Not that she cared.

I scooted out of the way, closing the bathroom door behind me, wondering about the look Jackson had given me. He hadn't been shy about it, either, nor had he tried to hide it. Probably comparing me to the hot, sexy women he came in contact with at his job. I wasn't sure what he did, but if he worked in a record studio, he must see lots of women all the time.

After brushing my teeth, I checked the hallway before charging into my room. I slipped into bed and into a restless sleep.

***

My alarm fired off after what seemed like a very short time. Grumbling under my breath, I turned it off, gathered my clothes, and trudged to the shower. After drying and straightening my hair, I applied makeup, appraising my appearance in the mirror.

I had inherited my mother's green eyes and black hair – but that was all. I dressed in denim cropped pants and a white, short-sleeved blouse that brought out the tan I'd been working on before being shipped off to Jackson's house.

Slipping my feet into flip flips, I grabbed the bag I'd packed full of art equipment, my phone, and the envelope Jackson had given me before charging down the stairs. I was surprised to see Jackson standing at the island, sipping coffee and browsing the paper.

My heart stopped in my chest. He was a beautiful sight dressed in a neat black suit, white shirt, and red tie. His hair was fashioned in a mussed sort of way that only enhanced his attractiveness.

"There's coffee if you want it," he grunted, calling me back to attention.

"Um, no thanks," I said. "I need to go. I don't want to miss the bus."

He didn't say a word so I slipped out the door and walked toward the complex entrance where the bus was supposed to stop.

No one was at the stop when I reached it, which was nice. I didn't want to try to make conversation with strangers this early in the morning.

Unfortunately, the bus was fairly full of people in a variety of clothing - men in suits, women in dresses, older women in slacks, a few people in jeans. I took the first available seat and stared out the window for the entire forty-five minute ride.

Class was interesting and taught by a free-spirited woman who clearly belonged in the sixties. She insisted we call her Annie and started by calling all our names and having us stand and talk about ourselves. Once the awkwardness was over, she explained what she hoped we'd achieve in her class and then set us to work sketching. She'd placed various items on a table, told us to select two and start working. The exercise, she explained, was just for her to see what direction we needed to go.

The classroom was in the basement of the gallery, close to a small room with vending machines that the employees must use on breaks. We were given a break about halfway through class in which most of us gathered in that little room, hitting up the machines.

As I'd had nothing to eat that morning, my stomach was rumbling. Selecting a bag of chips and a Diet Coke, I sat at a table by myself, watching the others.

"Mind if I sit here?"

I looked up at a cute, slim guy with freckles and blond hair. He wore a warm, friendly smile that put me at ease.

"Sure," I said.

"Thanks," he said, ripping the wrapper off of a candy bar. "I'm Fletcher Ots. And you are?"

"India Souter," I said. "What do you think of the class so far?"

"Not too bad," Fletcher said. "The teacher's a little out there, but I suppose that's to be expected."

"Hey, Fletcher. I wondered where you'd got to," said a short girl with curly red hair and wire-framed glasses. "Oh, hi. I'm Lauren."

"India," I said.

"Wow, that's an unusual name," she said. "Pretty."

"Thanks," I said with a shrug. "My mom likes unusual names. I suppose if I had any siblings, they'd have names like that, too."

We chatted for the entire break, returning to the classroom when the other students started filtering out.

When class ended at one, I walked outside with Fletcher and Lauren, happy to see the sun again. The bus stop was two blocks away, but I had time. The bus wasn't supposed to show until one-twenty.

"Great class," Lauren said, crinkling her nose. "I can't wait to hear what this big project is that she's going to give us tomorrow."

"Hard telling," Fletcher said, giving me a smile. "Did you drive?"

Shaking my head, I was about to tell him that I'd taken the bus, but the words stuck in my throat as a dark blue sports car pulled up to the curb.

"Nice car," Fletcher said.

I cringed.

The passenger side window whirred down and Jackson leaned across the console. "Get in. I'll take you home."

Just what I didn't want.

"Do you know him?" Fletcher asked.

"My stepbrother. See you two tomorrow," I said as I trudged to the car and hopped inside. "Thanks."

"I was going this way," he said, easing into traffic.

"Are you done working for the day?" I asked.

"For now," he said.

He didn't ask about class or anything else as he drove, just kept his eyes on the road. As soon as we arrived at the condo, I hurried up to my room, shutting the door. I flipped open my sketch book, gathered some pencils, and crawled on the bed. My fingers were itching to draw him – the chiseled cheeks, straight nose, piercing eyes.

I worked for a few hours, trying to get the sketch just right. Finally, he burst through the door, arms crossed over his chest.

"You don't have to hide up here all the time," he said.

"I wasn't hiding," I said, flipping the book shut before he could see what I'd been drawing.

"I made food if you want to eat."

He walked out and I waited until I heard his feet on the steps before leaving my room, preparing for an uncomfortably silent dinner.
Chapter Two

My first week at Jackson's set a weird routine. I took the bus every morning, attended class, took the bus home, and pretty much kept to myself. Jackson worked late into the evenings so that I had the house to myself. I fixed simple meals, making sure to clean up afterwards, and watched TV until I heard his car pull in the drive. When that happened, I'd turn off the television and run upstairs to my room.

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny. I slept in a bit before dragging my groggy body downstairs, intending to linger over a cup of coffee and some hot rolls that I'd purchased from the store down the street.

Unfortunately, Jackson was sitting at the island, sipping coffee and reading the paper. He obviously wasn't going to the office that day as he was dressed in casual shorts and a t-shirt. He didn't say a word as I set about fixing my rolls and pouring a cup of coffee. I was used to his silent treatment already and preferred it over his gruff or snide remarks.

Just as I was taking a bite into a scrumptious hot roll, my cell phone rang. Wiping my sticky fingers on a napkin, I quickly answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, India. It's Fletcher."

"Hi, Fletcher," I said, chancing a glance at Jackson who was watching me with narrowed eyes. "What's up?"

"I was thinking about checking out that new exhibit at the Art Museum this morning. Are you interested?"

"Sure," I said. "What time are you going?"

"I was going to leave in about an hour," he said.

"Let me check the bus schedule and I..."

"Nah, I'll come get you," he said. "It's not a problem."

"Great," I said, rattling off Jackson's address. "I'll be ready in an hour."

Ending the call, I set the phone on the counter, smiling. I'd been dreading spending the entire day in my room or avoiding Jackson and Fletcher had just given me an excellent escape.

"Who the hell are you inviting to my house?" Jackson asked as he folded up his newspaper.

"I didn't invite anyone here," I snapped, cleaning up my breakfast mess.

"I just heard you give someone my address."

"It's just this guy from art class who is picking me up," I said. "He's not coming in."

"Where are you going?"

Sending him a glare, I crossed my arms over my chest. "To the Art Museum, not like it's any of your business. I won't be here all day so you can have your precious house to yourself."

Rolling his eyes, he crossed the room to refill his coffee cup. "I'm having friends over tonight so don't bug the shit out of me when you get home."

Like I usually bug the shit out of him. "Whatever," I grunted as I hurried upstairs to get ready.

I wasn't sure if this was a date or not so I dressed carefully in a navy blue flirty skirt and a pink shirt, and applied just a touch of makeup. Slipping into flip flops, I tossed my key, wallet, and phone into a small purse and hurried downstairs to wait for Fletcher. I didn't want him coming to the door – I could just imagine Jackson's reaction.

"Don't you think that skirt is too short?" Jackson asked as I walked into the living room to peer out the window.

"No, I think it's fine."

He grunted, his eyes on the television. Although the TV was on, an awkward silence hung in the air. I was never so happy to see someone when Fletcher pulled up to the curb in an aging Honda.

Without further word to Jackson, I rushed out of the house, meeting Fletcher halfway.

"I was going to come to the door and everything," he grinned. My heart lifted.

"Well, my stepbrother is sort of an ass," I explained as I hopped into the car. "I didn't want to subject you to that."

"I get it," he said, starting the car.

I'd never been to the Art Museum and I wasn't disappointed. Each exhibit was skillfully arranged, highlighting the best pieces while not taking from the others.

Fletcher and I strolled through the exhibits, laughing at some, wowing at others. He was extremely knowledgeable – far more than me – and explained stuff like meaning and symbolism. I just liked to draw and paint.

We spent hours at the museum, going back to view our favorites several times, until we finally had enough.

"Want to grab something to eat?" he asked.

I agreed since we'd spent the entire day in the museum pausing only to grab sandwiches from the tiny cafeteria at noon. I was starving.

He took me to an Italian place close the museum. The dining room was cramped with several small, intimate tables shoved together. Candles flickered from the tables in an effort to create ambiance. It wasn't working.

But Fletcher loved it.

After being seated, we perused the menu, discussing possible entrees. I settled on chicken fettuccini while he chose lasagna.

"So, you're from Indianapolis?" he asked once the waitress had taken our order.

"No, I'm from a small town near Indy," I explained. "It's a tiny little town full of gossipmongers and idiots."

He snorted into his drink. "Wow, sounds fun. No wonder you came here."

"Are you from Chicago?" I asked.

"The suburbs," he said. "The art gallery sponsoring this class held one last year, too. It was sculpturing. I took it and it was great. I'm not so sure about this one, though."

"I don't think it's that bad," I said. "I mean, Annie is a little out there, but she knows her stuff."

"I suppose," Fletcher said. "So, what are you going to do for your final project?"

"I'm not sure," I mused as I toyed with the straw in my soda. Annie had assigned us a project to hand in during the last week of class. She wanted us to pick a subject and do a three portrait series of that subject. I had an idea, but I didn't think I had the nerve to actually do it.

"I had an idea," Fletcher said. "How about if we do each other?"

Although I found Fletcher adorable, he didn't inspire me at all. But, as I had to get started on the project right away, I didn't have much of a choice.

"Sure," I said.

"Great," he exclaimed. "We can start Monday when Annie gives us time to work on the projects."

"Okay," I said.

The waitress brought our food and conversation turned casual while we ate. When we finished, Fletcher hinted around that we could hit a club or something, but I wasn't in the mood. I wasn't really in a hurry to get back to Jackson's, but I was a little curious to see these friends of his.

Fletcher pulled up to the curb, putting the car in park, and then turning to me. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but that moment passed.

Several cars were parked in the driveway – all expensive and fancy like Jackson's. Seemed as if his little get together was already under way.

"Thanks for a great day," I said.

"Sure, I had fun," he said. "I'll see you in class Monday."

I hopped out of the car and made my way slowly up the walk. Stepping inside, I could hear boisterous voices in the living room. Tiptoeing through the entry, I hurried to the stairs, not wanting to be seen by any of Jackson's friends.

"Oh, you must be the stepsister Jackson told me about."

Starting, I peeked into the kitchen to see a pretty brunette, fussing with a tray full of sub sandwiches. Her blue eyes were warm, as was her smile as she approached me, extending a hand.

"I'm Melina," she said. "A friend of Jackson's. You are India, right?"

"Yes," I said, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Are you joining us?" she asked.

I wanted to snort, but I didn't want to offend her. What someone so nice was doing hanging around Jackson, I didn't know.

"Thanks, but I've had a long day and I have some work to do on an art project."

"That's too bad," she said, placing a sandwich on a plate. "Well, it was nice to meet you."

"You, too," I said, hurrying up the stairs.

I quickly shed the skirt for a pair of sweat shorts and grabbed my sketch pad. Getting comfortable on the bed, my pencil hovered over a fresh sheet, but I was totally blank. Curiosity raged inside me so I set my sketchbook aside and wandered down the hall near the landing.

Some sort of sports game was on the television. Judging by the voices, there was a mixture of men and women.

Leaning against the wall, I listened, catching snatches of the conversation. They weren't exactly being quiet.

"...by his feet! How the hell can they call that a strike?"

"Shut up, Ben." A feminine voice.

"...more sandwiches."

"I met your sister in the kitchen."

I froze, eyes wide, frightened to hear Jackson's response.

"Stepsister," he snapped.

"Where is she?" asked a high-pitched voice. "I want to meet her. I've never met your family."

"She's not family," Jackson said, voice rising. "She's just a pain in the ass."

"Bring her down here, man," said a man. "Why you hiding her? Is she hot or something?"

"Don't be a pig."

"Jackson, if she's just sitting up in her room, why don't you invite her to hang out with us?" That was the kind voice of Melina, the girl I'd just met.

I had a feeling that Jackson wouldn't show his true feelings in front of his friends so I dashed to my room, quietly shutting the door. I sat on my bed, grabbing my sketchpad, and sure enough, a knock sounded at the door.

"What?" I asked.

He opened the door, annoyance all over his face. "My friends want you to come down."

"So?" I asked.

"So, come down. Make an appearance. Then disappear."

With a heavy sigh, I put the book down and scooted off the bed. "Fine."

His eyes traveled up my bare legs, stopping at the skimpy shorts I'd thrown on. "And don't wear that."

"What – I'm supposed to dress up now?" I asked.

"No," he growled, glancing at the shorts. "But you're not wearing that down there."

"Fine," I said, yanking a pair of cropped sweats out of my drawer. "Get out and I'll change."

He stepped outside the door, but I knew he was waiting for me. I quickly changed and then joined him in the hall.

"All you have to do is say hello and then leave," he ordered.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "You don't want to share funny family stories?"

"Not in the least," he said, stomping down the stairs. He stormed into the living room, pointing over his shoulder. "This is India."

"Hi," I said, standing in the doorway.

"Come in and sit," Melina said. She pointed at two guys sitting on the sofa. "That's Ben and Phil. This is Celeste."

Celeste was a busty blonde with pouty lips hovering near Jackson, looking at him as if she wanted to devour him.

I perched on the arm of an empty chair, chancing a glance at the TV. A baseball game was playing, though what teams, I didn't know. I rarely followed sports.

"I can't stay," I said with a smile. "I have a project to work on for my art class."

"You're an artist?" Celeste asked, brow raised.

"I'm just taking classes," I said as Jackson brushed past me to go to the kitchen.

"Do you paint or sculpt?" Melina asked.

"Paint and sketch," I said.

"Do you have any sketches you could show us?" she asked.

Biting my lip, I struggled with an excuse just as Jackson walked by, beers in hand. "You gotta have something up there – you're always drawing."

I gaped at him, stunned at the soft tone to his voice. He always addressed me in a business-like or gruff voice.

"Go get it," Melina said.

"Okay," I sighed, running up the stairs. Digging through my books, I found one that had no sketches of Jackson – mostly drawings of dogs and animals around my old neighborhood.

When I got back to the living room, Melina patted the spot beside her on the loveseat. She handed me a beer as I sat beside her.

"Don't look at me like that, Jackson," Melina said. "She can have a beer. She's not going anywhere."

Jackson shrugged as Celeste sat on the arm of his chair, running her fingers through his hair.

Melina opened the book and exclaimed right away at the sketches. "These are amazing. Do you just do animals?"

"No," I said. "I do just about everything."

"Aw, is this your horse?"

"It belongs to the family across the street from me," I said, conscious of Jackson's eyes on me.

"Isn't this fabulous?" she asked, holding the book up for Jackson and Celeste.

"Adorable, "Celeste said.

Jackson grunted.

I sipped my beer.

Eventually, as the game ended, Jackson got up to peer over Melina's shoulder.

"Did you know she was this talented?" Melina asked.

Jackson's eyes darted to me and then back to the book in which Melina had flipped open to a drawing of a barn and paddock, several horses grazing.

"No," he said, his eyes studying the sketch.

"It's brilliant," Melina said.

I finished my beer.

After looking at all the drawings, Melina handed me back the book. "You have real talent."

"Thanks," I said, hugging the book to my chest. "Thanks, too, for the beer, but I need to get some work done on my project."

Before anyone could object, I hurried out of the room and up the stairs. There, I collapsed on the bed, catching my breath.

Grabbing a fresh book, I began sketching, capturing the angles and planes of Jackson's face, taking a lot of time to get the intensity of his eyes exactly right. So lost in my work, I didn't notice the time until I heard the door open and close, and voices outside. Looking out my window, I watched as Jackson's friends got in their cars and left.

Shutting my book, I changed into a short nightgown and went across the hall to wash my face and brush my teeth.

Exiting the bathroom, I was surprised to see Jackson leaning against the wall, his head cocked and his eyes narrowed.

"What?" I asked, heart thumping in my chest.

He didn't say anything for a long time, just continued to stare at me. Finally, he moved across the hall, standing in front of me. I craned my neck, eyes wide, frightened by the verbal assault I was sure to receive.

"Did you enjoy yourself today?" he asked.

I inched sideways, away from the bathroom door - which was a mistake. My back hit the wall and I realized that I had no escape.

"Yes, I did," I said.

"Are you dating this guy? The guy that picked you up?" he asked.

I shook my head. "He's just a friend from class."

"He wants you, I bet," he said, stepping closer. There was barely an inch of space between us. "Better watch yourself."

I couldn't think of a thing to say – my mind was muddled by his nearness.

Reaching out a hand, he touched the hair on my shoulder, winding the strand around his finger. His eyes dropped to my lips and I could smell beer on his breath.

"You're a pretty girl. Guys only want one thing from pretty girls, but I suppose you know that already," he said, his voice near a whisper.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

His mouth crashed against mine, forcing me into the wall. His free hand was on my thigh, under my nightgown, stroking the bare skin.

I clenched his shirt in my fists, startled by his actions.

