Obsessed (Hostile Takeover #1) (5 page)

Five
long
miles later I finally found an exit. After zooming around the cloverleaf, and taking a right turn a little faster than I should have, I parked in a gas station parking lot, my cellphone dialed to Ransom’s number.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I asked the instant she answered.

“Well…” I heard her breathing but she wasn’t speaking.

Why wasn’t she saying anything? What the hell was wrong with her? “Do I need to turn around and drive back to your place? Because I will,” I said.

“No, it’s probably better if you don’t.”

My gut twisted. “Why?”

“Because.” She swallowed so hard I heard the gulp. “The baby’s father is John. There, I said it. I told you.”

John.

John? John Who? John Singleton?

John Singleton.

It had to be that John. It was the only John I knew.

Oh.

Wait.

She was having a child with
my
John? John Singleton, the guy I had planned on marrying when I was young, and stupid, and sixteen…and in love? Crazy in love?

Oh.

Shit.

For the past couple of years I’d wondered about John. I’d wondered where he was, what he was doing, what our lives might be like if we hadn’t broken up. Or rather, what our lives might be like if
I
hadn’t broken up with
him
.

John Singleton was a good guy, a very good guy. And deep inside I’d known I would have avoided a lot of heartache if I’d stuck with him. Sure, it would have been hard keeping our romance alive while I was living and going to school almost three hours away.

But it could have worked. I could have made it work.

But now there was no second chances for us...for me.

John and Ransom were having a baby together. They were getting married.

“Shayne? Are you still there?” Ransom asked. “Tell me you didn’t hang up.”

It was my turn to swallow hard. Churning emotions coalesced into a huge lump in my throat. It wouldn’t go away. “I’m here,” I croaked.

“Are you crying?”

“No.” I coughed to try to clear the lump. “Just swallowed some water wrong,” I lied.

“Oh.”

I sputtered again.

“Are you dying or what?” Ransom asked.

“I’ll be okay.” I got out of my car and went around to the back, where I kept a six-pack of water bottles in case of an emergency. This was most definitely an emergency. I cracked one open and chugged several mouthfuls, wishing I was chugging something stronger. Something with alcohol. Lots of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” my
pregnant
friend asked.

My stomach clenched. I almost threw up. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

Shit, what should I say now? I had no idea. Other than, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Are you sure you’re okay?” Ransom asked.

“Yes,” I reassured her. Of course I wasn’t okay. But I couldn’t admit that. After all, what good would that do now? It was done. The baby was coming. The decision had been made. And maybe they were in love? I would be a total bitch to stand in the way of their happiness. This was my best friend and the guy who still held a piece of my heart we were talking about.

I wanted to ask questions about her plans. I wanted to sound super excited and promise to host the baby shower and the wedding shower, but I was a little out of sorts and not feeling super bouncy and baby shower-y. So instead, I told her, “I’m happy for you and John. You both deserve to be happy. You’ll have to tell me everything…later. I’d better get back on the road.” I buckled myself back in the driver’s seat.

“Okay. I’ll call you later. Thanks, Shayne.”

I smiled. “Sure.” A single tear trickled down my cheek as I clicked off the phone. Angry at myself, for being sad when there was no reason for it, I dragged my hand across my face, smearing that stupid tear. I shifted my car into gear and hit the gas.

So much for my spring break.

But at least at school there wouldn’t be any of this--my best friend having my ex-boyfriend’s kid. My mother’s shotgun wedding. My womanizing, bossy new stepbrother.

At school there were parties and friends and classes and exams. A lot of ways to forget it all.

Forgetting was easy at school. Very easy.

Until the semester was over.

Until I received Mom’s letter, exclaiming how happy she was in her new marriage and how much she was looking forward to my return home. The home to which she was referring wasn’t our apartment. It wasn’t home. It was
that
house, Kent’s house. She said Kent had insisted I stay with him, of course, so the newlyweds could have their privacy.

Whoo. Hoo. Lucky me.

Even better, I was finished with school. So I didn’t have the fall to look forward to. I wouldn’t have my escape.

With any luck I would land a job soon. Very soon.

It seemed that time had healed the hurt and confusion, had replaced those vulnerable, uncomfortable emotions with a touch of anger. But anger was good. Anger wouldn’t make me vulnerable again.

