On the Offensive (2 page)

A few minutes later, I get off the phone with Sarah after some more complaining about Zack, and it has only served to make me annoyed
; I mean, how dare he act like an asshole to me? Even when I was little, too little to be snarky, he hated me. Which is my reason for heading up the stairs. It's time to confront Zack—ask him why he hates me so much, because I haven't deserved it. Much.

Pushing open his door, I'm ready to scream and shout, but his room
turns out to be empty, and that’s when I hear the shower running in the bathroom between his and Mom and Garrett's room. So, without giving it a single thought, I wiggle the doorknob, finding the door to the bathroom unlocked, and shove hard.

"Let's get something straight—
" My words die out when my brain catches up to me. One, this isn't like back home in San Diego where we have a shower curtain you can't see through. Two, what am I even doing, entering a bathroom when I know Zack is there?
Naked
.

Oh fuck, he's naked.
And facing me. The shower stall is right in front of me on the other side of the small space, and the glass surrounding the shower hasn't fogged up yet. I freeze. Zack freezes, too. However, my eyes work just fine.
Oh, my God
. Not only is he completely naked, but his fingers are gripping his cock—his very hard, thick, and impressive cock—with his other hand resting on the glass sliding door.

My eyes snap to his; I'm locked in a
trance, shock and fury buzzing between us in a steady current. But then there's a shift in his dark eyes, and something joins the fury and the shock. I'm just too stunned to decipher what it is. A hand flies to my mouth as a gasp hitches in my throat; my chest heaves, and I'm suddenly enveloped in the scent of Zack's bodywash.

Water cascades down his exposed body, rivulets sliding over firm muscles, and steam billows in the bathroom from the shower's heat a
nd the hallway's chill. But despite the steam, we can still see each other clearly.

I don’t know how many seconds pass, or why the hell I can't move, but eventually he renders me stupid and useless—once again, I should say—when he slowly moves his hand down toward the base of his cock.
I can feel his eyes on me, practically burning, but I'm unable to look away from his dick. Not to mention the moving hand…

Keeping it slow and firm, Zack strokes himself in front of me.

When he lets out a low groan full of lust, my knees nearly buckle. My breathing turns shallow and choppy, my nipples tighten, I clench my thighs together, and heat spreads over my cheeks and chest. Other than being too aroused for words, a big part of me is in total disbelief, and another one grows angrier and angrier with each passing second. Who does he think he is? Is this some sick joke?

Looking him in the eye again, I see that he's still watching me. Eyes hooded and gaze predatory, he watches me intently all while moving his hand over his cock. Every now and then, he reaches down and tugs on his balls, only for that hand to return to his erection, going a bit faster, a bit harder.

"Fuck, Peyton." His moan is gruff and quiet.

I swallow and release a shaky breath. Zack bites down on his lip, brows knitting together. The pleasure is so evident on his face, and all I want is to walk over to him and—

Fuck!

What am I
doing
?

With a quick shake of my head, I manage to
gather my thoughts. Unfortunately, panic sets in and I almost trip over my feet as I run away, down the stairs, and toward my room.

By the time I lock the door behind me and collapse on my bed, I'm panting, and my mind is going a hundred miles a minute.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God
. A whimper slips through my lips. I run a hand through my hair.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God
. I'm so avoiding him from now on. New Year's Eve is tomorrow; that’s the only occasion I have to spend with Zack, but then…I have to leave. Escape. Run far, far away. Go back to Florida.

Chapter 3

Zack knocks on my door twice before our parents get back from dinner, but I don’t answer and he doesn’t invade my personal space. Mom knocks once, too, but I pretend to be asleep, and eventually I do fall asleep. Not deeply; my dreams are vivid, erotic, Zack's heated gaze haunting me, and I toss and turn between the sheets all night.

He moaned my name
.

When I wake up, I'm a hot mess, flushed, and in desperate need of…well, a man. I suppose the only positive thing is that Mom mistakes my flushed state for illness, so she doesn’t argue when I cl
aim to feel "off" and want to stay in today.

Zack doesn’t bother me.

Perhaps he's avoiding me now, too.

I hope he is, to be honest, because I can't make heads or
tails of this, and I'm not even sure I want to. Whenever I try to decipher last night, I end up stuttering to myself, cringing and fumbling and the whole shebang.

Time passes, though, and my luck runs out when darkness has fallen and I reluctantly agree to join my family for dinner. Pretending to be sick would've worked, I know that, but my mom really wants us all together for tonight's celebration. Garrett has even made reservations at one of
Aspen's fanciest restaurants, and there's going to be an exclusive party at the same venue before we ring in the new year.

"This is the dress." Mom holds up a dress in front of me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. "It will make you feel better. You know, I read once that if you feel sexy, you are sexy."

She makes me smile, if only a little. "Where's the rest of the dress, though?" It's not my own dress, that’s for sure. While I have no problems with dressing provocatively, I still have a size, and it's not Mom's eight. It's more like twelve or fourteen these days.