His tongue pried open my mouth as his lips massaged mine. My eyes fluttered closed as I continued to cling to him, kissing him back. The hand in my hair moved to my neck, his thumb caressing my skin. A groan left his mouth, turning my knees to jelly and heating my insides.

He pressed into me, deepening the kiss. I grabbed his arms, feeling the thick muscle beneath my fingers. I was growing warmer and warmer, my body urging me to shove him into my bedroom. But I remained where I was, living in that wonderful moment.

He wrenched his lips off of mine, horror in his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath coming in gasps. His hands remained on my body as did mine on his. I looked at him, not sure what to do now, my lips swollen, my groin buzzing.

"You are a slut, just like your mother," he said, his body growing rigid.

Horrified, I ripped my hands off his arms, placing them on his chest. I shoved him back and edged around him, running to the safety of my bedroom. After slamming the door, I leaned against it, hand on my heart. Humiliation ripped my insides as my heart fell.

What the hell had happened?

Confused and befuddled, I could only stand there, looking at the room my stepbrother had reluctantly provided me, and wonder why he'd kissed me so thoroughly and then accused me of being a slut.

Once my breath had evened out, I shut off the light and slipped into bed, hugging the pillow. Tears slipped unbidden from my eyes and I wished I could just run. Where would I go? Definitely not home. There'd be no comfort there.

I was stuck. I would just have to avoid him better, even if that meant spending entire weekends at the little park in the middle of the condo complex.

Or, I thought as an idea slipped into my head. I could get a job and rent my own hotel room. I'd be nineteen very soon. I was old enough to stay on my own. Kalvin would be disappointed, sure, but then, he didn't know what an ass his son was.

Closing my eyes, I fell into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Three

I spent the majority of Sunday morning in my bedroom, not daring to go downstairs. I didn't want to face Jackson – couldn't bear the thought of it. I snuck to the bathroom, checking first to make sure he wasn't lurking in the hall, and took the hottest shower I could stand. Scrubbing myself raw, I hoped to rid my body of the feel of his hands.

Once safely ensconced in my room, I pondered what had happened. What had made him kiss me like that? He hadn't been drunk, or at least I didn't think that he was. I didn't know him well enough to be sure.

Was he attracted to me in some sick sort of way? That had to be impossible. The beautiful and sexy Celeste had been throwing herself at him all night. Certainly he'd prefer someone like that.

What bothered me the most was his comment. He'd accused me of being a slut, like my mother.

I'd always known that my mother wasn't the most chaste person back in Grenlind, my little hometown. Rumors had followed me through most of my school years, people whispering behind my back about my mother sleeping with this man or that one. And while I knew that she wasn't a prostitute, she certainly never wanted for anything. Her many suitors constantly showered her in money and gifts. Her first husband, who hadn't been my father, had had plenty of money. She stayed with him long enough to gain half of his finances in the divorce.

She'd had plenty of men since, though she hadn't married again until she'd met Kalvin. A beautiful woman, she exuded confidence and sex. Men fell at her feet, certain that they could tame her and make her a blissful wife and mother.

Never happened.

And with all the arguing going on back home, it was looking like Kalvin might join the ranks of brokenhearted men littering the little town. I was glad that I would be away at school and not witness to it.

My rumbling stomach finally got the best of me around noon. Knowing that I couldn't avoid him forever, I trudged down the steps to the kitchen, thankful that it was empty.

I quickly made a sandwich, grabbed a soda, and scrambled to my room. I opened my laptop, tuning into Internet TV to watch whatever lame show they were airing.

That evening, the heavy scent of garlic wafted up to my room, squeezing under the door, awakening my stomach. I wanted to eat but I wouldn't go down there while he was cooking. So far, he'd taken my lead and had left me alone.

Loud, feminine giggles drifted up the stairs. I looked out my window to see a silver car parked behind Jackson's. He had company. Great. Maybe once he finished eating, he'd be preoccupied and I could sneak something from the fridge.

I opened my door a crack so I could monitor what was going on downstairs. The voice was familiar – high pitched and pouty. It was Celeste.

"Where's your little sister?" she asked.

"Stepsister and I don't know," Jackson said. "Probably locked in her room. How's your lasagna?"

"Delicious. I can't believe you cooked this all by yourself," Celeste cooed. "Are you sure your sister didn't do it?"

"Stepsister and no. She doesn't know about cooking real food," he said, laughing. My insides burned. "She makes shit in the microwave and calls it cooking."

"Oh, that's too bad," Celeste said without an ounce of pity. Talk about fake.

The clatter of silverware on plates drifted upstairs and I listened carefully, waiting for them to move into the living room. The lasagna smelled divine, but I wouldn't touch it. I'd heat up some pizza rolls or something.

"You should invite her to eat with us," Celeste said. I shook my head, mentally begging the woman to shut up and eat. "She is your family."

"She's not," he said. "She's the kid of my father's current wife."

"That's family, Jackson," she said. "I'm going up to invite her to eat."

"Whatever, but I'm betting she'll say no."

I was definitely going to say no.

Celeste peeked into my room, a smile on her heavily made-up face. "Hi, India. Would you like to eat with us?"

"Oh, no thanks," I said with a similar fake smile. "I don't want to intrude on your evening."

"Aw, how sweet," she said as if I was ten and not eighteen. "Come on down and eat. There's plenty."

"Just fucking come down here already," Jackson shouted, startling both me and Celeste.

She frowned. "Well, he doesn't have to be so vulgar."

"That's brother dear," I said, scooting off the bed. "Guess I better eat."

"That's wonderful," Celeste said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I just know we're going to be the best of friends."

I doubted it but would play along for now.

I sat at the table where two plates currently rested along with two glasses of wine. Celeste grabbed another plate, scooped up a hunking piece of lasagna, and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said, avoiding Jackson's eyes.

"How about some wine?" she asked, retrieving another glass.

"She's underage," Jackson grumbled.

"Oh, a little wine is not going to hurt her," Celeste said, pouring me a glass.

Sipping the wine, I tried not to wince at the sweetness. I was no stranger to beer or wine, but I preferred something dry.

I ate while the two of them talked. The conversation centered around their job at the record studio where it seemed Celeste was a secretary. I couldn't see her typing with her perfectly manicured nails or answering the phone with that voice. I listened with half an ear, not really caring. I refused to look at Jackson, or even in his direction. Memories of the kiss were already floating in my head at the mere sound of his voice.

After dinner, I offered to clean up the kitchen, suggesting that they go relax in the living room.

"That's so sweet of you, honey," Celeste said. I managed to not roll my eyes.

"Thanks," Jackson said in a soft voice. I chanced a glance at him, surprised to see confusion in his eyes. I turned away, gathering the dirty dishes to rinse in the sink. Once I finished, I went back to my room, eager to escape Celeste's shrill laughter and Jackson's low voice.

I worked on my sketch of Jackson, drawing him at the kitchen table in casual shorts, drinking coffee and reading the paper. As the hour grew later and I prepared for bed, I waited for the sounds of Celeste leaving, wondering what would happen once me and Jackson were alone again.

But, as I crawled under the sheets and set my alarm, Celeste still hadn't left. Instead, she climbed the steps with Jackson about twenty minutes later.

"Wonderful," I mumbled, pulling the blankets over my head.

The next morning, I crept downstairs to fill a travel mug with coffee. I was determined to get out of the house before coming face to face with Celeste. I wasn't sure how I felt about the situation – I knew he wasn't some chaste virgin waiting for his wedding night. But still, did he have to parade his sex life in front of me, especially after he'd kissed me?

"You don't have to take the bus today."

I turned to find Jackson fully dressed in suit and tie. He moved next to me, reaching over my head for a coffee cup. "I can drop you off."

"That's not necessary," I said.

"I know."

Shrugging, I dumped sugar in my coffee while I waited for him to be ready. He sipped his cup, grabbed a donut from the box on the table, and pocketed his cellphone.

"Let's go," he ordered.

I wondered if Celeste would be leaving later until I walked outside and found her car gone. She must have left last night while I was sleeping.

The drive was silent, like usual, but quicker than the bus. He pulled up to the curb and turned to me, his eyes boring straight into mine.

"I'll be here at one," he said.

"Why?" I asked, puzzled by the unexpected niceness.

"Because I can. Now, get out or I'll be late for work."

For a second, I thought I saw a smile toy with the corners of his mouth, but I had to have imagined it. Jackson didn't smile, at least, not at me.

I got out of the car and hurried inside the gallery, eager to put some distance between the two of us. When I got to the classroom, Fletcher was already there, sketchbook out and pencils sharpened.

"Annie says that she's going to instruct us for about an hour and then give us time to work on our project."

I'd forgotten about my promise to work with Fletcher. I nodded as I took my seat, smiling at Lauren when she bopped into the room.

Annie indeed instructed us, pinning the sketches we'd done the first week on the board. She pointed out different techniques to sharpen problem areas, taking a few minutes with each sketch. I listened carefully, eager for any kind of improvement, while Fletcher fiddled with his pencils, eager to get to work.

Finally, Annie released us to work on our projects, after assigning us another sketch to be completed by the end of the week.

"Have you guys decided what you're going to do yet?" Lauren asked, scooting over to the table that Fletcher and I shared.

"We're going to do each other," Fletcher announced, picking up his book and cocking his head. "India, why don't you sit facing me so I can get the angles of your face right."

Lauren's face fell as she stared at Fletcher, her heart obviously broken. Sympathy gushed over me as I watched the poor girl sigh.

"Why don't we both do Fletcher?" I suggested. "It might be interesting to see how different we view him, don't you think?"

Fletcher frowned but Lauren immediately seized the idea. "That's great! Yeah, I think we should do it."

While Fletcher sketched me, Lauren sketched him. The only thing running through my mind was Jackson's peculiar behavior toward me. I longed to ask him, to sit him in a chair and grill him for hours, but I knew it would never happen.

When class ended, I collected my things, antsy to get outside – God forbid I leave Jackson waiting – but Fletcher kept questioning me about my plans for the afternoon.

"I'm not sure," I said, walking out of the classroom. "My stepbrother is waiting for me. I have to go."

"Well, why don't I call you later and we can make arrangements to work on our sketches," he suggested, following me outside.

"Sure," I said as I spotted Jackson's car. "That's fine. I have to go."

Fletcher waved as I hurried to the car and got inside.

"Who the hell is that?" Jackson asked, staring at Fletcher.

"A friend from class," I said.

"Is that the dude that picked you up the other day?"

"Yes," I said.

He snorted a laugh as he revved the engine and peeled away from the curb. He drove quickly, weaving through traffic. It made me nervous as hell.

"Hungry?"

"I guess," I said, brow furrowed as I stared at him.

"Okay."

He drove for about five more minutes until he pulled into the lot of a Mexican restaurant. I followed him inside to a table near the back. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head as the waitress approached. We ordered quickly and then sat across from one another, not speaking.

"What do you do in this class?" he finally asked after the waitress brought our drinks.

I shrugged, removing the wrapper from my straw. "It's a specialized class to help refine our technique."

"Oh," he said, avoiding my eyes. "I thought you were already good."

I blinked, startled. Had he just paid me a compliment?

"I guess I do okay," I said. "I could always use constructive criticism to get better."

He nodded, sitting back in his chair, staring at the screen of his cellphone.

"So, you got off work early today or are you on a lunch break?" I asked.

"I finished in the office," he said. "But I have some stuff to do at home."

"Oh."

I allowed my gaze to wander the dark restaurant, studying the other patrons who were in varying stages of their meals. I couldn't think of anything else to say to Jackson – what did we have in common anyway except for the family.

"I spoke to Kalvin today," Jackson said. "He wanted to know how things were going."

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

"That everything is fine," he said, his lips in a snarl. "That his precious princess was fine – that nothing had happened to her."

"Excuse me?" I asked, leaning over the table. "What did you just call me?"

Folding his arms over his chest, he sighed. "Please. Don't act all innocent. You know my father loves the shit out of you."

"He's nice to me. So what?"

Jackson laughed, the sound ugly and sharp. "He'd rather have you than me."

"In case you haven't noticed," I said, wrestling with the anger in my gut, "he's got both of us. No need for the tough-guy-I-hate-you act."

He lifted a brow. "The what?"

"You heard me," I said, leaning back as the waitress approached. Picking up my fork, I went to work on my burrito, wanting to eat and get out of there. I'd been foolish to think that he'd picked me up and taken me to lunch as a peace offering.

He took his time with his meal, answering a couple calls or texts. I wondered if any of them were from Celeste and if she'd show up at the house again tonight. I'd never ask. I didn't need a blow by blow account of his sex life.

Finally, he settled the bill and we left, neither speaking until we reached the house.

"You don't have to hide in your room all the time," he said as we walked through the door. "You can sit in the living room or kitchen or whatever."

"I don't hide," I said, dropping my bag in the foyer.

"Sure, whatever," he said, heading into the living room.

I dragged my bag to my bedroom and, just because I wanted to prove a point, I went back downstairs, dropping to a chair. He was watching the news, eyes intent. I sat there, not sure what to do next.

"Are you going out with that kid again?"

I blinked and turned my head. "What?"

"The kid from your class," he said. "You going out with him again?"

"Oh," I said. "I don't know. We're supposed to work on a project together."

He set his lips, eyes still on the news reports. I sat straight in the chair, terribly uncomfortable, wishing that I could leave. I didn't want to sit here watching the news. I didn't want to be in the same room as Jackson. He had me utterly confused. With a sigh, I got up.

"I need to work on my project," I said, anxious to leave the room.

"Do you have to paint or something?" he asked, turning his head toward me.

"Yes, I'll have to eventually," I said.

He turned back to the news. I waited to see if he had anything else to say but when he remained quiet, I walked toward the hall.

"I use the spare room as an office," he said in a low tone. "We could probably move some stuff around. You'd have room to put up an easel."

"Um, thanks," I said, tucking my hands into my back pockets. "That'd be great."

"We could do it this weekend."

"Okay," I said, edging out of the room. Once in the hall, I turned tail and jogged up the stairs.

I dug my cellphone out of my bag, noticing that I'd missed two calls from Fletcher. He'd sent several text messages, all asking me to call him so we could set up a time to work on the project. I sent him a quick text, telling him that I would talk to him in the morning. I hadn't realized that when I'd agreed to work with him, that he'd turn annoying.

I went downstairs later, thinking about grabbing something to eat before soaking in the tub, only to find Jackson cutting vegetables, a pot simmering on the stove.

"Good. Come help."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, remembering how he'd told Celeste the night before that I didn't know a thing about cooking.

"Chop these peppers," he said. "I have to get the rest of the stuff ready."

I took the knife and began chopping green peppers as he dumped canned tomatoes into the pot on the stove. He stirred it, turning the flame down, and then spun around to see how I was doing.

"Not like that," he said, coming up behind me. Reaching around, he placed his hands on mine, resting his chin on my shoulder. His strong hands wrapped around mine, gently showing me how he wanted them sliced, while the spicy scent of his cologne drifted up my nose. His hard body pressed into me, igniting a flame deep inside. An urge to sag against him hit me, but I fought it off.

"Like that," he said softly in my ear. I shivered and closed my eyes, wanting him to move away yet longing for him to stay. "Do you got it?"

"Yeah," I said in a strangled voice. He moved away leaving a chill inside my body. I finished the peppers, every once in a while glancing at him over my shoulder. He took the peppers, dumping them into the pot, and then moved on, gathering other ingredients.

"What are you making?" I asked.

"Chili," he said giving me a smile that twittered my heart. "You'll love it."

"I'm sure," I said, sinking to a stool. "Um, do you need any help?"

"No, I think it's just about done. Just needs to simmer," he said. This was such a rare side of him that I wished I could record it and play it back later, when he returned to normal grumpy Jackson.

After giving the chili a stir, he sank to the stool next to me. "It's my own recipe. I think it's good and so do my friends."

"I like chili," I said, sounding like an idiot.

"Look," he said, ducking his head. "I should be able to give you a ride the rest of the week. My schedule's pretty light."

"Thanks," I said, offering a smile. He smiled in return and the transformation was fantastic. His eyes brightened and his features softened. The skin around his eyes crinkled, giving him a boyish look. My heart thumped.

His eyes searched my face and I drew in a breath, stunned by the intensity. He moved closer, reaching out a hand to stroke my cheek. I held my breath, leaning closer. I wanted him to kiss me again and I wanted it in the worst way.

"Time to eat," he said, his voice husky. He jumped away from me as if I'd scorched him, carrying bowls to the stove.

Peeved, I got up to accept the bowl he'd filled for me, carrying it back to the island. Although the chili warmed my body and filled my stomach, I still felt vaguely empty.
Chapter Four

True to his word, Jackson took me to class every morning. He also picked me up, except for twice when he'd texted, telling me he wouldn't be able to make it.

On Thursday, Fletcher offered me a lift home, suggesting that we stop by his place for a while to work on the project. I agreed only because I did need to get some work done and I wasn't looking forward to sitting in Jackson's house alone again.

He still lived with his parents, but had taken over the basement, converting it into a small apartment. We went straight down there to get started on our sketches.

He had an easel set up in the corner of the living area along with various other art supplies.

An old, leather couch sat facing a large TV, the coffee table in front of it littered with video game controls and cases.

"Why don't you sit in that chair over there," he said, pointing to a battered recliner. "I'll start sketching you. Do you want me anywhere in particular?"

"No," I said, nibbling my lip. I'd sketched him a few times during class, but it wasn't my best work. "Did you invite Lauren?"

"No," he said, avoiding my eyes. "I didn't think about it."

"She'll be disappointed."

"She'll be all right," he said with a wave of the hand. "She can work on it during class."