Would I get to spend the majority of my time this summer with my mother? Probably not. More likely I’d get to spend it with my womanizing stepbrother and his unlucky victims. Why? First, because I wasn’t such a brat that I would make a big deal about any of this. From the tone of her letter, I could tell Mom was extremely happy—happier than I’d ever seen her. I was not going to ruin that for her, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable I was with Kent. And second, because Mom and her new hubby were planning a special vacation this summer, the trip of Mom’s lifetime. I would be the world’s worst daughter if I insisted on tagging along on their four-week Alaskan adventure.

Especially since Alaska was the last place I would ever want to go on a vacation.

So, instead, I will be a good daughter and tough it out with my new roomie until I could find a job and get my own place.

At least the house was big. That should make it easier to keep some distance between us. And I would also be driving across town to see Ransom at least a couple times a week to help her with her wedding planning. I was looking forward to that almost as much as getting my next root canal. But hey, I was alive, and mom was happy and life was good. I had a bachelor’s degree under my belt and no loans to pay. My new stepfather had paid them off as a graduation present. The rest of my life was ahead of me. I was young. I was healthy. And I was single…still.

I said goodbye to all my school friends, made promises to keep in touch and packed up my life. Then I loaded it all into my second graduation gift--the new SUV from Mom (which was technically from her husband too, since Mom didn’t work) and headed southeast for almost two hours. I pulled into Kent’s driveway at a few minutes before six.

To my surprise, Mom came running outside the minute I cut off the engine, just like she used to. She had been watching for me, like she did before she had a husband. Maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad.

I inhaled deeply as I threw my arms around her neck and gave her a squeeze. I loved the memories that played through my mind at the scent of her hair and clothes. Such wonderful times from my childhood.

“I thought you would never get here!” she exclaimed as she stepped back and gave me a head-to-toe once-over.

“There was an accident on the freeway,” I explained. “You know how it is. Traffic was backed up for miles, thanks to the rubberneckers.”

“Yes, of course.” Clearly sidetracked, she squinted. “You’re looking pale. And too skinny.” She poked my belly.

Now this was the old Mom I knew and loved. “Mom, you just saw me last week at graduation. I haven’t lost any weight since then.”

“I think you have.” Noticing her husband standing behind her, smiling, she said, “Dirk can help you with bring in your things.”

I shook my head. “It can wait until later. I’m in no hurry to unpack.” My stomach rumbled and I grinned.

“You’re hungry!” Mom proclaimed. “My girl is hungry. Let’s get her inside and feed her.” She grabbed my hand and pulled. “I made up a grocery list. Kent has a full kitchen. All the foods you like. You know I don’t like to see you so skinny.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, laughing. “Thank you.”

Inside, memories of the last time I’d been in this house came flooding back and instantly I became tense and uncomfortable. But I did my best to hide my anxiety. While Mom dug out some sandwich stuff and piled a sky-high concoction of meat, cheese and bread together for me, she jabbered nonstop about how wonderful Kent was, how generous he was being to all of us but especially me because he’d offered to let me live in his house rent-free, and how he’d also offered to buy my groceries, anything I needed until I was on my feet. I wanted to set her straight, and tell her what kind of guy he really was, but I didn’t. Instead I endured the cheerleading for over an hour until she gave me one last hug and said she was heading home to cook her husband dinner.

Relieved I wouldn’t be hearing any more gushing compliments about my host, I began unloading my car. I’d hauled in at least half my stuff when a sleek black Jaguar came prowling up the curved drive and stopped next to my snazzy new SUV. The driver’s side door swung open, a well-shod foot stepped out, and then there he was, in the flesh, my landlord and my stepbrother.

“I see you’ve made it safely,” he said with a big Cheshire grin. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” I said, returning his smile. I bit back a less-than-friendly retort and instead reached for the next load of boxes.

Unfortunately, Kent didn’t head inside. He circled around the rear of my SUV and stood there. I felt him, the heat of his gaze, searing my back.

Arms empty, I straightened up and turned around to ask him what he wanted.

“Go inside and get yourself organized. I’ll bring the rest in for you,” he commanded.

If those words had come from anyone else, I would have been happy to comply. But it had come from
him
. And he hadn’t suggested. He hadn’t asked. He’d
told
me. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I didn’t always bristle when someone told me what to do. But I did get prickly when it was Kent Payne doing the telling.

“That’s okay. I can get this stuff on my own,” I said. Ignoring the tingling sensation buzzing up and down my back, because they irritated me, I grabbed a box and brushed past him to go inside. Of course, he completely dismissed what I said and grabbed a big load of stuff before following me in.