"Oh, h
ush." She grins and thrusts the little black cocktail dress into my arms. "It will fit. I know it. And you need to show off that body, baby." With a wink, she leaves my room to get ready herself.

*

Garrett, ever the gentleman, helps Mom with her coat and scoots in her chair, and then he walks over to me to do the same. But his smile wavers when he sees my dress.

"Um, honey." He clears his throat, eyes flicking around the crowded restaurant. "Should I have brought my gun?"

"What?" I'm confused as I sit down next to Mom.

I refuse to look to my right, knowing that Zack is sitting there, looking all delicious in a suit. Even Colin is wearing one,
but he doesn’t like it. The way he keeps fidgeting with his tie is proof of that.

"Jesus Christ!"
Zack makes a choking noise next to me, but I'm relentless. I won't cave and look at him.

"I know." My mom is beaming. "She's so beautiful." She faces me. "You're beautiful."

Right. Whatever.

I just want to get this dinner over with so I can return to the cabin, but I'm shit out of luck because dinner drags on. The food is amazing, and the restaurant is
abuzz with people who are actually thrilled to be here, but it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore Zack next to me when he talks so much. Not to me, obviously—I'm fairly certain now he's avoiding me, as well—but he talks our parents' ears off. Colin's, too.

I'm not sure what Zack's problem is, but judging by his voice and endless chattering about insignificant crap, I'd say he's uncomfortable and nervous. And that’s new when it comes to him. He's never nervous.

Dinner is finally over hours later, and when I claim to be tired and still a bit off, Mom tells me I can go home once I've had
one
glass of bubbly with her. She's happy, happier than normal, and I don’t want to disappoint her, so I agree.

M
any of the restaurant's guests end up in one of the private dining rooms in the basement where the party is, and that sounds pretty tacky, but it's definitely not. The large space is called The Cellar, and it looks like a massive wine cellar that belongs to a millionaire.

There are
fancy snacks and expensive wine brought by waiters on trays, and the music is blaring. Everyone is also dressed to the nines; I may or may not have spotted countless skinny blondes in Chanel and Dior ogling Zack already.

As I drink that glass of bubbly with Mom, I
discreetly glance over at Zack, only to catch him glaring at someone behind me. Instinctively, I turn around to see who's pissing off Zack, but all I see is some guy who shoots me a wink.
No, thanks
. I return my attention to my mom, but I still don’t manage to tune out the girls flirting with my…stepbrother.
Ugh
.

I
wish we were closer together and not scattered around; it would perhaps make Zack less…approachable…if we were gathered as a family. I can hear Colin, for example, but I can't see him. He's running around with some other kids his age.

Jealousy
flares up when I spy Zack whispering something in a bimbo's ear, and I decide I've had it. I also realize this, whatever it is, has gone too far. I can't control myself anymore—my emotions and my expressions.

As much as Zack infuriates me, I can't help what I feel. I want him, and I want him badly.
In the past, he would just piss me off, and then I'd go to bed and dream something I'd curse the next day. But never—
ever
—have I been jealous of seeing him with some chick. Until now.

It hurts to see him with that girl.

"Mom, I'm really not feeling well." I place my half-empty glass of champagne on a waiter's tray as he passes by. "I'm gonna go back to the cabin and get some rest."

Mom's face shows nothing but concern. "You sure, sweetheart? You're going to miss the fireworks outside later."

I force a smile. "It's okay. I just need some sleep. But you and Dad have fun—I want you to. I bet I'm just coming down with a cold or something."

*

By the time I get back to the cabin, I'm exhausted, wary, pissed, and about two minutes from breaking down like a little girl. It's ten o'clock, and this year will definitely end on a fucked-up note.

Two hours 'til midnight
.

Forcing back tears, I take off my ankle boots, hang up my coat, and trudge toward the kitchen. Maybe a tub of ice cream can keep me company when I ring in the new year all alone—while Zack's having fun with
Little Miss Skank.

Just as I reach the kitchen, I hear the front door open and slam shut, and it causes me to jump.
Maybe it's Mom worrying—

"Peyton!" Shit, that’s Zack. He sounds mad.

The last thing I want is a confrontation with him, so I hurry out of the kitchen in an attempt to hide out in my room, but I don’t make it. We almost crash into each other in the narrow hallway between the kitchen and my bedroom.

"Well, if it isn't the runner." He sneers at me.

My defenses are immediately up; he has a natural talent for bringing my inner bitch out to play. No matter how sexy he looks in a black suit, sans jacket, I can't back down.

"What the hell do you want, Zack?" I grit out.