I wanted to remind him that we could, too, but decided to just let him sketch for a while and then I'd claim the need to get home.

After settling in, we worked in silence, the only sound the scratch of pencil on paper. I drew him as he appeared, sitting on the sofa, an ankle resting on his knee, sketch pad in hand. It was boring and uninspiring – my subject not springing to life like Annie wanted. Still, I persevered. I'd try to fix it later. Maybe Annie or Lauren could give me some suggestions.

After two and a half hours, I set my pad aside, flexing my fingers.

"I think I'm done for now," I said.

"Me, too," Fletcher said, shutting his book and sliding it on the table. "Do you want something to eat?"

I thought about the dinners I'd shared with Jackson lately, both of us sitting at the table, talking politely. It wasn't warm and friendly, but it was a start.

"No, I should get home. Jackson should be home, soon, and I usually get dinner started," I said.

"Oh," he said, his face darkening. "He's your brother, right?"

"My stepbrother, yes," I said. "His father is married to my mother."

"So, you guys aren't blood related?"

"No," I said slowly. "Why?"

"No reason," he said, getting up to kneel in front of the chair. Before I had time to register what was going on, he reached out to cup my face, pressing his lips to mine. Startled, I grabbed his arm, not returning his kiss. He edged back, confusion in his eyes. "What's the matter? I thought you liked me."

"I do, but..." I said, scrambling for words. Jackson flashed through my mind, his intense eyes and his soft lips. "I'm just not ready for something like this, yet."

"Is it Jackson?" he asked.

"What?" I said, jumping to my feet. "He's my brother."

"Stepbrother," Fletcher reminded me. "He's not blood related to you."

"Oh, please," I said, gathering my things. "I need to go. Can you give me a lift home or shall I call a cab?"

"I'll take you," he said, scrambling after me.

It wasn't until we were halfway to Jackson's that he spoke. "I'm sorry if I acted too hasty. I thought we had something between us. Maybe it was just me."

Sighing, I rubbed my forehead. "No, I don't think it's your fault. I'm just not ready for something like this right now."

"Okay," he said. "Well, do you still want to work on the project together?"

"Sure," I said, although I should have taken the opportunity to weasel out of it.

He dropped me in front of Jackson's, turning to face me. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure," I said, smiling. I jumped out of the car and hurried inside.

As soon as the door shut, Jackson stormed into the entry, his face dark, his lips twisted in rage.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

Flinching, I took a step back. "I went to Fletcher's so we could work on our project."

"You couldn't text me to tell me that?" he asked.

Anger simmered in my gut as I pushed past him to get to the kitchen where I dropped my bag on the counter. "I don't have to answer to you."

"Like hell you don't," he said, grabbing my arm, spinning me around. "What were you doing with that boy?"

"Working on my project," I shouted. "What did you think I was doing?"

"I had no idea," he said, his handsome face contorted in rage. "You failed to let me know."

Rolling my eyes, I wrested my arm from his grip and opened the fridge, digging out a soda.

"You were supposed to text me if you were doing something," he said. "I got home an hour ago and you weren't here. I didn't know what to think."

"What do you care?" I asked, setting my drink on the island. "You don't even want me here."

He ran his hands through his hair and I noticed that they were shaking. That intrigued me. "I didn't know where you were, okay? I don't know this Fletcher kid – how do I know what he's doing to you?"

"He wasn't doing anything to me," I said, spinning around, my back to the counter. "And so what if he did. I'm a big girl."

His eyes narrowed as a growl escaped his lips. In two swift steps he was in front of me, yanking me against his hard body. Clutching my shoulders, he bent his head, capturing my lips. My hands went to his hips, holding him against me. His kisses were urgent and needy, his hold tight. My arms wrapped around him, the muscles in his back taunt.

He lifted me onto the counter, his hands moving to hold my head. Scooting to the edge of the counter, I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He continued to kiss me and I kissed him back, Fletcher's feeble attempt at the same thing totally forgotten.

His kisses softened as he moved from my lips to my cheek and down to my neck. I arched into him, the sensation that swept over me the best thing I'd ever experienced. His hands moved under my shirt, skimming my sides, his fingers toying with my bra. My entire body shook as I held him closer, aching for more.

He trailed his lips down my throat while his fingers wriggled under my bra.

"Damn," he muttered, his breath hot on my skin. One of his hands had worked its way to my back and unfastened my bra. His other hand cupped my breast, his thumb running over my nipple.

Words popped into my head – You're a slut, just like your mother.

And I was. I'd been kissing Fletcher an hour ago and now I was making out with my stepbrother?

Gasping, I shoved his shoulders, moving him away.

"Stop," I said, tears springing to my eyes.

He stared at me, horrified, raking his hands through his hair. "Fuck. Damn. India, I'm sorry..."

I shook my head as I slipped off the counter and ran up the stairs, slamming my door. I leaned against it, fighting tears and catching my breath. How had I let that happen? Was I really slutty... like my mother?

Sliding down the door, I sank to the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. And what was that all about – what had happened with Jackson? Obviously, I was attracted to him, but was he to me? Or did he think because my mother was the way she was that I was easy?

That had to be it.

I heard the front door slam and a moment later, Jackson's car engine rev. Scrambling to my feet, I peeked through the blinds in time to see Jackson peeling out of the driveway. Sighing, I sat on my bed, relieved he was gone and I wouldn't have to face him.

I went downstairs to grab my bag, snatching a bottle of beer out of the fridge, too. I took everything upstairs and started sketching Jackson again, this time in his business suit, standing in the foyer, waiting for me to gather my stuff. Tears streamed down my eyes as I drew, the feel of his hands still on my skin.

I checked my phone periodically, looking for a text from him, but all I got were messages from Fletcher and Lauren.

By the time I went to bed, he still wasn't home.

***

After a restless night, I stumbled to the shower, groggy from lack of sleep. After getting dressed, I trudged downstairs to pour coffee down my throat, thankful that Jackson had the coffeemaker set on automatic.

Just as I poured more coffee in a travel mug and gathered my bag, the front door opened and Jackson walked into the kitchen, wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He stopped in the doorway, staring at me.

"Um, if you'll give me a second to shower and change, I can take you to class," he mumbled. His rumpled appearance tugged at my heart, but the perfume scent wafting in the air made me ill. It wasn't my perfume.

"You don't have to," I mumbled more to the floor than to him.

"No, really," he said, taking a step toward me. "Um, I owe you that, at least. I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," I said, wishing he'd just leave so I could run out the door.

"It's not," he said, gently taking my arm. "I shouldn't have... attacked... you that way."

"You didn't attack me," I said, the perfume stifling.

"Okay," he sighed, dropping my arm. He ran a hand through his hair again. "Um, don't take off, all right. I'll give you a ride."

As tempted as I was to run for the bus, I sank to a stool instead. Jackson appeared twenty minutes later, his hair still damp, but otherwise looking impeccable.

"Let's go," he said, gruff.

Sighing, I followed him, wishing I would have taken the bus.

Fletcher was just as apologetic, if not more so, as Jackson. He followed me around like a kicked puppy, uttering words of remorse. I tolerated it as we broke up into groups to work on an assignment, talking mostly to Lauren. She'd found out that Fletcher and I had met the previous night and had, as I predicted, felt left out.

"Maybe the three of us can work this weekend," Fletcher suggested in a flat voice. "At my place."

"Okay," Lauren said, glowing. "What day and what time?"

"Tomorrow at two," Fletcher said, giving Lauren his address. "Do you need a ride, India?"

"No," I said with a weak smile. "I can take the bus or else have Jackson drop me off."

"Your stepbrother is so hot," Lauren sighed. "Is he seeing anybody?"

"I think so," I said, Celeste floating into my mind. "He's had a girl over a time or two, but I don't know if they're serious."

"That's too bad," Lauren said, concentrating on the painting of a little girl in a garden that she'd been working on. "He's really hot."

"He wouldn't be interested in you, Lauren," Fletcher scoffed. "I mean, he's older. He probably dates women his own age."

Disappointment flashed across Lauren's face. She picked up her palette, dipped her brush into white, and smeared it on the canvas.

"He's an ass most of the time, anyway," I said. I was painting the barn scene that I'd sketched weeks ago – the same one Melina had raved over.

"That's too bad," Fletcher said, glee covering his face. I ignored it, intent on my painting.

We worked in silence until Annie called out that it was time to clean up. After washing my brushes, I put them away and collected my stuff. Lauren and Fletcher waited at the door.

"So, it's Friday," Fletcher said as we climbed the steps. "You guys doing anything?"

"No," Lauren said. "Do you want to?"

"I suppose," Fletcher said. "How about you, India?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, glancing out the door, spotting Jackson's car. "I'll have to call you later."

"Okay," he said with a frown, following me out the door. I hurried to Jackson's car, opening the door as Fletcher called out again. "I'll give you a call later."

Not answering, I slipped into the front seat, buckling my belt.

"That dude is persistent, isn't he?" Jackson said as he pulled away from the curb.

"I suppose," I said.

He snorted as he concentrated on traffic. I sat in my seat, watching the scenery fly by. The prospect of another night at Jackson's, sitting in awkward tenseness wasn't the least bit appealing. Maybe I should go out with Fletcher and Lauren. It was something to do. Jackson was probably going out with his friends or having them over. I didn't want to sit in my room and hide from them all night.

When we reached the house, we walked in together, both heading for the kitchen. I pulled open the fridge and withdrew some cold cuts, intent only on a sandwich.

"Can you throw one together for me, please?" Jackson asked, surprising me with his soft tone. "I have to make a quick call."

"Okay."

I made him a sandwich identical to mine since I wasn't sure what he liked, and set it on the island. Grabbing two sodas, I took a seat and began eating while Jackson's voice floated into the room. I'd finished half my sandwich by the time he returned.

"Thanks," he said, taking a huge bite. He sat beside me, his phone close at hand.

"Problem at work?" I asked.

"Nah," he said. "I've been working on a campaign for a new band, trying to get their name out there, and I've run into a few snags. Nothing major. I've nearly got it sorted out."

"That's what you do?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said with a sexy, half smile. "You didn't know?"

I shook my head.

He snorted. "Yeah, well, my father never talks about me."

"Yes, he does," I said, confused. "All the time."

"Whatever," Jackson said, lifting his sandwich to his face. "I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "We've not been on good terms lately."

"Welcome to my world," I muttered.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"My mother and I aren't close. Never really have been," I said.

"You stood up in her wedding," he said.

"Yeah, well she's good at playacting."

"Hm," he said, finishing his sandwich. Taking a long swig of his soda, he stood, placing his plate in the dishwasher. "I'd love to bitch about our parents with you, but I have to get back to work."

"Okay. Thanks for the ride."

He waved over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Jackson returned home early, lugging two pizzas with him. He slid them on the island, turning to me with a grimace. "I got lazy. Didn't want to cook. Pizza cool with you?"

"Sure," I said, getting out the plates. This new and improved Jackson was much better than the sulky, grumpy Jackson I'd had to endure for my first week here.

As we ate, he told me about his campaign. It was more interesting than I thought something like that could be. He was expressive, stopping to explain terms to me without sounding condescending.

Pretty soon, he moved on to office stories that had me laughing. It was fun, talking to him, listening to him describe some of the pranks that his buddy, Ben had pulled.

My cell phone rang and I grabbed it off the counter. It was Fletcher.

"Hello," I said.

"Hey, it's Fletcher."

I rolled my eyes. "Hi, Fletcher."

"Hey, so I was thinking about heading out to the movies or something. You want to go?"

I looked at Jackson who was busy packing up the leftover pizza, shoulders tense. I'd had more fun this evening than I'd had in a long time. I didn't want it to end.

"Thanks, Fletcher, but I think I'm going to hang out here tonight," I said, grinning as the muscles in Jackson's shoulders loosened. He wanted me to stay home, too. I could tell.

"You sure? Lauren wanted to go and I thought we'd go see that new rom-com that's playing," he wheedled.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I said. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll give you a call tomorrow," he said.

I ended the call before he could go on and on, slipping my phone on the counter.

"Staying in tonight?" Jackson asked, turning around.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm not in the mood for a movie."

"That's too bad," he said, sitting on a stool. "I was going to suggest we rent a movie or something."

"You're not going out?" I asked, raising an incredulous brow.

"No," he said, getting up and grabbing his keys. "Want to come?"

"Sure."

We rented an action flick and a comedy. He insisted on watching the action film first, after making popcorn. We settled on the sofa, the popcorn bowl between us, and watched the movie.

"This is so stupid," I snorted, halfway through the film when the bad guys blew up a power plant. "Like no one saw that coming."

"Shut up and watch the movie," he said, his face in a scowl. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it in my mouth.

"The only this movie has going for it is that the star is hot," I mumbled.

"Hot?" Jackson said. "That guy?"

"Yeah," I said.

He paused the movie and turned to me. "What makes him hot?"

I shrugged. "He's handsome, has a nice body, and that accent is to die for."

"Women," he said, sighing and sinking back into the couch. He started the movie again, studying the main character a little more carefully. He plucked a piece of popcorn out of the bowl and tossed it at my head, the kernel bouncing off my cheek.

"Hey, watch it!" I said, grabbing another handful.

"Don't think about it," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"What?" I asked, trying to hold on to an air of innocence.

Quick as a flash, he was on me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, body on top of mine. I wiggled underneath him in a bid for freedom, but he was too strong.

"Drop the popcorn," he ordered, his face so close to mine.

"Not on your life," I said, gasping for breath.

Electricity crackled in the air as we both froze. His pupils dilated as his face inched closer, his breath caressing my cheek. I held my breath, waiting for his kiss.

But it never came. He sat back, raking his hair off his forehead.

"Sorry," he said. He extended a hand, pulling me into an upright position. "I think I'll watch the comedy later. I'm going to bed."

And he ran away again, leaving me to clean up the mess.
Chapter Five

I lingered in bed Saturday, pondering the weird behavior of Jackson. The first week I'd been here he was an unwilling host. But lately, he'd been polite and considerate – even friendly and fun. But then last night...

I was tired of thinking about it, attempting to pick his behavior apart. He was more confusing than a Calculus quiz. Way too complicated for me to figure out. Maybe I was safer with Fletcher.

My bedroom door blew open and Jackson filled the frame.

"What are you doing?" I shouted, yanking the sheets to my chin. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"Get your ass out of bed. I'm not fixing up that room by myself," he said, as if he hadn't heard a word I'd yelled.

"What room?"

He sighed. "The office. Remember? I told you we'd move shit around so that you could use it to paint, or whatever."

"Oh," I said. "Well, can I shower, first?"

"Yeah, whatever," he said, walking away, leaving the door wide open.

After I'd showered, I met him in the little room beside mine – the only room I hadn't explored (besides his bedroom). The sun shone through the window, dust particles floating in the beams.

A small desk was tucked under the window with a large bookshelf on one wall and two filing cabinets on the other.

"I thought we'd move the cabinets to the closet," he said. The bookshelf will have to stay. It's pretty big."

"I think it's fine where it is," I said. "If we move the cabinets, then I'd have room for an easel. The desk can stay – I can put my paint there."

"And you'll use tarps, right?"

"Yes," I said, blowing a puff of air at the damp hair in my face. "Of course. I always do. I'm a sloppy painter."

A pained look crossed his face, making me laugh.

"I won't mess up your pretty house."

"It's not pretty," he growled. "It's nice. And clean. I like it that way."

"So I've found," I said. "You ready to move those cabinets?"

He crossed the room, shooting me a glare, and ripped the drawers out of the first cabinet. Lifting it easily in his arms, he carried it to the closet. I hurried to open the door, surprised to find the closet empty. Who in the world has an empty closet in their house?

"Thanks," he grumbled as he did the same to the next cabinet.

I carried the drawers to the closet, handing them to him so he could put them in their correct place. When the task was finished, I dusted off my hands and surveyed the room.

"Can I lock you out of here?" I asked.

"What the hell for?" he asked, cross.

"Because, when I start a painting, I don't like for anyone to see it until it is finished," I said. He cocked his head. "Hey, you're a freak about keeping your house clean. I'm a freak about my art."

He considered me for a moment. "Okay, fine. I'll leave this room alone. But, if I need something out of here, you're going to let me come in."

"That's no problem," I said. I extended my hand. "Shake on it."

"You're weird," he said, shaking my hand, holding it a little longer than necessary. "Can you manage to haul your shit in here by yourself, or do you need my help?"

"I can handle it," I said as I walked out the door. I stopped to peek my head back in. "But thanks."

I spent the rest of the morning setting up a mini art studio, draping a tarp on the carpet, using a smaller one for the desk. I moved my easel inside, setting it up just so. My heart sung a happy tune as I glanced around the room. It wasn't exactly my dream studio, but it would work.

"Hey," Jackson said, stopping in the doorway. "I'm going out for a bit. I need to pick up some stuff. I'm having a get together tonight."

"Okay," I said, my mind on the blank canvas in front of me.

"Okay," he said with a shrug. He left and I opened my sketch book to the drawing of Jackson sitting at the island drinking coffee. Squirting and mixing paint on my palette, I placed brush to canvas and got lost in my work. I stopped once for a sandwich, noticing that Jackson was still gone, but immediately started again.

It was well after dark when the voices finally penetrated my brain. The painting had gone well – it was an excellent start – but I was getting tired. Setting down my palette, I carefully covered the painting with a sheet, making sure that it wasn't sticking to any of the wet paint.

"Hey, India, how are you?"

