“I’m definitely not a prude. I just…” I flush. “I don’t like thinking about having sex with Owen. It’s weird.”
“I’d have sex with him.” She whistles wolfishly. “The boy may be an asshole, but he is fine as hell. I would ride him like an escalator.”
“Please, spare me the visuals.”
“Suit yourself.” She chuckles. “So, if blond hotties don’t get your engines revving, who does? What’s your type? Clean-cut? Silver fox? Sporty? Rock god?”
I mull over the question. The few guys I’ve ever had sex with were all casual college flings — dark, drunken hook-up sessions in narrow dormitory beds, typically over and done with in a few short minutes. I don’t have the nerve to admit to Chloe that I’ve never had an orgasm. Never even come close, actually. And I’mdefinitelynot about to inform her that the only time I’ve ever felt even a hint of the passion I’ve read about in my favorite books was in the backseat of an SUV last Friday night, sitting on her brother’s lap, the rock hard length of his erection making itself unapologetically known against my ass.
“Come on,” Chloe prompts. “Spill. Who was the last guy that inspired some hot sexual fantasies?”
With considerable effort, I manage to push Carter’s face to the depths of my psyche.
“No one. Honestly.”
“You know, you’re a terrible liar. Your emotions play out all over your face.”
Where have I heard that before?
Her eyes dance with humor. “Don’t worry. We’ll work on it before you become the Crown Princess. You’ll need to be able to bluff with the best of them, if you’re going to rule someday.”
“Chloe! Give it up, already.”
She just grins at me, totally unapologetic. After a beat, I can’t help grinning back.
I’ve never had a sibling, so I don’t have anything to compare it to… but if this is what it’s like to have a sister, I have to say…
It doesn’t entirely suck.
Chapter Thirteen
The knock sounds sharplyon my bedroom door. A riot of butterflies flutters to life inside my stomach.
“One second!” I call breathlessly. “Almost ready!”
I give myself a final once-over in the floor-length mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back at me. Between the freshly dyed hair, the sky-high designer heels, and the immaculately tailored black dress that costs more than any other garment that’s ever been on my body… I’m a far cry from the girl with overgrown roots in a skimpy crop top who arrived at the Lockwood Estate a week ago.
Hearing Lady Morrell’s voice in the back of my head, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.
Posture is pertinent! Your spine should be straight as the steady trunk of a rainforest tree, supporting a whole canopy of branches.
I tuck a glossy mahogany curl behind my ear. I haven’t seen my hair this color in — god, I don’t even know how long. Surprisingly enough, I don’t hate it. And though I gave the stylist a hard time last night when she pulled out the scissors, I have to admit that the layered cut is far more flattering for my heart-shaped face than the drab, uniform length I had before.
Smoothing my hands down the front of my dress, I grab my jet clutch purse off the vanity. My hand hovers over my cellphone, but when I see the screen light up with an incoming call — Owen’s name flashing in all caps — I decide to leave it behind. No good can come from talking to him, right now… even if keeping him at arm’s length is enough to tear my heart in two.
He’s safer this way,I tell myself, eyes stinging painfully.You heard Chloe’s story about Kacey. If Octavia would do something like that to her own daughter… she won’t think twice about doing it to you.
My head tilts back to look at the coffered ceiling, a vain attempt to keep the tears at bay. I know I don’t have a choice — that shutting him out is the only way to protect him — but that doesn’t make it any easier. He’s been calling and texting nonstop. He even showed up at the front gates last night, demanding to see me. Or so one of the guards told me, after they’d turned him away.
Apparently the email I sent two days ago requesting space and time to sort through things on my own was not well received.
“That’s how you choose to end a twenty-year friendship? A bloody email?” Owen snarled on the voicemail he left around midnight, sounding both inebriated and furious. “For fuck’s sake, Ems. I can’t believe you could be this cruel.”
Chloe knocks again, harder this time.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I mutter, wiping a tear as I head for the door. “Hold your horses, Chl—Oh!” My throat convulses as I pull open the door and find myself face to face with Carter, looking utterly incredible in a black suit that hugs every plane of his sculpted body.
Holy fuck.