Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
If he did, I swear I wouldn’t tell a soul.
I feel the slightest hesitation in Grant’s step when he walks into my bedroom. Don’t clench your butt cheeks, I order myself. As if this could get any more embarrassing. Trying to tempt my stepbrother—I should be ashamed of myself.
And maybe I’ll locate that shame…tomorrow.
Right now, I can do nothing but soak up the feeling of his gaze riding up the backs of my naked thighs and lingering on my half-exposed bottom, my cheeks cut in half by purple polka dots. Any second now, he’ll turn and leave the room and we’ll never speak of this again. Only, he doesn’t leave. I hold my breath as he circles around the back of me, stopping. He releases a long, slow exhale, then returns to my side in two measured steps. The robe is draped over me.
“Sienna.”
I blink like a cartoon owl, sit up and scramble into my robe. Where I should have been in the first place. “Oh hey! What time is it?”
Grant’s brows arch over midnight blue eyes. He’s wearing a tie that matches them perfectly today, tucked into a pressed black suit. Power rolls off him like plumes of smoke. Looking up at him from my kneeling position on the bed, I could be praying to God. If God was sinfully handsome with black, close-cropped hair and kept secrets hidden behind his eyes. His shoulders are so wide they block everything else out, his chest and stomach in ruthless shape. He’s sturdy in a way that dares me to get a running jump and wrap myself around him. My stepbrother is slightly too handsome to be a beast, but there is something animalistic about the way he watches me. Unless that’s just my wishful thinking injury acting up again.
“You never fall asleep at this time, Sienna. What has made you overtired?”
If he only knew the rush I get when he says my name, he would probably stop. It’s like someone teasing me with a feather from the inside. “I was up late last night studying for my social etiquette exam,” I lie. “I guess the lack of sleep caught up with me.”
“I will speak with your instructors. You require eight hours of sleep.” A muscle ticks in his cheek and he reaches for the cell phone tucked inside his suit jacket. “Perhaps I should arrange for private tutoring.”
“Oh no,” I breathe, reaching out to stay his hand. “Please don’t do that. I’d miss everyone at the finishing school.”
“Would you?” He takes a single step closer to the bed. We’re still separated by a good foot and a half, but that one step might as well bring our bodies flush. I swallow a whimper and feel his scent sink deeper and deeper into my blood stream. “I assume you’re talking about missing your girlfriends. Considering there are no male instructors, students or faculty members.”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“That was my first order of business when I purchased the school and hand placed you there. Only females would breathe the same air as you. No males, save me and your security team. That won’t be changing.”
“Yes, I know, Grant.”
Do I imagine the way his eyelids droop when I say his name? “You say you would miss everyone at the finishing school.” His brow furrows. “Does that mean you’re lonely at home?”
“No, of course not,” I hedge. I’m not lonely, exactly. Not with Grant around. But I wouldn’t mind a friend my age to talk to once in a while.
And he seems to know it. Of course he does. This man misses nothing. “Because if there is a friend in particular you’d like to come over, I will allow it,” he says, cutting a glance toward the window. “If it makes you happy.”
My mouth stretches into a smile. “Really?”
His attention returns to me sharply and he clears his throat—hard. “Every pupil has been vetted, along with their families and close friends. Nonetheless, whoever you choose will still be watched very closely.” At his sides, both fists clench and release. “I don’t trust anyone with my princess.”
I try and hide the fact that moisture is pooling between my legs. Princess, he calls me. I know he means it as an endearment between stepsiblings, but I hear it differently. I hear it the way a lover would, whether it’s right or wrong. “Thank you, Grant. I’ll think about inviting someone over.”
He nods briskly.
Several moments tick by as we stare at one another.
“Do you want your hug now?” I whisper, just in case my dozen security guards can hear us through the door.
Grant’s big chest starts to rise and fall. Fast. Fast. His jaw looks like it might shatter. “Yes.”
Anticipation is tossed around in my belly like powder puffs. Don’t read anything into the daily hugs. I’ve told myself this hundreds of times. Ever since the first evening Grant came to my room and we performed the ritual, I’ve been reminding myself not to paint some romantic idea of how we touch. My stepbrother is a closed off man who works constantly. He trusts no one. As far as I know, he doesn’t date—please, please let that last part be accurate. Basically, Grant has no use for humans, unless they’re making him money.