I looked at the doorway to find Melina smiling at me. Brushing off my hands, I walked to the door, wanting to keep her out of my makeshift studio.

"Fine, thanks," I said.

"Jackson said you were painting," she said, looking over my shoulder. "Finished?"

"Oh, no," I said. "I mean, for tonight, but the painting isn't finished."

"Ah, I see," she said. "Are you going to come down? We have food and drinks."

I frowned, not sure if Jackson wanted me around his friends. Things might have changed between us, shifted slightly, but not all was hunky dory. He could still snap at me, biting my head off.

"I don't know," I said.

"Come down," she said with a gentle smile. "Say hi. Have something to eat. Don't be a hermit."

"Fine," I said.

After removing my smock and draping it over the desk chair, I washed my hands and face, combed my hair, and went downstairs. Jackson was in the kitchen, messing around with an array of food.

"Oh, there you are," he said with something that slightly resembled a smile. "I went up to get you but you were so intent on your painting that I didn't want to bother you."

"Oh, well, thanks," I said.

"Get something to eat," he said, moving toward the door. "Everyone's in the living room."

There was an aluminum pan of fried chicken, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and a variety of other things. Making a plate, I sat at the table to eat, realizing how hungry I was. Once I finished, I wandered into the living room to find the same people that were here the other night.

"Hello, India," Celeste said from beside Jackson. She had her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, her other hand raking his arm. "How are you?"

"Fine," I said, forcing a smile. I moved closer to Melina, listening to a story she was telling Ben and Phil about a client in the law firm where she worked as a secretary. I avoided looking at Jackson – didn't want to see Celeste molesting him in front of everyone. She was obviously laying claim to her property.

"How have you been enjoying Chicago?" Melina asked.

"Oh, it's nice," I said.

"Have you been downtown yet? Seen the sights?"

"Well, I went to the Art Museum last weekend, but that's about it," I said.

Melina sighed, shooting a disgusted glance in Jackson's direction. "My cousin is an idiot."

"Jackson's your cousin?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, he is," she said, giving my arm a squeeze. "My mother and his mother are sisters."

"Wow," I said. "I didn't know that."

She laughed, sipping from a wine glass. "Let's get you a drink."

The last thing I wanted was a drink, but when I turned around, Celeste was pressing her body into Jackson, kissing him. I hurried after Melina, taking the glass she offered. I sucked down the wine.

"Hey, easy does it," she said, concern flashing in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said, setting the glass on the counter. "Yeah, I am. Just tired, I guess."

Twisting around me, she looked toward the living room where Celeste's shrill laughter was ringing.

"I get it," she said with a smile of understanding.

"Get what?" I asked.

"Celeste," she said, sipping her wine. "And Jackson."

"What about them?" I asked, suspicion lurking in my brain.

"You've got a crush."

A crush? Did she think I was in eighth grade?

"Jackson is technically not related to you," she stated, lowering her voice. "He's very attractive and you're extremely beautiful."

Me, extremely beautiful?

"I'm sure there's some sort of tension between the two of you, although I know he'd never act on it," she said, tilting her head to the side in a sympathetic gesture.

"You're wrong," I said, certain that my cheeks had to be flaming red. "I mean, there's nothing like that going on."

"It's okay if there is," she said, patting my arm. "It's just natural."

"There's nothing with me and Jackson. We barely like each other," I said in what I hoped was a firm tone.

Her smile was patronizing. She refilled my glass and squeezed my arm. "Relax tonight and have fun. Jackson said you've been working hard at this class."

"I have been," I said, grateful for the conversation change. It took me a second to realize that Jackson had been talking about me to his cousin. I wondered what he'd said but before I could ask, she was walking out of the room.

Returning to the living room, I was dismayed to see Celeste still pawing all over Jackson. I did my best to ignore it and keep my face neutral. If Jackson was talking about me to Melina, who's to say that she wouldn't talk about me to him. I didn't need for her to put ideas into his head.

After my second glass of wine, my head turned fuzzy and I couldn't stop yawning. Making my excuses, I bid everyone goodnight, rinsed my glass, and put it in the dishwasher. When I got to my room, I changed into shorts and a t-shirt, not feeling comfortable in my usual pajamas with so many people in the house. I didn't think I'd fall asleep easily, but the wine helped and I was out in minutes.

***

Sunday morning, I drifted downstairs with a tiny headache. Pouring a cup of coffee, I savored the caffeine warming my body, hitting my veins. The kitchen was a mess and, after a quick inspection, I found the living room to be the same way. Setting down my coffee, I gathered the dirty dishes, dumping them in the kitchen sink. Next, I gathered the garbage, straightened the cushions, and put the coffee table back in its proper spot.

Just as I was cleaning the kitchen, I heard footsteps on the steps. I turned around, my smile falling when my eyes landed on Celeste, wearing one of Jackson's button up shirts.

"Oh, I didn't think you'd be up yet," Celeste said with a giggle.

"Well, it's after eight," I said.

"I see that," she said, reaching for a mug, the shirt riding up, showing exotic panties. I turned back to the sink, rinsing the dishes before setting them in the dishwasher.

"Be quiet, Celeste. You'll wake India," I heard Jackson grumble. He paused in the kitchen doorway, his eyes horrified to see me at the sink. "Oh, hey. Did we wake you?"

"No," I said, finishing my chore. I refilled my coffee mug and took it out on the deck, not wanting to watch the happy couple glowing after a night of debauchery.

"And to think, just Friday night he was close to kissing me," I mumbled, leaning against the rail, admiring the azaleas flourishing in the corners of his yard. "What an idiot."

I sipped my coffee until it was gone, staring out at the yard, not seeing it, wishing they'd leave or go back upstairs so I could slip back into the house. I was horrified at the ache in my chest and the hot tears burning the backs of my eyes.

The French door opened, but I didn't turn to see who it was.

"Hey," Jackson said, padding across the deck in his bare feet. "Listen, Celeste is going to leave once she finishes her bagel. Do you want something to eat?"

"No, I'm not hungry," I said, summoning a smile as I turned to face him. "Thanks, though."

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, holding his hands out. "I shouldn't have let her stay with you still here."

"It's your home, Jackson," I said, crossing the deck, empty coffee cup in hand. "You should be able to do whatever you want. You don't need my permission."

Pursing his lips, he nodded. "Fine. Well, I need to finish cleaning up."

Turning on his heel, he went back inside, leaving me alone once again.

***

June had faded into July and I realized that not only was there only four weeks left of my class, but that my birthday was coming up soon.

Tension returned to the house, filling every nook and cranny. Jackson continued to take me to class, using his lunch break to pick me up. We didn't speak except for an occasional grunt of polite question.

Every evening, I hid in the makeshift studio, putting the finishing touches on the first painting. It seemed that if I painted him, then I could get him out of my system. Well, that's what I was hoping at any rate.

Wednesday morning, I trudged through class, mindful that it was my birthday. I hadn't told a soul as I hadn't wanted any kind of fuss. Lauren was in a peppy mood but Fletcher had been dour since the weekend. Apparently, he wasn't happy with me since I'd turned him down Friday night. But I didn't have the energy to mend the relationship.

Jackson picked me up and again, we didn't speak. When we got home, he retrieved the mail, frowning at a pink envelope.

"This is for you," he said, handing it over. "From my father and your mother."

It was obviously a birthday card and I didn't want to open it in front of him. But he would have none of it.

"Why would they send you something in the mail?" he asked. "Why don't they call or text or something?"

Shrugging, I clutched the card in my hands.

He paused, his eyes wide. "It's your fucking birthday, isn't it?"

I didn't answer, just turned toward the stairs.

"Wait," he ordered. I stopped. "It's your birthday and you didn't tell me."

"I didn't want a fuss," I said.

"We could do something," he said in a low tone.

"No, I don't want to," I said as I continued to the stairs. I waited until I got to my bedroom before opening the card. Inside was a loving message from my mother and stepfather, scrawled in Kalvin's handwriting. Also enclosed were two crisp one hundred dollar bills.

Tucking the money into my wallet, I placed the card on my dresser, changed my clothes, and went to the little studio to work on my painting. I never heard Jackson leave or return, but around seven-thirty, he knocked on the door.

"Yes?" I asked, setting my palette down.

"Can you come downstairs?" he asked. "I thought we could at least eat together."

"Fine," I said, removing my smock. "Let me wash up."

When I walked into the kitchen, I had to stop, hand on heart. The lights were dimmed and several candles shimmered on the table. The table was laid for dinner, several fragrant dishes set in the middle.

"Sit," he ordered, fighting a smile.

"This is...nice," I said as I took my seat. He served me chicken, potatoes, and veggies before filling his own plate and our wine glasses. "Thank you."

"No problem," he said. "Though it might have been nice to know it was your birthday before today. My father didn't even tell me."

"Don't worry about it," I said.

As we ate, I was totally aware of every move he made. The candlelight enhanced everything, making even the most mundane of things romantic. I wasn't sure if that was what he had intended, but it was the effect.

After dinner, he made me sit and drink my wine while he cleaned up. When he finished, he dug a small box out of a drawer and slid it to me before sitting.

"Happy birthday," he said.

"You didn't have to do this," I said.

"Sure I did."

I opened it to reveal a golden charm in the shape of a paint palette on a fragile chain. Brushing my finger over it, I felt a prickle in my eyes.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

"Let me put it on you," he said. He removed the necklace, gesturing for me to stand. Moving my hair aside, he swung the chain over my head, fastening it in the back. Leaning in, he kissed the side of my neck, sending a shiver up my spine. "You don't know how beautiful you are, India."

Not able to stop myself, I leaned into him as his arms wrapped around my waist. He kissed my neck again and again. I tilted my head to give him better access.

Groaning, he spun me around to kiss me properly. My arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands clutched my hips as his lips continued to massage mine.

I wanted him.

I wanted him more than I wanted anything else.

And I could tell by the lump in his pants pressing into me, that he wanted me, too. It was just a matter of getting there.

His hands worked under my shirt, skimming my sides, caressing my skin. A little moan escaped my lips as he kissed my cheek then my chin.

"I want you," I whispered, the words just falling out of my mouth.

"We can't," he said against my neck. "We shouldn't."

"I don't care what anyone thinks," I said. "I know what I want."

His hands rose to my breasts as mine fell to his back. I wanted him to keep touching me.

"Please, Jackson," I whispered.

He kept kissing me, his hands growing desperate. I dropped my hands to his lower back, moving to his butt. It was so firm.

"Damn it, India," he said, resting his forehead against mine. His breath was harsh, his hands suddenly splayed on my back. "This is wrong."

"Why is it wrong?" I asked.

He looked as if he wanted to answer, but couldn't. Instead, he took a step back, clutching my hand.

"Upstairs. In my room."

Chapter Six

I didn't have time to admire the décor, just noticed the huge bed. He shut the door before meeting me in the middle of the room, kissing me once again.

Swiftly, he whipped my shirt over my head, dropping his face to my chest. He kissed between my breasts, making satisfied little noises as he unclasped my bra, slipping it off my arms. His hands cupped my breasts as a chill swept over me. I felt as if I should be a little embarrassed, but it felt too good.

He eased me onto the bed, crawling over me, kissing my bare skin along the way. Every part of my body was on fire and all I wanted was for him to quench the rage burning inside.

He slipped off my shorts, tossing them to the floor, and kissed my stomach, one hand massaging my thigh. I thought I should be doing something, but I couldn't move – every touch brought so much pleasure.

He moved away long enough to remove his shirt and jeans. He resumed his ministrations, taking the time to kiss my stomach, moving his way up, pausing to kiss and nip each breast. His breath was hot on my cheek as he found my eyes in the dim light.

My hands woke, running up and down his back, admiring the intricate muscles that contracted with his every move. I pulled him closer, wanting him to fill me.

"Are you a virgin, India?" he asked.

"Sort of," I mumbled, a little embarrassed to admit it.

"What does that mean?" he asked in a constrained voice.

"Well, there was one time, but we... well... it didn't work out well," I said.

"Damn," he muttered, kissing me. His tongue traced my lips causing me to arch into him. He groaned again, moving to my neck, nipping my skin.

"Just do it, Jackson," I said. "Please."

He rolled away to dig in his nightstand, returning with a condom. Ripping off his boxers, he rolled on the condom and then removed my panties. Several well placed kisses nearly drove me over the edge. I begged him to take me and he obliged.

As much as I just wanted him to shove it in, he took his time, the strain showing on his face and in the bulging muscles in his arms. He pushed in a little bit at a time, allowing my body to adjust. I shivered each time, wincing with the pain, rejoicing when he finally completely entered me.

"We'll go slowly," he said, more to himself than to me.

I wiggled under him, eager for more. He kissed me, doing nothing to tame the desire that ran rampant in my body.

Clutching his arms, I lifted my head to kiss his neck as he eased in and out, working up a rhythm that satisfied us both.

"Damn, India," he breathed in my ear. "You feel so good. I don't know if I'll be able to hold back much longer."

"It's okay," I said, biting my lip.

With a loud groan, he plunged into me, holding on as his face contorted in pleasure. I wasn't far behind; shuddering as I clung to his neck.

He dropped beside me, his arm tossed over my stomach, his breath fast and hard. I stared at the ceiling as my body purred, content.

"The bathroom is through there," he said, pointing at a door. "If you want to clean up."

"Okay," I said, sliding off the bed and scurrying to the bathroom. I washed up and wrapped in a large blue towel. When I reentered the bedroom, he was sitting on the side of the bed in his boxers. He stood when he spotted me.

"Are you okay? I wasn't too rough, was I?"

Rolling to my toes, I pecked his lips. "You were fine."

He hugged me to his chest, dropping a kiss on my head. "Why don't you put your pajamas on and come back."

"Okay," I said, my heart soaring. I ran to my room, tossed on a nightie, and then hurried back to him. He was lying in bed, holding up the blankets for me. I snuggled next to him, a smile on my face. "This has been a pretty good birthday."

Chuckling, he wrapped me in his arms. "I'm glad."

Resting my head on his chest, I closed my eyes, falling to sleep almost immediately.

I woke with a start, my mind scrambling to figure out where I was. The room was completely dark; the only light a bright, green number announcing the time.

Jackson was beside me, snoring lightly, his hand on stomach. He'd rolled to his side, facing me, sometime in the night.

Muscles ached, reminding me of what had happened earlier. My heart did a little flip as I smiled in the dark, nestling into his body. His hold tightened as I closed my eyes.

Then, the words came back.

You're a slut, just like your mother.

My eyes popped open. Did he think I was a slut? Is that why he took me to bed tonight? Was I just an easy lay – someone to fuck this summer?

My eyes, accustomed now to the dark, found his face resting on the pillow. Soft and relaxed, he resembled a little boy lost in dreamland. My fingers itched to trace the smooth lines and soft skin. But I refrained. There'd been nothing remotely loving in what had happened. It had been pure lust – unrestrained desire.

I needed to get away. I needed to put some space between us so I could think. Rolling away from him, I lifted the blankets. But he threw an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.

"India," he muttered, pressing his face into my hair.

My heart, the traitorous thing, flipped again.

I stayed where I was, so comfortable. I wanted to be here. I wanted him. I was too weak to resist.

Maybe in the morning it would be better. Maybe in the morning I'd be able to figure it out.

For now, I was going to stay where I was.

***

An irritating buzz penetrated my awareness. I wanted it to stop.

"Shit."

Jackson rolled over me, slapping the alarm clock on the nightstand. With a groan, he buried his face into my hair.

"You still smell so fucking good," he muttered.

That set my damn, stupid heart off again.

"What time is it?" I asked, lifting my head. His pounding of the nightstand had turned the clock so I couldn't read the numbers.

"We got time," he said, his hand edging under my nightie to my stomach. "Shit, just touching you is getting me hard again."

Smiling, despite everything, I turned to him, my hands doing their own exploring under the blankets. The material of his boxers was softer than anything I'd ever felt, but what was underneath them wasn't soft.

"India," he breathed.

I rubbed the material, working up the courage to work my way into his boxers. Before I had time, he rolled me to my back, hovering over me, all sleep gone from his eyes.

He attacked my lips, kissing me hard, his erection pressing into my leg. I held him against me, my body bursting awake, whining and aching for him.

"Damn," he muttered against my lips and he felt blindly for the nightstand. It took him two attempts to get the condom in place while I pulled the nightie over my head.

Pushing me back into the bed, he plunged into me, not taking his time this time. I arched into him, exposing my neck which he kissed. Pulling out, he plunged again, driving my desire mad. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I held tightly, my body quivering.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned, pushing harder and faster, knocking me over the edge. I cried out as he plunged one more time, grinding into me as he dropped his head to my neck.

As our bodies relaxed, my heartbeat slowed to normal. Jackson dropped beside me, his chest heaving.

"Damn," he muttered again, dropping a hand to his chest.

"I should shower," I said, remembering finally that I had class today.

"Me, too."

I rolled over, reaching over the side of the bed to locate my nightie. I felt him behind me before he placed an arm over my side and pressed kisses into the back of my neck. I smiled as I drew the nightie up to the bed.

"Shit, we better get going or else we'll be late."

"Okay," I said, wiggling out of his arms. Getting out of bed, I pulled the nightie over my head, aware of his eyes on me.

The bed creaked and when I turned, it was in time to see him disappear into his bathroom. I hurried down the hall to my bathroom, turning on the taps and stepping into the warm spray.

As I scrubbed, I recalled the events of last night and this morning. What did this mean? Were we together or was this just some sort of fling? I didn't have the guts to ask.