I set my stuff down in the hallway. I hadn’t known which bedroom was meant to be mine, and didn’t want to make any assumptions and just pick one, so I’d figured I would wait until Kent returned.

“Why are your things out here?” he asked as he strolled past them, lugging several boxes.

“I didn’t know which room you wanted me to use. I figured my stuff from my mom’s old place must be here somewhere, but I didn’t know where.”

“Your things are in storage. I didn’t have them moved to a room yet. I assumed you would take your pick.” He turned into the doorway at the end of the hall. The sound of weight thumping on the floor suggested he’d unloaded his arms. I followed him inside.

This was the biggest bedroom I’d seen in this house so far, nicer than the one I’d used during spring break. And it was next to Kent’s room. Which meant there was just one wall between my room and his. “Will this do?” he asked, as if he didn’t know the answer already.

Like I would say no? Even if it was next to his, it was gorgeous, not to mention huge. No joke, this suite with the walk-in closet, massive bedroom and en suite bathroom was bigger than Mom’s entire apartment--including the galley kitchen, living room, and two itty bitty bedrooms. It was so huge I felt a little lost. It didn’t help that none of my things, except what Kent had carried in, were in the space. It felt like a hotel room—an expensive hotel room.

“I…sure.” I pulled back the heavy drapes and checked the view out one of the windows. It was spectacular. But it also afforded me an uninterrupted view of the path we’d walked the last time I was here. Now, with the trees and bushes full of leaves, I couldn’t see where that path led. But I knew. I remembered, all too well, about that secret oasis by the pond.

“You’re not happy.” He was standing directly behind me. Too close. Awakened by his nearness, my nerves fired little mini-blazes through my body. I bit my lip, wishing I could understand my body’s reaction to this man. Sure, he was good looking. So what? He was also a walking penis. All he cared about was finding the next place to put it. I’d never been attracted to guys like Kent Payne. So why was I now?

Was it his money? Was that it?

Or the fact that he was totally off limits?

“Sure I ‘m happy. This is fine. Better than fine. Thank you.” If I was honest with myself, I could admit that the money might be part of his attractiveness. Since Mom’s marriage to Dirk, I’d learned something about the world. I’d learned that marrying a man with money didn’t necessarily make life
better
but it could make it
easier
. For years Mom had worked night and day, two fulltime jobs, to put food on the table, pay rent, and help pay for some of my school costs. Now that she was married, she didn’t have to work eighty hours a week. She could slow down, enjoy life, travel…do all the things she’d dreamed of doing someday.

And now here I was, inches from a good looking, rich,
single
man. I was a single girl who wanted to get married…someday. I wanted to have children…someday. I wanted a house of my own…someday. If it weren’t for the fact that he was my stepbrother, he could give me all of those things. If I eventually married him, I would never have to worry about whether or not I would be able to feed or clothe my children.

Then again, I might have to worry about my children being bullied if their friends thought Kent and I were “brother and sister”. I knew how rumors started and spread. I didn’t want to cause that kind of pain for my kids.

And, thanks to his healthy appetite for sex, I might have to worry about what my husband was doing when he didn’t come home on time. As they said, a tiger couldn’t change its stripes.

The fact was Kent Payne was off limits. Period. End of story.

But even if he hadn’t been, he was no prince charming. It was wise to remember that.

My not-so-prince-charming stepbrother placed an index finger under my chin and forced it up. My eyes met his.

“We ended things on a bad note when you were here in April. I think we should talk about it.”

My heart skittered around in my chest like a startled rabbit. “No, there’s nothing to talk about.” I leaned back but smacked into the window behind me.

“Considering how dilated your eyes are, and how red your face is right now, I’d say there’s plenty to talk about. You’re either still angry or you’re turned on,” he purred.

Asshole! The tiger was definitely showing his stripes.

Fury blazed. I didn’t even think. My hand swung up, aimed for his cheek. But he caught my wrist, stopping it just before it struck its target. His fingers dug into my skin. “You are so fun to tease, little sister.”

“I’m not your sister. And I’m not
little
,” I enunciated.

“So true. So, can we please talk about this like two adults?”

“Only if you start acting like one.” I twisted my arm. “I still don’t think there’s anything to talk about, but if you insist. It’s your house--.”

“Our house. This is
your
home too,” he corrected.

My teeth gritted at that statement. Of course this was not my home. It was beautiful and gorgeous and majestic and refined. But it was not my home. And the sooner I found a place of my own, the better. Because it seemed Kent liked having fun at my expense, the asshole. It seemed he was hell bent on making sure I hated him.