His smile is dark as he takes a step toward me. "You know, Mom and Dad only wanted one fucking night where we all went out together. But you couldn’t even handle that, could you?" My eyebrows shoot up, and I'm in disbelief. Does he really not understand how embarrassed I am after yesterday's event upstairs? "I know you hate your family, Peyton, but—"

"Whoa!" I put up my palms, fury blazing through me. "I don’t know what bullshit you ate for dinner, but feel free
not to puke it out when I'm around." I'm honestly shocked by his assumption. "Why the fuck would I hate my own family? That’s insane!"

I
hadn't even realized it, but we've been moving, and now I'm backed into a corner. Just a few feet away from my room. But it doesn’t matter, because I can't reach it when I have Zack towering over me, and he's more than a head taller than I.

"Right. You just love all of us, don’t you?" Wonderful—now he's mocking me. He's good at that. "That’s why you fly home so often. That’s why I haven't seen you in, what, a year and a half?"

I chuckle darkly. "Oh, please. Don’t even pretend to sound offended. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me. There's no way I'm buying that crap."

Last year when he busted his knee, I actually offered to fly home and…I don’t know, show support or whatever, but he said it wasn’t a big deal. Well, we both delivered our messages through Mom. I didn’t speak to him personally.

For the record, though, I see our parents and Colin more often than Zack's implying. Sometimes I fly out to San Diego when I know Zack won't be there, and they've visited me in Florida, too.

"The only thing I can't stand is when you're being
a little bitch," he seethes.

"Fuck you!" I shout, enraged. "Did you just call me a
bitch
?" My hands ball into tight fists at my sides, and if he provokes me one more time…

"If the shoe fits…" He shrugs.

I narrow my eyes, my jaw tensing. "I bet that shoe could fit up your ass, you prick."

He just laughs and then turns away to leave. "Un-fucking-believable. I don’t even know why I chased after you."

"Chased after me?" I can't help but laugh. "That’s rich coming from the guy who loves to make my life miserable." At his retreating form, I shout, "The only one I hate in our family is you, Zack!"

For some reason, that causes him to return at the speed of a bullet, and I'm suddenly pressed up against the wall behind me. I gulp, shocked and a little frightened. And more than a little angry.

"Trust me—I know you hate me," he growls, eyes penetrating. Dark silver makes the blue vanish; he looks cold and menacing. But there's something else, too, and if I didn’t know any better, I'd say it was hurt. He also looks tired. "You've made that clear."

"Let
go of me!" I shove him, not surprised when he doesn’t budge. "I can't believe you. You're acting like you care, but I know you'd rather be back at the party fucking some skank!"

Oh, shit. That really came out of nowhere.

Tears of anger well up in my eyes, and his stare makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. My biggest fear is that he'll be able to see through me and then run for the hills when he discovers that not only do I
not
hate him, but I want him like no sister should want her brother. I may not see him as a brother, and we may not be related, but other than my college roommate who knows the truth about my feelings, everyone else sees us as family.

The shower incident
…for all I know, that was a twisted joke on his part.

"Some skank?" he chuckles incredulously. "I'm sorry, Peyton. I guess we all can't be as perfect as you, you pretentious little—"

Fed up with his insults, I act before I think and slap him across his face.

I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand just as his head whips back in my direction, his eyes murderous. Pushing and shoving is one thing, and I don’t know how many times
he pinched me or pulled my hair when we were younger, but this…I took it way too far.

"I'm sorry," I choke out. On the verge of falling apart, I try to move away from him, but he doesn’t let me. He keeps me pinned to the wall, and our close proximity messes with my head. "
Please
." I struggle against him, a few tears finally falling down. A whimper escapes me. "Back
off
, Zack. I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?" His chest rumbles with an animalistic sound, perhaps in barely-contained anger. "Can't do what an
ymore, Peyton?" He grabs my jaw and forces me to look him in the eye. "Fucking tell me already."

I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head.

Caught in his intense gaze, I feel my breathing go shallow. It feels like he's searching for something, and I'm desperate to keep him from finding it. But at the same time, the air shifts between us; it grows heavier, almost crackling with unreleased tension. It's like he's coaxing the truth out of me with his mere presence, and I hate it.

"Do you really want me to let you go?" he asks quietly, imploringly, huskily.

I swallow as a rush of arousal seeps through me.

No
. "Yes."

He smirks. "Liar."

That arrogance makes my fury return tenfold, but before I can get a single word out, he stuns me by crashing his mouth to mine.

A strangled gasp slips through my lips
; I ignite, and he responds by pushing his tongue into my mouth. The shock of it all almost causes me to collapse, but in the meantime, years of pent-up need surfaces to claim, claim, claim. I feel my hands fisting the fabric of his white dress shirt, my mouth moving with his, and my body melting into him.

His gritty
moan goes straight to my pussy. With a gentler nudge than before, he has me more pressed up against the wall, and he follows, pinning me with his body. God, I feel all of him.

"You don’t want me to stop," he mutters into the kiss. I smack his chest, annoyed, but I deepen the kiss at the same time. "Christ, always w
ith the fucking violence." He grunts and digs his fingers into my hips.