Washing my hair, I couldn't help but to smile. Never before had I felt this way – so fulfilled and grown up. Turning nineteen was nothing compared to what had just happened.

I dressed carefully in a flimsy white skirt that hung to my knees, the material toying around my legs, and a pink top. Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I applied a touch of makeup, brushed my teeth, and ran downstairs.

Jackson had beaten me to the coffee. He was dressed in his usual suit and tie looking devastatingly handsome.

"Coffee?" he asked without turning around.

"Yes, please," I said.

Pouring me a cup, he handed it to me without a word. Puzzled, I accepted it, the smell so enticing.

"Want a bagel or something?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I'm fine. I'll grab something at break today."

He lifted a shoulder, finished his coffee, and then grabbed his keys. He snagged his briefcase as I hooked my bag and followed him out the door.

The ride was quiet – as usual. I stared out the window, straining to think of something to say.

Halfway there, he reached across the console to take my hand. I turned to him, a smile playing on my lips.

"Hey, listen," he said, giving my hand a squeeze. "I think we need to keep this quiet for now. I think people will – well, they won't take it kindly."

I nodded in agreement. I barely understood what had happened, how could I expect anyone else to?

He slowed as he approached the gallery, my hand still in his. When he stopped by the curb, he gave my hand a lingering squeeze.

"I should be able to pick you up, but I can't be sure. I have several meetings today. I'll shoot you a text later and let you know."

"Okay, thanks," I said, getting out of the car. I wasn't in the least surprised to see Fletcher standing near the door, watching me with narrowed eyes.

I muttered a soft greeting as I walked inside, not wanting to get caught up in more of his drama.

Annie had a full lesson for us today and it wasn't until break that I had a chance to speak to anybody. After buying a Coke and a candy bar, I dropped to a table, Lauren right behind me. Fletcher wandered over, still wearing a mask of misery.

"You look different today," Lauren said, her eyes searching my face. "I'm not sure what it is."

"Maybe it's the skirt," I said. "I haven't worn it yet this summer."

She shook her head, puzzled look on her face. "That's not it. I just can't put a finger on it."

I gave her a nervous smile, heat creeping up the back of my neck. I sat forward, the necklace Jackson had given me swinging out of my shirt. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Oh, your necklace is beautiful!" Lauren exclaimed, reaching out to cup the charm. "Where did you get it? I haven't seen you wear it before."

"It was a birthday gift," I said with a smile, thinking of the night before.

"Birthday?" Fletcher asked with narrowed eyes. "Is it your birthday?"

"Yesterday," I admitted.

"Oh, but you should have said something!" Lauren said. "We could have done something special."

"No, it's all right. I didn't want a fuss."

"Let's do something tonight," Fletcher suggested, animation leaking into his face.

"I can't tonight," I said. I wasn't sure what would happen tonight, but I wanted to be home with Jackson. I just wanted to be with him.

Fletcher studied me, trying to read something in my face. "Okay, how about this weekend?"

"I can't," I said. "Um, my mom and stepdad will be in town."

The lie fell easily from my lips, churning my gut with guilt. I hoped life wasn't going to be like this from now on because I detested lying.

"Oh, well," Lauren sighed. "Well, we'll do something, soon. It'll be fun."

"Yes, definitely," I said, inserting enthusiasm into my voice.

Break ended and we went back to work, Fletcher insisting that I pose for him. I did, only because I felt bad at how I'd been putting him and Lauren off. Also, I had stopped sketching him, intending to use my paintings of Jackson for my project. The sketches I'd done of Fletcher were flat, lacking life and animation.

After class, I found a text on my phone from Jackson stating that he'd be here but would be a few minutes late. Smiling, I locked my phone and shoved it into my bag as I stepped outside into the sunshine to wait for him.

Lauren waved as she hurried to the parking lot, but Fletcher lingered, standing beside me as our classmates filtered out of the building, heading off in different directions. Once we were alone, he grabbed my arm.

Startled, I looked up at him, surprised at the anger marring his face.

"You're fucking him, aren't you?" he asked.

"What?" I said. "What are you talking about?"

"Your stepbrother," he said. "You're fucking him, I know it."

"Let go of me," I said, twisting in an attempt to get out of his grasp.

"You're sick, you know that? Disgusting," he said, sneering. "Fucking your stepbrother? Damn that's just nasty."

"Let go of her."

We looked up to see Jackson marching toward us, rage covering his face. He took my free arm, jerking me out of Fletcher's grasp. "Get your fucking hands off of her. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"It's nothing, man," Fletcher said, holding up his hands. "Nothing. Take your sister home."

Shaking, I allowed Jackson to drag me to his car. He opened the passenger door and nearly shoved me in. When he got in the car, he peeled away from the curb, anger coming off of him in waves.

Huddling in my seat, I clung to my seatbelt, humiliated, embarrassed, and a little ashamed. It wasn't so much what Fletcher had said, really. I mean, Jackson and I weren't related. We weren't doing anything wrong, really.

It was the way he said. The way he looked at me. Maybe he thought me a slut, too.

"You okay?" he asked, brisk.

"Yeah," I said, turning my head.

"Did that fucker hurt you?"

"No," I said, louder.

"He touches you again, you let me know," he ordered, taking a curve a little too fast. "He'll learn to keep his hands off of you."

I snorted. "What am I, your property now?"

"Something like that," he said, shooting through a yellow night.

I didn't know whether to be insulted or thrilled. I chose to ignore his comment, instead.

As soon as we walked through the door, I took my bag upstairs, my heart pounding in my chest. I sat on the bed, trying to gather my emotions, my head spinning.

"Hey," Jackson said, walking into the room. He sat beside me, looking at his hands between his knees. "Look, I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything. But, I'm not going to sit back and watch that asshole manhandle you. I don't know what the fuck his problem is, but he's not going to treat you like that."

"It's fine," I said. "Don't worry about it."

He didn't say anything, just sat beside me for a moment. "Well, I have to get back to work. I might be late – I have a dinner meeting. I'll try to give you a call later."

"Okay."

He got off the bed and strolled out of the room. I listened as the door closed behind him and his car roared to life.

Not hungry nor in the mood to paint, I wandered to the living room, plopping on the sofa. I flipped through the channels, not able to settle on anything in particular.

I wondered about his dinner meeting. Would Celeste be part of it? Was he still seeing her? Did she still want him?

Last night had been amazing with the dinner and the gift and the sex. It had all seemed romantic, like from a book or a movie. I'd gotten caught up in it all – swept away in the moment. My raging hormones hadn't stopped me, either.

My face burned as I remembered begging Jackson to take me. I'd wanted it just as badly as he had. He'd told me that it wasn't right – that we shouldn't do it. But I'd convinced him.

Maybe I was a slut like my mother.

Sliding further down the sofa, I closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead.

Sure, it had all seemed fantastic and magical last night and even this morning. But now what? He didn't want anyone to know and I had to agree. Look at Fletcher's reaction. I was sure others would be just as horrified – especially Kalvin and my mother.

What had I done?

What sort of mess had I gotten myself into?
Chapter Seven

"Hey. India. Wake up."

I swam back to consciousness, aware of a face hovering over me.

"What?"

"Wake up."

I sat up, pushing the hair out of my face. Jackson was standing there, still in his suit, watching me with narrowed eyes.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Midnight," he said.

"Damn," I muttered, stifling a yawn. "I guess I fell asleep on the couch."

"Obviously," he said, taking my hand, helping me to my feet. "Did you eat anything?"

"Yeah, earlier," I said. "You just getting back?"

"Yep," he said. "The meeting ran late and then I had a few beers with Ben and Phil."

"Oh," I said. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. Still, I had no right to be mad. I didn't own him. I wasn't even sure if we were in a relationship. Even if we were, what right did I have to tell him not to go out with his friends?

My groggy mind whirred.

"Come on," he said with a hint of a smile. "Let's get you to bed."

"Bet you say that to all the girls," I mumbled.

He wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me to my room. I walked inside, confused, and dug out a pair of pajamas. He stood in the doorway, following me with his eyes.

"You're going to watch me change now?" I asked.

"I'll help if you want."

Rolling my eyes, I took off my clothes and slipped into pajamas. So tired was I that I nearly fell to the bed.

He swooped in, scooping me into his arms, and carried me down the hall. Dropping me on the bed, he quickly stripped to his boxers and climbed in beside me. I fought to keep my eyes open.

"You really are tired," he said, pushing the hair out of my eyes.

"I didn't get much sleep last night."

Grinning, he kissed me, softly at first, but quickly deepening it. I groaned as my body began to perk, my nipples tingling. "Still sleepy?"

"No," I muttered, reaching for him. "Not anymore."

The scent of beer brushed my cheek as his lips trailed down to my neck, hitting the spot behind my ear that made me squirm. My crotch tingled, ached, longed for attention. He didn't disappoint. He pulled on my shorts, kissing my inner thighs, making my head fog. Pushing my legs apart, he continued to place short kisses on my legs, gradually moving up until his mouth was on my most intimate spot. I groaned, fisting the sheets as his tongue tickled me, making my hips buck.

"Someone likes that," he muttered, lifting his head.

I couldn't speak.

He continued for a moment more before I heard him fumbling in the nightstand. My eyes still firmly closed, my body stiff at attention, I heard the package rip open and a minute later, he was inside me, crushing his hips into mine.

My hands went to his hair, my fingers twining in the tresses. My mind was blissfully numb while my body was alive.

"Damn it, India. I can't get enough of you," he groaned into my neck as we crashed together, both of us peaking, clinging to each other.

I trembled as he rolled off of me, the quivering a reminder of my pleasure. I stayed still, trying to quiet my breathing, while Jackson ambled to the bathroom. When he returned, I took my turn before fumbling on the floor for my shorts.

Crawling into bed beside him, exhaustion found me again. Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out.

***

Fletcher totally ignored me the next day, but Lauren surprised me with a gourmet cupcake, beautifully iced, and a lone candle which she lit during break.

Fletcher didn't join us and, even though she gave me puzzled looks, Lauren didn't ask why. I split the cupcake with her while we talked about our project.

"Are you still drawing Fletcher?" she asked.

I glanced at him, sitting in the corner, drinking a Coke. "No, but don't tell him, okay? I think I need to be the one to tell him."

"Oh, of course not," she said, her eyes wide behind her wire-framed glasses. "He's been moody lately. I haven't talked a whole lot to him."

"Yeah, he's been bitchy to me, too," I said.

"Maybe he's on his period," Lauren giggled. I had to laugh. She was just adorable and Fletcher was an ass for not realizing that.

After class, I hurried out the door, not wanting Fletcher to catch up to me again. Jackson was waiting by the curb, his eyes watching me as I approached the car.

"Where's your friend today?" he asked.

"I don't know. He hasn't spoken to me all day," I said.

"Good," he said, pulling away from the curb. "Um, I'm off for the rest of the day. I have some errands to run after I drop you off."

"Sure," I said.

He took my hand, holding it all the way home, lighting something inside of my chest. When he pulled into the drive, he yanked me closer, placing a lingering kiss on my lips.

"I'll be back soon," he said, edging back.

"Okay," I said, breathless.

I went inside and straight upstairs. Dropping my bag in my room, I walked to my little studio, uncovered my painting, and went to work.

The sun was low in the sky by the time I noticed Jackson standing in the doorway.

"You really get into that shit, don't you?" he asked.

"I suppose," I said, setting down the palette. "Done with your errands?"

"Yeah. Come to your room."

After carefully covering the painting, I went into my room where he was standing, staring at my closet door. Turning, I gasped as my eyes landed on a beautiful red gown hanging from the door.

"It's so lovely," I whispered, touching the soft material. "What is this for?"

"I have to go to a fund raiser tomorrow night," he said. "I thought you'd like to go."

"Sure," I said, my eyes still raking over the dress. "Where did you get this?"

"At some shop my secretary told me about," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I thought this would look good on you."

Turning in his arms, I smiled. "Thank you. But, how did you get the size?"

"I'm excellent with sizes," he said, his eyes smoky. Reaching up, he cupped a breast. "For instance, 34C, right?"

I smacked his hand away, heat flooding my cheeks. He inched closer, kissing my neck.

"I hope you have shoes. Bras and dresses I can do – shoes, not so much."

"I have shoes," I murmured as he continued to kiss my neck. I'd brought several dresses and appropriate shoes just in case the gallery held some sort of formal function.

"Good," he said, backing me up to the bed. I hit the mattress and tumbled back, my legs hanging over the edge. Jackson quickly covered my body. "I told you that I can't get enough of you."

My girl parts tingled as he tugged the shorts off my hips. Hooking his fingers in the sides of my panties, he took his time lowering them.

"Um, Jackson," I said, sucking in a breath when he kissed my thigh. "I don't keep condoms in my nightstand."

He crept up my body to kiss me. "You should."

He was off me before I could utter a response and then back with a handful of condoms. He tossed all but one on the bed, ripping it open with his teeth and then snapping it into place.

"Better," he said, as he leaned over me, slipping deliciously inside of me. The new angle was amazing, the sensation so sweet. Tossing my arms over his shoulders, I gasped as he took his time, sliding almost completely out, teasing me with his tip.

"Jackson," I groaned. "You are killing me."

His lips moved from my neck to my ear. "Now you know how I've felt since I saw you for the first time."

My eyes widened but before I could say a word, he was jamming inside of me again. He kept up his slow pace until my pulse quickened and I tightened my hold, gasping and begging him to finish me off.

"So eager," he whispered, thrusting inside, grinding into me. I shuddered as pleasure swept over my body, clinging to him like a life raft. "Damn."

I smiled as I melted into the bed, feeling more liquefied than solid.

"I could fuck you all day every day," he said, lifting off my body. I shot him a dirty look. Rolling his eyes, he leaned over to kiss me softly. "I mean, I could make love to you all the time."

I snorted my laughter. "Much better."

"Let's make some food."

***

Staring in the mirror of the little bathroom, I twisted and turned, trying to get the full impact of the dress. Wishing for a full length mirror, I sighed.

The straps of the dress tied behind my neck, leaving most of my back exposed. The bodice clung to my curves, emphasizing my breasts, while the skirt flowed down to the floor, a slit up the left side.

I piled my dark hair on top of my head in a neat bun, leaving a few tendrils to frame my face. Diamond studs that Kalvin had bought me for my eighteenth birthday twinkled from my earlobes in the light. On my feet were black, strappy heels. I wished that I'd had some that matched the dress, but there was no time now.

With regret, I'd taken off the necklace Jackson had given me – it wouldn't have gone well, anyway.

With one last look, I exited the bathroom and carefully walked down the stairs.

"Holy shit," Jackson uttered when I walked into the kitchen. He was devastating in his black tux, his hair immaculate. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," I said, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Um, are you sure you want to take me? What about Celeste?"

He took my hand, placing a careful kiss on my cheek. "Celeste was just a piece of ass. You, India, are amazing."

Before I had time to revel in his compliment, he shot me an impish smile. "Besides, I told everyone that I intended to take my stepsister to this function, so, try to keep your hands to yourself, huh? Do you think you could behave?"

I snorted, trying to hide the meaning behind his words. He was right, of course. We'd have to keep a lid on things, act as though we were nothing more than stepsiblings. But it would be hard. Every time I looked at him, my heart leapt.

"Once this thing is over," he said, tugging me to his chest, "I'm bringing you back here so I can untie that dress."

Heat flooded to my groin as my nipples hardened. All it took was a few words from his lips and I was on fire. It was going to be a long night.

The fund raiser was to benefit Music in the Classroom and was held in the hall of a fancy hotel. It was beautiful with crystal chandeliers hanging above, intimate tables with white table cloths and flickering candles on top. The wait staff was decked out in crisp black pants, white shirts, and bow ties. Champagne was available on every tray as the affluent gathered, talking business and pleasure in every group.

"Wow," I muttered as we entered the room, my hand tucked in the crook of Jackson's elbow. He handed the engraved invitations to an attendant at the door before leading me inside. Grabbing two flutes of champagne, he handed one to me.

"Take it easy, though," he warned. "Don't get drunk."

"Don't worry about it," I said.

Several tables were lined up against the walls holding items that were featured in a silent auction. We perused everything, making bids on things that interested us.

"There you are, Jackson," a man called as he crossed the room, holding out a hand. "Ah, and this must be the stepsister you mentioned."

"Yes," Jackson said, shaking the man's hand. "This is India Souter. India, this is Roger Bartoil, Chief of Operations at Bartoil Records."

"Nice to meet you," I said, forcing a smile. The man wasn't a whole lot older than Jackson – maybe by about five years.

"Jackson," Roger said, kissing my hand. "You didn't tell me how beautiful your stepsister is."

He shrugged, appearing nonchalant as if he hadn't even noticed what I looked like. How he could slip on such a neutral mask, I didn't know, but he desperately needed to teach me.

"You must save a dance for me later," Roger said with a wink.

"Absolutely," I said, fake smile still plastered on my face. Roger wasn't bad looking, per se, but he wasn't anyone that I would have looked at even if I wasn't... involved with Jackson. Plus, he gave me the creeps.

"You made an impression on the boss's son," Jackson said, steering me toward a table as an announcement came that dinner would be served.

I didn't recognize anyone at our table, but Jackson did. He introduced me to the men and their wives, but I couldn't retain their names. I was too aware of Jackson's leg brushing against mine. It was just a subtle touch, but enough to spark my desire.

Dinner was elaborate – good, but far too fancy for my taste. I couldn't wait for it to be over so we'd be free to move about the room. The two couples at our table were rather boring.

As we waited for our plates to be cleared, I glanced around the room, taking a double look when I spotted a familiar face near the front. Dressed in a strapless black gown, hair perfectly coiffed, sat Celeste, her pouty lips pulled into a smile. I didn't know who she was with, but she looked as if she was enjoying herself. Maybe Jackson was just a piece of ass to her, too.

A string quartet started playing a tune I didn't recognize. Several couples were drifting to the dance floor, coming together and turning slowly to the music.

"I promise we don't have to stay too much longer," Jackson said, leaning over to whisper in my ear. His breath on my cheek caused a shiver to run up my spine. "We'll check out the silent auction and if we've been outbid, we'll make our excuses."

I was all for that.

Roger Bartoil approached our table, wolfish smile on his face. "Ah, India, I hope you'll grant me that dance now? I know how Jackson is – he'll be making his excuses soon."

I glanced at Jackson, noting the stiff smile on his lips. He gave me a curt nod so I stood, taking Roger's hand, and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor.

He held me at a respectable distance, his hand splayed across my bare back.

"You are so lovely," he said with a bow of his head. "Jackson never told me that his stepsister was so beautiful."

"Oh, well, we haven't really had much of a chance to see each other until now," I said in a feeble attempt at an explanation.

"I see," he said, twirling me around, pulling me just a little closer. "You'll be staying with him for the entire summer?"

"Pretty much," I said. "I'm taking an art class."

"Interesting," he said. "And what medium do you prefer?"

"I paint," I said. "Oil."

"Wonderful," he said, easing me closer still. "Perhaps I could see some of your work?"

"Well, I don't have anything at Jackson's house," I lied. "I've been working on a painting at class, though."

"Oh, that's too bad."

"Um hm," I said, wishing the song would end.

"So, tell me, India," he said, his lips close to my ear. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," I muttered, glancing at Jackson. His eyes were mere slits, his hands wrapped firmly around a glass of beer. I tried flashing a smile, but failed.

Thankfully, the song ended. I attempted to disengage my hand from Roger's, but he held tightly.

"One more?"

"Oh, um..."

"Sorry, Roger," Jackson said with a charming smile, a hand on my back. "I promised my sister that I'd dance with her once before we left."

"Maybe next time," Roger said, kissing my hand again.

"Sure," I said, withdrawing my hand.

Jackson pushed me further onto the floor before turning me toward him, holding me at a distance. A scowl covered his face. "I don't like that man."

"He's creepy," I agreed.

His eyes snapped to mine. "Did he make a pass at you?"

"No," I said. "He asked to see my paintings but I told him I didn't have any at your house. Then he asked me how old I was."

"Fucking dick," he muttered under his breath.

"Isn't he your boss?" I asked.

"So? Just because he's my boss doesn't mean I have to like him," he growled. "Let's go check the auctions and get out of here."

Taking my hand, he pulled me off the dance floor, smack dab into Celeste.

"Jackson," she cooed, running a manicured nail up his chest. "You look handsome."

"Thanks," he said. "You look beautiful as always."

She smiled, turning her attention onto me. "India! How gorgeous are you? I was so surprised to hear that Jackson was bringing you. How... nice."

"Yes, it was thoughtful," I said.

"So, what are you two doing after the party?" she asked, her eyes focused only on Jackson. "Anything?"

"No," Jackson said. "We're not. India needs to work on her project for class."

"Well," said Celeste, smiling in my direction, "that doesn't mean that we can't do something."

"Maybe another time," he said, brushing past her. "I'll talk to you later."

I looked back in time to catch her nasty, malicious look that clearly said that Jackson was more than just a piece of ass.

And I believed her.
Chapter Eight

Jackson's mood disintegrated over the next week. He took me to class, but hadn't picked me up the entire week, leaving me to take the bus. He rarely made it home for dinner, often calling or texting to let me know he'd be late.

I couldn't help but to wonder if Celeste had anything to do with it. I knew she worked somewhere in his company – had she figured out what was going on with Jackson and I? Had she threatened to reveal it to someone, perhaps putting his career in jeopardy?

When we'd returned home Saturday evening, he'd been a bit preoccupied – but not enough so that he'd forgotten to untie my dress. The sex was good, of course, even if he'd been slightly distracted. He'd taken me in his bed where I'd slept the entire night.

Sunday had been wonderful. His weird mood had blown out during the night and we'd spent much of the day in bed, experimenting, him showing and teaching me new things.

And then Monday had rolled around.

His moody, sullen fits had started that evening. He'd come home, late, and fell into bed without a word to me. For the first time in nearly a week, I slept in my own bed.

The trend continued for the rest of the week until Wednesday night, a week after my birthday.

He texted me, telling me that he'd be late, so I reheated some leftovers and ate by myself in front of the television. Not able to concentrate on my painting, I waited in the living room, determined to do something to help relieve his tension. He hadn't spoken to me much, just grunting answers to my questions. He didn't explain what had been keeping him so late or why he was in such a dour mood lately.

I dozed on the sofa, watching a documentary about woodpeckers, and woke when I heard him shut and lock the front door.

"Jackson?" I called around a yawn.

"Yeah," he said, peeling off his jacket and dropping it to a chair as he entered the room. He sat beside me, scrubbing his face.

"You okay?" I asked.

Resting his head on the back of the sofa, he turned it toward me. "Fine. Why are you up?"

"Waiting for you," I said with a shrug.

"Thanks," he said, taking my hand. "Let's go to bed."

Without another word, he took me upstairs to his room. After closing the door, he pulled me into his arms, kissing me softly. I melted into him, missing his touch, wrapping my arms around him.

Tenderly, carefully, he removed my clothes, taking the time to admire my body. He looked me in the eyes, smiling.

"You are very beautiful, India," he whispered. "Don't ever let anyone tell you differently."

His soft mood startled me, but I didn't have time to dwell. He lifted me into his arms, setting me on the bed. He stripped, applied a condom, and then eased me to the pillows.

His kisses were sweet, soft, gentle. He held one of my hands while the other traced my jawline. It was so achingly sweet that it made me want him more than ever.

When he finally entered me, he employed a slow, easy rhythm, showering my face with kisses. Gone was the frenzied pace and desperate desire – in its place was deliberate lovemaking.

Afterwards, he tucked me into his arms, stroking my hair until I drifted off to sleep.

***

"Son of a bitch."

I woke to the sound of the buzzing alarm and Jackson cursing it as he smacked the night stand, finally shutting off the offending instrument.

"Mornings suck," he said, yanking me to his chest. "We should call off and stay home."

Nestling my head under his chin, I smiled. "I wish I could. It would be great. Maybe we can do just that Sunday."

He snorted, pulling away from me to scoop his boxers off the floor. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen, kid."

"What?" I asked, sitting up, covering my breasts with his sheets. "Why? What's going on with you, Jackson?"

Sitting with his back to me, he raked his fingers through his hair. "My dad called me Monday. It seems as if your mother and my father are coming here this weekend to pay us a visit."

"What?" I screeched, clutching the sheets tightly. "Are you serious? They never go anywhere together."

"Yeah, I know," he said, turning to give me a sad smile. "Maybe times are changing."

"How do you mean?" I asked.

Getting to his feet, he picked up his dirty clothes, dumping them in his hamper. "I honestly didn't think they'd last and now, well, maybe they're doing better. At any rate, they want to come this weekend to visit. Your mother wants to see you and my father is coming along for the ride."

With a derisive laugh, I gathered my clothing. "My mother's never cared about me, why start now? I mean, she's taken care of me by providing shelter and food and stuff, but she's never taken an interest in me or anything about me."

"I don't know, India," he said, his voice almost a whine. "All I know is that they'll be here in the morning."

"Great," I said, pulling my shirt over my head. "Just great. Are they staying here, too?"

"Yep," he said.

I paused, frozen in my spot. "Do you think they know? About us?"

"No," he snorted. "Not at all. Your mother doesn't keep tabs on you and my father isn't connected in any way to anyone I know here."

Nodding, I started for the door, intent on a shower. But I stopped as a thought occurred to me. "Melina."

"What about her?" he asked.

"She's your cousin," I said.

"So?"

"So, the last time she was here, she accused me of having a crush on you," I said. "I denied it of course, but I don't think she believed me."

He shook his head. "Even if she didn't believe you, she doesn't think that I would get involved with you." His cheeks flushed. "I used to talk to her about your mother... and stuff. Anyway, she's related to my mother and has absolutely no contact with my father."

I hoped he was right.

"I'm going to shower," I said, leaving the room.

***

Thursday evening was a dull, lifeless night. We sat together at the table, eating a simple meal of cheeseburgers that Jackson had brought home. I stared at him, morose; mourning a weekend that I'd been hoping would be as wonderful as the last.

But, at least they were only staying for the weekend. I figured I could handle my hormones for a few days. It would hard – a real test – to keep my feelings off my face. I'd just have to try.

"Are they flying or driving?" I asked.

"You know Dad," he said with an edge to his voice. "He'll fly and rent a car. He said they'd be here early."

I nibbled my cheeseburger, my appetite nonexistent.

"I took the day off," he said. "I guess I should be here, huh?"

"I suppose," I said. "I'd take the day off, too, but my class is nearly over."

"No, you shouldn't miss," he said. "Don't you get college credits or something?"

I nodded, pushing my plate away. "How early is early?"

"I'll take you to class," he said. "They'll be here around then, though. I mean, while I'm driving you."

"I can take the bus," I said.

"Not necessary," he mumbled.

Clearing my plate, I rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. Jackson approached me from behind, winding his arms around my waist.

"This sucks, you know," he said. He kissed my neck. "And it really sucks that I think we shouldn't be together tonight."

My heart sank. "I guess."

Spinning me in his arms, he kissed me hard on the mouth and then held me to his chest.

We spent the rest of the evening curled up on the sofa. When the hour grew late, he kissed me again, wished me goodnight, and then drifted off to bed alone. I followed a few minutes later.

He was the old Jackson of the first week of my stay the next morning. His face was dark, his lips in a tight, straight line, he said nothing to me as he drove me to class. Hopping out of his car, I marched straight into the gallery, not looking back. I was grateful for class to get away from his dark mood.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" Lauren chattered as we worked close together later that morning.

"Ugh, my mother is going to be here after class," I said.

"I thought she was here last weekend?" she frowned.

I'd forgotten my lie. Damn. "Well, she, uh, canceled. Something came up, or so she said."

"You and your mother don't get along?" she asked, concern in her face and voice.

"Not really," I said.

"Well, maybe since you've been away from her for a few weeks, things will be different," she suggested.

"Maybe," I said, but I didn't believe it.

Jackson was waiting for me after class. I'd assumed that I'd take the bus home, figuring he'd be there with our parents, entertaining them or whatever he was expected to do. But I wasn't complaining. Any time alone with him this weekend was going to be good.

"Are they there?" I asked.

"Yep," he said in a clipped tone.

"And?" I asked.

"And, what?" he asked.

"Well, are they fighting?"

"I haven't heard any arguments," he said.

I supposed that was good. Maybe my mother had decided to make an effort with this man. It would be nice. It'd be great to see her finally happy. Maybe then she'd settle down and be a mother.

A strange car was in the drive when we got home. I assumed it was the rental. When we walked inside, Kalvin greeted me with a hug.

"You've gotten even more beautiful," he said, grinning.

"Thanks," I said.

My mother lingered in the foyer, a queer smile on her face. Once Kalvin released me, she scooped me in her arms, kissing my cheeks.

"Darling, I've missed you."

"Um, I've missed you, too," I said, shocked. I hadn't even thought that she'd noticed I was gone. She hadn't texted, called, or emailed the entire time I'd been at Jackson's.

"Jackson," she said, "you have such a beautiful home. And it's so clean."

"Thanks," he said, digging a beer out of the fridge. I glanced at the clock, surprised to see him drinking so early. "Make yourselves at home. You and Dad can take my bedroom. I've already changed the sheets."

"Where will you sleep?" she asked.

"On the sofa."

"I thought you had three bedrooms," Kalvin said, helping himself to a beer. That, too, was weird. Kalvin was more of a scotch guy.

"India is using the other room for her art stuff," he said, not sparing me a glance.

"Well, that's nice of you to let her do that," Mom gushed.

Who was this woman?

Kalvin decided to take us out to dinner that night. We piled into Jackson's car – the parents in the backseat – and headed downtown to a fancy French restaurant. All the entrees were in French, which I didn't understand, and the people dressed in fancy clothes. Glad I'd donned a dress, I leaned closer to Kalvin, who was seated on my left, and asked him to order for me.

"Of course, dear," he smiled.

Jackson shot me a look. I ignored it.

The food was not my favorite. It wasn't bad, but I definitely preferred pizza.

Kalvin plied his son with questions about work; embellishing Jackson's every answer with examples of his own business. It was boring conversation, but what could I do?

My mother sat primly on my other side, looking as if she was listening – and like she was interested. I shoveled food in my face, wanting the meal to end.

When we returned to Jackson's, Kalvin insisted that we all sit on the deck to enjoy the warm, summer evening. Kalvin and Jackson drank beer while my mother nursed a glass of wine. I toyed with a bottle of water, wishing it was whiskey instead.

"Are you enjoying your art class?" my mother asked.

"Yes," I said. "It's been very instructive."

"Excellent!" Kalvin exclaimed. "You'll be prepared for college this fall."

"Yep," I said, catching Jackson rolling his eyes behind his father's back.

"You'll be home before you head off to college, won't you?" Mother asked.

"Yes, but only for about a week and a half," I said.

"That reminds me," Kalvin said, a wide grin breaching his face. "We have a surprise for you when you get home."

"Great. I can't wait."

Another eye roll from Jackson.

As the stars grew brighter and the sky darker, I sat there, listening to the crickets as my mother exclaimed how beautiful and quiet everything was. She must have thought that nothing this close to downtown could be beautiful or quiet.

"Okay, well, I'm going to bed," I announced, getting out of my chair. "I got up early and am just so tired."

"Oh, goodnight, dear," Kalvin said. "We'll all do something fun tomorrow. Just like a family."

"Sure," I said, a queasy feeling in my stomach. "Sounds great."

Before he could start throwing out suggestions, I ran up to my room. Quickly changing, I slipped into the sheets, closed my eyes, and listened for sounds that they'd all come back in. I was desperate to sneak downstairs once my mother and Kalvin retired for the night, but it was sounding as if they were going to stay on the deck cooing over everything beautiful and quiet.

Frustrated, I hugged my pillow, wishing it was Jackson's warm body. It didn't seem fair that I was to be denied him, but what could we do? We couldn't announce our relationship to our parents, especially since they seemed to have fixed whatever had been going wrong with their marriage.

But, would there ever be a good time?

I supposed that was a good conversation to have with Jackson. Maybe he had an idea or a suggestion.

Flopping to my back, I stared at the ceiling, determined to stay awake. But it wasn't until an hour and a half later that I finally heard Kalvin and my mother pass my door and enter Jackson's room. I waited, staring at my phone, for twenty minutes. Then, I tiptoed out of my room, ready to say I was thirsty if I got caught, and padded down the stairs.

The downstairs was dark except for a light above the stove. It was quiet, too, eerily so. Every little creak was magnified, scaring the crap out of me.

The living room was just as dark with the moon beams filtering through the windows the only light.

I spotted him, a huddled mass on the couch, and fought a smile. Checking over my shoulder, I crept closer, dropping to the floor in front of him.

"Shit, India," he whispered, his eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to see you," I said, my voice very low.

Sighing, he sat up, glancing at the doorway. "This is stupid, you know."

"I don't care."

"I do," he said. "You need to get back to bed."

Hurt, I fell back on my heels. Crossing my arms over my chest, I pouted. "That's real nice."

"India," he said, looking over his shoulder again, "you know we can't do this. You know that."

"Fine," I said, getting to my feet.

He stood, too, grabbing my arm. Looking once more toward the doorway, he pulled me out of sight, planting a quick kiss on my lips. "Goodnight. Go to sleep. All right."

"Yes," I said with a smile.

I dashed up the stairs and into bed. The darkness did nothing to soothe me, nor had Jackson's quick, hurried kiss. He'd ruined me – spoiled me. I wanted all or nothing.

Sighing, I turned to my side, facing the wall. The weekend was going to suck. But first, I had to get through tonight. I'd worry about tomorrow in the morning. One step at a time.
Chapter Nine

Saturday dawned gray and rainy, suiting my mood perfectly. After dressing, I stumbled down the stairs to a weird sight. My mother and Kalvin were preparing breakfast amongst mumbled words and giggles.

What in the hell had happened since I'd left?

"Oh, India!" Kalvin greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sure," I said, heading straight for the coffeemaker.

"We're making breakfast," my mother said in a disgustingly cheery tone. "Hungry?"

"Not really," I said, leaning against the counter, sipping my coffee.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Kalvin said.

I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say. The two of them were acting as if they were newlyweds

Jackson ambled into the kitchen, hair a mess, and joined me at the coffeemaker. He grunted a greeting, ignoring the parents messing around the stove.

"Hey, son," Kalvin said. "Grab some plates, will you?"

The dark look that passed over Jackson's face was startling and, for a moment, I thought he was going to say something – something not very nice. But he didn't. He merely moved away to fetch plates, setting them on the counter beside the stove.

Mother dished up the food, calling out for us to come get it. We sat at the table, eating in silence.

"This is really nice," Kalvin cooed. I shoveled scrambled eggs into my mouth. "You know, we should get together for Thanksgiving. The last few years you've been busy, Jackson, I know, but maybe this year we can do something together."

"Thanksgiving? Already?" I said, lifting my head.

"Well, we have time, sure," Kalvin said. "But, it's never too early to plan."

"You'll be coming home for Thanksgiving, won't you, India?" Mother asked.

"I guess," I said.

"I can't believe you'll be going off to college," she said. "My little girl all grown up."

I smiled, spearing a slice of bacon. Who was this woman? Had something happened? Had she been diagnosed with something and placed on medication?

As breakfast ended, I jumped from my chair, announcing that I'd clean up. Jackson offered to help.

"The sun's coming out. Let's take our coffee outside," Kalvin said, wrapping an arm around my mother's shoulders.

"Great idea."

As soon as they walked out the door, Jackson heaved a huge sigh.

"What in the hell?" I asked, rinsing dishes so he could stack them in the dishwasher.

"I don't know," he said. "I spoke to my father a week or so ago and he was in a pissy mood, complaining that they'd been fighting again."

"They're like a... family show couple. Like perfect parents. When did that happen?"

"Got me, but I can't wait for them to leave. It's disgusting," he said, slamming a skillet into the bottom rack. "I mean, really?"

"Maybe they'll leave early tomorrow," I said.

"One can hope," he said.

The rest of the day was spent downtown. We shopped Michigan Avenue, toured the Willis Tower, visited Navy Pier, and ate an excellent pizza place. I was worn out by the time we got back, wanting to do nothing but fall into bed. Hopefully, when I woke, they'd be preparing to go home.

But, Kalvin insisted that we watch a pay-per-view movie. Jackson relented, which was surprising. I kept waiting for him to explode – to lash out at the father he so resented. He must have been dipping into a deep well of patience. If so, I wished he'd pass some my way.

The movie was a rom-com – corny with a funny quip here or there. Kalvin roared with laughter while my mother giggled beside him. I sat in a chair, trying to get lost in the plot, but ending up fighting fatigue.

At last, it was over and I could go to bed. I shot one last, longing look at Jackson before scampering up the stairs. I didn't bother trying to stay awake – he'd just get pissed again. Instead, I fell to my pillows and drifted off immediately.

Kalvin and my mother lingered over breakfast Sunday morning, as if they didn't want to leave. Frustration gurgled, churning like lava, in my gut. I wanted them gone so Jackson and I could resume our...relationship.

"You flying out?" Jackson asked, standing near the counter with coffee cup in hand.

"No," Kalvin said with a wistful smile. "We're driving back. We thought we'd take our time, stop a few places, that sort of thing."

I glanced at my mother, startled to see a flash of irritation briefly cross her face. She caught me staring and smiled. That look had passed so quickly, I though perhaps I'd imagined it. But I didn't think so.

Something wasn't right.

Jackson nodded, lifting the cup to his lips. I sat at the table, my leg wiggling. Nervous energy filled me and I really, really needed to release it.

Finally, after nearly two hours of bullshit, Mom and Kalvin gathered their things, said a long goodbye, and pulled out of the driveway.

"I thought they'd never leave," I said as I closed the door. I turned to Jackson, smile on my face, to find him not in the entryway. "Jackson?"

Wandering to the kitchen, I found him, keys in hand, unreadable expression on his face.

"What's going on? Where are you going?" I asked.

"Office," he mumbled, pushing past me. He was gone before I could stop him.

"What in the hell?" I asked the empty house.

I tried to keep busy, tidying up the house, doing a little laundry – anything to keep me from looking out the window. Several things ran through my mind – several possibilities to explain his quick exit. Maybe he was running errands – getting stuff for a romantic evening. Maybe he was out buying groceries. Maybe he was planning something special to celebrate the departure of our parents.

But as the day wore on and I heard nothing from him, my heart began to fall, along with my optimism. Maybe he was feeling guilty because of what we'd done.

At eleven o'clock that night, I went to bed.

***

"I can drop you off this morning, but I won't be able to for the rest of the week," Jackson said Monday morning when I finally made my way to the kitchen.

"Um, okay," I said, pouring coffee into a cup. "I can take the bus."

"You'll have to," he grumbled. "After class, too."

I nodded, confused and a little hurt. A million questions popped into my head, like pop-ups on a computer screen, but I wouldn't voice them now. I wanted real answers, not hurried, mumbled ones which were all I'd get at this time.

I found it hard to concentrate in class. Annie was spending time with each of us this week, going through our sketchbooks, critiquing and offering suggestions. As she worked with a tall, skinny girl, I flipped through my book, avoiding the sketches of Jackson.

My mind in a fog, I paid no attention to anyone around me. I couldn't stop thinking about Jackson's strange behavior. I should be used to it by now, but this was extremely puzzling.

At break, I bought a coffee and sat at my usual table. Lauren slipped beside me, chattering about something, but I didn't hear a word she'd said.

"Okay, India, tell me what's up," she said.

"Huh?" I said.

"You'd been preoccupied all morning," she said, tapping a finger on her chin. "Not just today, either. It's been on and off for a week or two."

It was on the tip of my tongue to spill the whole thing to her – I'd never really had a close friend to confide in, just acquaintances that I'd hang out with from time to time. But, it felt too much like a betrayal. Jackson didn't want me to tell anyone. I had to keep my mouth shut.

"Nothing, really," I said. "Just, stressed from my mother's visit. She's exhausting."

"That's too bad," she said with another of those sympathetic head tilts. "It's a shame you're not closer to her."

"I know," I said, taking a large drink of my cooling coffee. "But, there's only this week and next left of the class, then I'll be going home for a week or so. Maybe we'll bond before I come back for college."

"Are you going to Stelman Academy of Art?" she asked.

I nodded. "Isn't everyone in this class going to Stelman? I mean, we're getting college credits."

"Oh, no," she said. "Some of the people are going to other art schools. The credits transfer to most other schools."

"Oh," I said, chancing a quick glance in Fletcher's direction.

"Fletcher's going, too," she said, scooting closer. "Do you think you two will ever be friends?"

My eyes shot to him briefly. He was sulking in the corner, like he usually did since his confrontation with Jackson. "I don't know. He really pissed me off."

"Why?" she asked. "Because he accused you of liking your stepbrother?"

My head snapped to her. "What?"

"He told me," she shrugged. "He thinks that you've got the hots for your stepbrother. I tried to explain to him that it wasn't a big deal. I mean, it's just a crush and it's not like you two are actually related."

I blinked at her, angry that Fletcher had run his mouth, but gratified that Lauren didn't think I was disgusting. Of course, she didn't know all the juicy details.

"He just...pissed me off," I said, angry for not being able to verbalize how Fletcher had made me feel. "And I just don't want to talk about him right now."

When class ended, I walked out, half expecting Jackson to be there. When he wasn't, it hit home. Something was truly off and I was going to have to initiate the conversation to find out just what. He certainly wasn't talking.

After a long, boring bus ride, I went home and started working on the final painting in the series. I'd been struggling with his eyes, trying to capture the look that he used to give me right before he kissed me, but it just wasn't coming.

Slamming the palette down in frustration, I groaned and sank to the floor. Nothing was working out – nothing. And I was helpless to fix any of it.

On Wednesday, Jackson surprised me by coming home shortly after dinner. I'd just cleaned up and was sitting in the kitchen, trying to decide what I should do – paint or watch mindless TV.

He strolled into the kitchen, his face a mask of indifference, and took me by the hand. My heart skipped, but he didn't take me upstairs. Instead, he led me to the living room where he sat on the sofa, pulling me beside him.

"What now?" I asked, trying to sound angry or firm, but it didn't work. My voice came out squeaky and childish.

"We need to talk," he said, holding my hand in his lap.

"Talk."

Dropping back his head, he stared at the ceiling for a moment, presumably to gather his thoughts.

"Okay," he said. "Well, the parent visit was illuminating, at least for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"India, get real," he said, his eyes narrowed. "My father has been texting me since you got here, complaining about his marriage. He'd already been talking to his lawyer, laying the groundwork for divorce."

My brow furrowed. "They looked happy to me."

"Exactly," he said, squeezing my hand. "You see, when I thought that they were going to split, then I thought it'd be all right for you and me...you know."

I did know. And I was beginning to know even more.

"But now, well, they seem to have worked everything out," he continued. "And I... well; I guess I just don't think things can continue with us."

"Why not?" I asked. "Do you think I care what they think?"

"That's just it," he said, leaning forward. "My father is making an effort with me. He's trying to mend this shitty relationship. And, he adores you. He wants us to be this big, happy family."

"So? We're both adults, Jackson. We're capable of making our own decisions. If we want to be together, then we can. We're not related."

"You're missing the point," he said. "My dad wants a family. He wants this to work. He wants us all to be happy."

"So, I'm supposed to be happy? I'm supposed to be thrilled that their marriage is working, which is supposed to mean that you and I can slip into a sibling relationship? That's not going to happen."

"We don't have a choice."

"We do have a choice."

Dropping my hand, he got to his feet, raking fingers through his hair. "I've been a shit to my father my whole life – ever since he left my mom. I didn't know why they divorced – I always assumed that it was his fault. And then, I find out that my mother was screwing around on him and that my father tried very hard to keep us together. My mom kicked him out of the house and then told me that he'd left."

I hadn't known that either. Of course, I'd never asked Kalvin – never thought it was my business.

"He's done a lot for me," Jackson said. "I've just taken advantage of it."

"And now you're ready to be a loving son? You didn't really welcome him into your home."

He rolled his eyes at me. "He and I talked Saturday night after you'd gone to bed. Your mother went upstairs so he and I talked."

Great, I wanted to say.

I looked into his face, stunned at the pleading in his eyes. After all these weeks with him when I'd thought that he hated his father, the truth was right there.

But still...

"Okay, but Kalvin is an understanding man," I persisted. "If we just talked to him, maybe he'd be okay with it."

"I don't think so," Jackson said. "Haven't you heard me? Dad thinks we're going to eventually merge into a happy family. You heard him talk about Thanksgiving. He's always wanted that. He grew up in a loving family where they all got together for that sort of thing. We used to gather when I was a kid. But then, my parents divorced and Mom got custody."

Having never really had a family celebration, I tried to see his point. Perhaps because I didn't know what I was missing, it didn't seem like that big of a deal.

"I've been miserable most of my life," I said. "My mother has never been the maternal sort. I never had a lot of friends. Hell, I don't even know who my father is. If I have a chance to be happy, I'm grabbing hold."

He faltered slightly, then composed himself.

"I know, India," he said. "But, I have to do this right now. We can't be selfish."

"Us be selfish? What about them?" I screeched. "My mother has thought about no one but herself for her entire life! Do you think she's ever done anything for me? Or does, you know, making sure I'm fed and clothed count? I mean, isn't that basic childcare? That's all I've gotten, Jackson. Never hugs or bedtimes stories. Never trick-or-treating, unless at that time she had a boyfriend who didn't see me as a pain in the ass. Santa and the Easter Bunny – that's a laugh! It's always been about her – her good times, men plying her with fun, money...whatever. You were right, you know, when you said she was a slut."

I stopped, my eyes wide, my mouth a perfect O.

"That's it," I whispered, getting to my feet. I wandered to the doorway, leaning into the frame.

"What's it?" he asked. He'd remained silent during my entire rant, his eyes widening or narrowing with my words. "What are you talking about?"

"You said, weeks ago, that I was a slut like my mother. That's the problem, isn't it?"

"No, India," he groaned, scrubbing his face. "I was wrong about that. I don't even know why I said it. I certainly didn't mean it."

I didn't know if I believed him. I didn't know what to believe. All I knew was that my heart was breaking worse than it had ever before.

"India," he said, crossing the room. He took my hands, pulling me closer. "I shouldn't have started this. I should have known better."

"Me, too," I snorted.

"I just thought," he said, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, okay? Sorry."

Tears prickled the backs of my eyes, but I didn't want them to fall in front of Jackson. With a nod, I backed out of his arms and went upstairs, locking myself in my room. An hour later, I heard him pad down the hall, pausing briefly by my door, before continuing to his room.
Chapter Ten

The last week of class was mostly an overview, with time to put finishing touches on our projects. I'd finished my painting series of Jackson last week, since I'd had plenty of time on my hands and no Jackson to distract me.

For the remainder of the previous week, Jackson had gone in to work before I even got out of bed, and came home past midnight. He was avoiding me, which was just as well. It pained me to look at him.

Annie announced on Monday morning that we needed to bring our projects in no later than Thursday. How I was going to manage that on the bus, I didn't know.

The only other option I had was to ask Jackson.

I sat in the kitchen Tuesday evening, cellphone in hand. Biting the bullet, I sent him a text:

Have to take my paintings to class on Thursday morning. Can't take them on the bus. Can you help?

I stared at the phone, thinking he'd text back immediately, but didn't get a reply until two hours later.

Sure.

"Smooth talker," I sighed. Still, my heart lifted. I'd get to see him, at least for a few minutes, once more before I packed up and flew home. Unless, of course, you counted Thanksgiving. I rolled my eyes at that thought. Maybe I'd just stay at school for the holiday.

I did all my laundry and began packing. It was sad, now, as I looked around the room that had been mine for six weeks. I recalled how much I hadn't wanted to be there. Things sure had turned around quickly.

But only to come full circle.

I didn't want to be here now.

Going into the little studio, I carefully wrapped each painting before lining them in the hall. Then, I took all my supplies – easel, paints, brushes, everything – to my bedroom to pack, too. I picked up the liners, swept and dusted the room, and then, struggling with my spaghetti-thin arms, moved the filing cabinets back where they belonged. I was determined not to leave a trace of myself behind.

Thursday morning, Jackson was waiting in the kitchen for me, dressed in his usual suit and tie.

"Where are the paintings?" he asked.

"In the hall," I said.

Without a word, he jogged up the stairs, hauling the paintings down one by one, and carefully placing them in the trunk.

"Ready?" he asked when he was finished.

"Yes," I said, following him to the car. It was the first time we'd been together since our talk the Sunday after the parents left. He looked different. His face was tense and there were dark smudges under his eyes.

There was so much that I wanted to say to him – so many questions that I wanted to ask – but I couldn't. He'd made up his mind and it wasn't looking like there was anything that I could say to change it.

When we arrived at the gallery, he killed the engine and popped the trunk. Under my watchful eye, he carried each one down to the classroom, garnering quite a bit of female attention. Suddenly, I became a lot more interesting to most of the girls who'd attended class with me for the past six weeks.

Bitches.

After setting the last one in the designated spot, he paused, giving me a pained smile.

"There you go."

"Thanks," I said. "I mean it. There's no way I could have gotten them on the bus."

"No problem," he said, digging the keys out of his pocket. "Well, I'll see you later."

"Okay."

He started for the door, but stopped, coming back to me. "Do you need to take them home tonight?"

I shook my head. "They'll stay here until the exhibit this fall."

Nodding, he left, taking my heart with me.

"Okay," Annie said, clapping her hands. "Let's unwrap our paintings and set them up. I can't wait to see them."

Conscious of Fletcher's gaze, I arranged my paintings on the easels, tearing away the packing. Jackson's face greeted me, tearing at my soul. I caught him in several stages – the first was him sitting at the island, dressed casually, with a dark, brooding look on his face. His eyes were hard and unyielding.

The second was of him leaning against the kitchen counter dressed immaculately in suit and tie, looking at his phone. I had managed to capture the intensity of his eyes as he read through emails, preparing for a long day of work.

The third was my favorite. It was Jackson in jeans and a t-shirt, sitting in his recliner, his face relaxed. I'd sketched it after we'd slept together the first time – when he'd had some sort of peace about him. His eyes looked straight out, burning with passion, filling with love.

Yeah, sure, there'd never been love in his eyes, but I hadn't been able to stop myself from painting it there. It was the way I'd wanted him to look at me.

"Wow," Lauren said, coming up behind me. "They almost look like they're breathing."

"Thanks," I said, needing to get away from Jackson's image. "Let's go look at yours."

She'd painted Fletcher in three different settings – class, the park, and on the street.

"Did you guys do these outside of class?" I asked. "They're amazing."

"Thanks," she smiled, her eyes on her work. "No, I sketched him during class but I had to sort of fudge the background."

"They're remarkable," I said. "Fantastic."

"So are yours," she said, dragging me back to my series. "Your stepbrother is a great subject."

"I know," I said. "He's an ass, but his face is great to sketch."

"He is hot," a tall, skinny girl said, coming up to us. "Your stepbrother, huh?"

"Yes," I said, jealousy churning in my gut.

"Is he single?" she asked, the friend beside her giggling.

"He's seeing a girl named Celeste," I said, hoping to cut off the questions. I wasn't in the mood for this. I wasn't about to set Jackson up with some bimbo.

"That's too bad," the skinny girl said, giving me a warm smile. "You'll be going to Stelman, right?"

"Yes," I said slowly.

"Good, maybe we'll have classes together. I'm Yvette."

She held out a hand. I shook it. "India."

"Annie's checking out my work but hey, we'll talk later."

I didn't respond, just watched her walk away.

"Did she seriously just befriend you so that you'll fix her up with your stepbrother?" Lauren asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah, looks that way," I said with a laugh. "Like that's gonna happen."

"I knew you weren't painting me."

We turned to find a frowning Fletcher, jabbing a finger at my paintings. "I thought we'd made a deal."

"Sorry," I said. "But, it was so much easier to paint Jackson."

"Whatever," he snorted. "You'll notice that I did you."

I looked at his paintings, astonished to see me peering out of the canvas. He'd painted me laughing at break, sketching, and sitting in class, pensive.

"Wow, Fletcher," Lauren exclaimed, sucking in a breath. "They're beautiful."

Placing a hand on his arm, I smiled. "Thanks, Fletcher. They really are good."

His frown faltered as he looked at my hand. He nodded and then moved away, standing by his work.

I didn't know what I felt. Probably, I should have been a little creeped out, but, instead, I was touched. If only Fletcher hadn't acted like an asshole. But then, maybe I'd given him the wrong impression.

Relationships totally sucked.

Never again would I get involved with someone. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe it was easier to just be with someone in order to get what you wanted and then just leave – cut yourself out of the picture – before you got hurt. It was starting to make sense.

Naturally, Jackson was not waiting for me after class. I trudged to the bus stop, dreading my last couple of nights. I would be leaving early Saturday morning. Flying, again. Probably taking the bus to the airport.

Jackson was a no-show Thursday night. Unsurprising. I sat in my room, on the laptop, and fumed. Even if we couldn't be together anymore, he could at least spend a little time with me before I left.

Friday's class was really just a sort of party. Annie had brought in snacks and drinks, leaving all the paintings in place so we could continue to enjoy them. It was a total waste of time, but, I grudgingly allowed myself to have a little fun.

The house was quiet when I got home. Without a painting to work on, there wasn't much for me to do. I double checked that I had everything packed before drifting downstairs to the living room.

Jackson came home that evening around nine and sat beside me on the sofa.

"I'll take you to the airport in the morning," he said, not looking at me.

"Thanks."

He took my hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm sorry about all of this."

"Me, too."

I wanted so badly to take him upstairs, to tell him goodbye in a more satisfying way, but that would only make things harder.

"Maybe, you know," he said, head back, staring at the ceiling, "when you're back for school, we could get together for lunch or something. I mean, if you want."

"Sure."

He nodded, closing his eyes. "This is a fucking mess."

"I know."

He sighed. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."

He left without another word. I waited about ten minutes and then went to my room.

***

"I'm so glad you're home," Kalvin said, lugging my bags into the house. "It's been quiet around here without you."

"I'm sure," I said, a lump stuck in my throat. "Where's my mother?"

"Oh, she went to the grocery store. She wants to make something special for dinner tonight, to celebrate your homecoming."

I nodded, too tired to respond. I hadn't slept but for maybe an hour or two the previous night and it was catching up to me.

Kalvin helped me to carry my things to my room and then left me alone. There were several cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, a reminder that soon I would be leaving again.

Not having the energy to deal with it, I crawled on my bed, hugged my pillow, and fell asleep.

Kalvin woke me two hours later, a frown marring his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing," he said with a wave and a forced smile. "You're mother called. She had an emergency meeting with her Women's Group and won't make it in time for dinner."

What a crock.

"So, I thought we'd order in," he continued. "What would you like?"

"I don't care," I said. "Whatever."

"I think I'll get pizza."

"Sure."

When he left, I sat up in bed, the shadows looming on the floor. I wasn't in the least bit surprised that my mother hadn't made a special dinner. I'd had a feeling that the weekend they'd spent at Jackson's was a fluke. I just wondered what was going on.

Kalvin and I ate pizza while watching a documentary on how tires were made. He commented here and there, adding his own knowledge, while I just ate.

Finally, when the pizza was gone and the documentary was over, he turned off the television.

"India, I think we should talk."

My heart stilled. Did he know about me and Jackson? Was he going to out me and then lecture me for hours?

He cleared his throat. "I guess it's no secret to you that your mother and I have been having difficulties."

"But, I thought that you two were doing better?" I said.

"We were," he said, shaking his head. "But, I don't know."

He rubbed his face and something like pity rose inside me. I cocked my head, studying him for the first time ever. He truly loved my mother. He was afraid he was losing her.

I could relate.

"Kalvin," I whispered, touching his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I really am. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, India," he said, giving me a smile. "But thanks."

"So, where is she now?"

"She's with her friends," he said. "Um, she was going to make dinner, but when she called, we argued. She said she needed some time to herself."

There was that selfishness that I knew so well. What did she care that her daughter was home? What did she care that she was hurting the man that really loved her?

"Hey, I don't want you to worry," he said, giving me a brief hug. "When I talked to her, I suggested counseling. She said it was a good idea. So, maybe we'll try that. Hopefully it will help."

I smiled at his optimism, what else could I do?

***

Everything was packed. My room was bare. Cardboard boxes took up most of my room.

I was ready.

"Oh, great," Kalvin said, coming into my room. "Let's get this stuff downstairs."

He was acting weird – mysterious. Something was up. I didn't think it had anything to do with my mother – who'd finally come home but had been keeping to herself for the past week.

Grabbing a box, I followed him downstairs and out of the front door. The trunk of a strange car was open.

"Who's car?" I asked.

Kalvin carefully placed the box inside then turned to me with a smile. "It's yours."

"Mine?" I asked, eyes wide, staring at the cute little red sedan. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "Remember when I came to Chicago – I told you I had a surprise for you. Here it is!"

"Wow," I said, hugging him back. "I...thank you, Kalvin. Thanks."

"Oh, it's nothing," he said with a blush. "It belonged to a friend of mine. I had to wait until he got his new car until I could bring this one home."

"I love it!" I exclaimed.

We finished carrying the boxes down and when the car was full, I turned to Kalvin, warmth spreading through my heart.

"Kalvin, I can't thank you enough," I said, nibbling my lip. "I haven't always been nice to you, but you've been the closest thing I've ever had to a father. I appreciate it so very much."

"Oh, India," he said, pulling me into a full-on hug. "You're just the best. I hope you enjoy college life. Grow. Meet people. Discover yourself."

"I will," I said, edging out of his embrace in time to see my mother coming down the walk.

She smiled a genuine smile. "I can't believe this day is here."

"I know," I said, awkward.

She hugged me, holding me close. So many unsaid things rose up between us, but neither of us voiced them. It was just as well. I'd said my piece to Kalvin – I didn't know if I could handle another emotional scene with my mother.

"Take care of yourself, India," she said, a little teary. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too."

With one more look at the house and the two people standing in the yard, I got into the car and drove away.

Chapter Eleven

Crisp leaves crunched under my shoes as I ambled along the sidewalk, backpack over my shoulder. It was Friday and classes were over. My weekend was just starting.

"India! Wait up!"

I paused, smiling over my shoulder as Lauren raced to catch up to me.

"Hey," I said, shifting my backpack up further. "Excited about tomorrow?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes shining behind her stylish, blocky new glasses. "I can't wait. I can't believe that real critics and art collectors will be there."

"I know," I said. "Although, what they'll want with portraits of people they don't know..."

"Oh, I doubt if anyone will buy anything," she said. "I always thought it was a silly sort of project, too. I mean, sure, it helped us to see our subject in different ways, but still..."

I smiled. Lauren had said the same thing over and over since we'd received the email from Annie, explaining about the exhibit and announcing that there would be special guests. At first, the little exhibit was just supposed to showcase our work to our family and friends, but, as Annie had said in the email, she wanted it to be more.

"I wish the exhibit would have been held earlier," Lauren frowned. "I mean, class ended in early August. It's already late October."

"Annie said that she had to wait for the gallery to have room," I explained. "It doesn't matter. We're having it and soon it'll be over."

"You're not excited?"

I lifted a shoulder. No one I knew outside of class was coming. I hadn't invited anyone.

After what I'd thought was a tender moment between me and my mother, all forms of communication had ended. I couldn't help but to think that she was just happy I was leaving and all her motherly responsibility was finally gone. She was now free to do whatever she wanted.

It had bugged me at first, but I got over it quicker than I'd thought. I mean, when had she ever cared?

And Kalvin – dear Kalvin. He emailed me faithfully, flooding my inbox with news. He rarely mentioned my mother, though, or their counseling sessions. Maybe he wasn't supposed to. I didn't know. I'd responded with vague, generic info, telling about my classes and professors.

Then there was Jackson.

I'd heard nothing from him. Not a single thing. Kalvin never mentioned him in his emails, either. It was like he'd dropped off the face of the earth again.

Maybe he had.

Maybe he'd taken up with Celeste again, finding her to be more than a piece of ass now. Hell, maybe they'd get engaged. I tried very hard not to care.

"Fletcher's going to be there," Lauren said as we headed toward the dorms. "I spoke to him earlier."

"That's nice," I said.

"He's trying," Lauren said. "He still feels bad about this summer."

"I know," I said, stopping and grasping my backpack strap. "I guess I'm still bitter. I'm working on that."

She grinned. "Hey, do you want to get ready together tomorrow night?"

"Sure," I said. "Come to my room around five."

***

I dressed with care, selecting a black cocktail dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a plunging neckline that clung to my body and stopped at my knees. I left my hair down, applied makeup, and slipped into black pumps before checking my appearance in the mirror.

Dangling just above my breasts was the dainty palette charm that Jackson had given me for my birthday. I stared at it, a tiny smile on my lips. I missed him so much.

"Well?" Lauren asked.

I appraised her with a smile. She was adorable in a green, strapless dress with a puffy skirt that fell to her knees. Her curly hair was held back with silver clips and her eyes glimmered behind her glasses.

"You look great," I said. "Absolutely wonderful."

"You, too," she said, looping an arm through mine. "All the boys are going to be gawking at you."

"I doubt it," I said, piling my keycard, phone, and some cash into my black clutch. But maybe it would good to attract some male attention. It might be fun to flirt – maybe it would keep my mind off of Jackson.

"Are you ready?" Lauren asked with a nervous smile.

The show was a bit imposing. The gallery in which the exhibit was held was dim with discreet lighting above each painting.

Slim tables were set up in the middle of the room, candles, hors d'oeuvres, and glasses of champagne on top.

Annie fluttered from person to person, exclaiming about everyone's work, answering questions, and smiling.

Grabbing a flute of champagne, I roamed the exhibit, inspecting each series, giving them all my utmost concentration. There was some real talent on exhibition – some truly beautiful pieces. I knew how hard I'd worked on my project and was extremely proud of my work, and felt that every piece deserved that same respect.

I wasn't, however, eager to peruse Fletcher's work again. It truly made me uncomfortable to see how he saw me. But, I couldn't very well ignore it.

He was standing in front of his series, a decadent smile on his face. Frowning, I nudged Lauren, gesturing toward Fletcher.

"Look!" she gasped, pointing at a sign hanging from one of the easels. "He's sold them!"

A chill ran up my spine. He'd sold them? Who the hell was going to have my face hanging in their home?

"That's...well..." I started.

"Creepy?" Lauren finished. I nodded. "Let's go ask who bought them."

"Ladies," Fletcher said, nodding his head. "How are you?"

"Fine," Lauren said. "Congratulations. Who bought your work?"

He gave me a look that was part smug and part angry. "The buyer has asked to remain anonymous."

"Great," I mumbled.

"Don't worry, India," he said, his eyes trained on mine. "I don't think it was some sort of stalker or anything."

"That's reassuring," I mumbled.

He grinned, the look a bit maniacal and somewhat insane.

"Well, good for you, at any rate," I said, clutching Lauren's elbow. I wanted to get away from him and fast. Waving at him, we moved along to the next series.

"At least he made some money off of you," Lauren snorted. "Maybe he'll feel as if things are even, you know, since you didn't paint him."

"Maybe," I said.

"What I ever saw in him, I don't know," she said.

"There she is."

That voice was irritatingly familiar and I couldn't imagine what she was doing at the exhibit. Slowly, I turned to find her – Celeste, looking gorgeous in a red gown. On her arm, Jackson.

My heart stopped.

"Um, hi," I said. It was Lauren's turn to clutch my elbow. Although I'd never outright admitted what had happened between Jackson and I, she'd somewhat figured it out.

"India," Jackson said, a tiny smile on his face. "The paintings are...they're amazing."

"They are," Celeste admitted. "I want them. Can I buy them?"

"They're not for sale," I snapped and then a moment later, I smiled. "I mean, I'm not selling them. I've promised them to someone."

"Who?" Jackson asked, brow furrowed.

"Family," I muttered.

He read the lie in my eyes.

"Oh, okay," he said, taking Celeste by the arm. "It's nice to see you, India. And congratulations on the amazing work. Keep in touch, huh?"

"Sure," I said, hanging tightly to my emotions. "Thanks for coming."

He eased Celeste away to look at another series of paintings. I tried not to watch them.

"It's okay, you know," Lauren whispered.

"What is?" I asked.

"That you're in love with him," she said, a genuine smile on her face. "I think he loves you, too."

"That's ridiculous."

"Not really," she said. "Come on, let's get another drink."

We stood at the little tables in the middle of the gallery, sipping champagne, while my eyes inadvertently followed Jackson as he moved around the exhibits. Lauren didn't mention him again and I was grateful. I didn't feel as if I could deny it any longer.

Annie joined us, prattling on and on about what a success the class was and how everyone seemed to be enjoying the exhibit. She complimented us on our work, our dresses, even our hair. By the time she grabbed yet another flute of champagne and moved away, I'd lost sight of Jackson. I couldn't find him anywhere.

He'd disappeared from my life again.

Once the event was over, Lauren and I walked to her car in the back lot. My heart was dragging as much as my feet, my head down. Lauren was talking but I wasn't really listening. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself, sick to my stomach imagining Jackson with Celeste again.

"Isn't that Jackson?" she asked.

My head snapped up and there he was, leaning against his car.

I stopped, staring at him, until Lauren pushed me toward him.

"Go," she said.

Jackson met me halfway.

"India, can I give you a ride back to campus?" he asked.

Mute, I nodded.

"Do you mind?" he asked Lauren.

"Nope. See you later, India."

I was vaguely aware of her leaving as Jackson took my arm and led me to his car. He started the engine, but didn't put it in gear.

"You look so incredible tonight," he said.

"Thanks," I mumbled, guarding my heart. I just couldn't let him crush it again.

After one last look, he pulled out of the parking lot, but turned the wrong way. I didn't notice at first until we passed a familiar strip mall.

"Where are you taking me?"

"My place," he said. "We have a lot to talk about."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ply him with questions, but I didn't. I didn't want to have any sort of conversation in the car.

At his house, we sat in the living room, side by side on the sofa.

"I've missed you," he said.

I nodded.

"Shit," he groaned. "Stop being mad at me, okay? I swear I never meant to hurt you."

"Oh, so that's why you ignored me the last few weeks that I was here?" I asked.

"I didn't want to ignore you," he said, squeezing my hand. "But it was killing me to be near you and not able to touch you. I stayed away because I couldn't have you."

I stared at him, mouth wide open. "So, wait, why are we here now?"

"My father has begged me not to tell you this yet," he began, head bowed, staring at our clasped hands. "But that's not right. You deserve to know. Plus, I guess, I wanted you to know."

"What?" I asked, heart pounding. Was he actually engaged to Celeste?

"Your mother left my father."

"What?"

He nodded. "That whole happy weekend they spent here – that was a farce. She was actually screwing around with some guy from their country club. The affair had been going on for about a year. He was married, too. They were planning on leaving their spouses, but they had to plan carefully. I guess it was in some sort of prenup that the guy had with his wife that she got nothing in case of divorce unless he cheated on her. His wife was suspicious – I guess your mom has a reputation. So, she had to pretend that things were fine with my father for a few weeks. The guy had filed for divorce and they had to wait until it was finalized before they could be together. Since the wife couldn't prove that her husband had cheated on her before the finalization, she gets nothing. So, not only did my father get screwed, but so did this woman."

"Sounds like Mommy Dear," I snorted. "She's the reason why I never really had friends. Everyone knew what she was like. I wasn't allowed to play at other kids' houses because their moms were afraid my mother would pick me up and spot their husbands. And, as I got older, all the kids in my schools knew what she was."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he said, lifting my hand to his lips.

"So, what does all this mean?" I asked, trying to keep my hopes from rising.

"It means that I've told my father about us," he said. "It wasn't easy and my father wasn't happy. He's still not all that thrilled about it. He's been trying to talk me into at least waiting until your first year of college is over."

"Oh," I said.

"But, I can't," he said.

"Hang on," I said. "How long have you waited?"

"About two weeks."

I wanted to yell at him, but I couldn't. I laughed instead.

"I love you, India. I want to be with you. I don't want to alienate my father again, but I'm not going to be without you anymore."

I flung my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck. "I love you, too."

He sighed, rubbing my back. "Good, then you'll agree to move in here with me, right?"

I edged back, eyes wide. "I can't. Freshman are required to live in the dorms their first year."

"Well, you'll just have to stay here on the weekends."

My heart soared as I kissed him hard on the mouth. "I'll have to, yes."

He wrapped me in his arms, his kisses desperate. Lifting me up, he carried me to his room, undressing me in record time. It was fast and furious and full of pent up desire – but it was wonderful, too.

Later, as he held me close to his body, his heart keeping time with mine, he admitted one other thing.

"Oh, just so you know," he said, with a huge smile. "I'm the one who bought that Fletcher dude's paintings. He's not as good as you, but I'll be damned if I let anyone else hang you on their walls."

"Why do you think I wouldn't let Celeste buy the paintings I did of you?"

He kissed me, pulling back with a thoughtful look. "Can you do a self-portrait?"

"I've never tried it before," I said. "But you just bought three portraits – why do you need more?"

Whipping the sheet off my body, he eyed me. "Because I want to be able to look at this anytime I want."

Laughing, I pulled his head to mine. "You can – but you get the live version. Isn't that better?"

"Much," he said, rolling on top of me again.

