I'm ready to slap my new step-brother clean across the face.
Brash, arrogant, and stinking rich doesn't begin to describe Ty Sterner. He's also sinfully sexy, and wicked talented at making my blood boil.
Ty thinks it's funny to chase me around like I'm the next notch in his bedpost. He lives to piss me off. But that isn't why my heart skips a dozen beats every time I look at him.
What happens if his crude jokes about us hooking up go too far? What if I admit I actually want this filthy talking playboy, and one little misstep lands me in Prince Not-So-Charming's bed for real?
I can't decide whether to laugh my ass off or kiss her 'til her panties ignite. Little Miss Perfect's too hot and uptight for her own good. Knowing she's off limits just makes me want her more.
There's a twisted thrill to flirting underneath our parents' roof. And I want a whole lot more than teasing her cheeks red, or watching her eyes pop when I'm strutting around half-naked. I want to rock her world into a screaming mess and leave her soft lips breathless.
Too bad this is the summer I'm supposed to get my crap together to build the family fortune. That's a distraction I don't need when all I really want to do is find out how perfect Claire feels between the sheets...
I: Hit the Floor (Claire)
Visiting Club Zing is supposed to be my last hurrah, a post-college escape before the long summer falls across Seattle, and ushers me into grown up land. It's supposed to be my last girl's night out before distance makes things a whole lot harder.
So, why the hell can't I keep my eyes off him?
“What's up, Claire? You're nursing that thing like you're about to go away to Saudi Arabia for a year!” My best friend Dana points to my Long Island iced tea and lifts her own. “Come on! Put it down and keep up with me, girl. This is our night!”
Sighing, I raise my glass and clink it against hers. “Cheers,” we both echo.
Somehow, I'm not feeling it. I've never liked goodbyes. And I really don't like this other bastard stealing away the attention my bestie deserves, even if he's moving around the club like he owns the place, sculpted to leave more than a few pairs of panties scorched.
Who am I kidding? Is this seriously how it ends?
By now, I'd normally be holding back the tears and hugging Dana's shoulders while she takes her stompy boots out to the dance floor. I don't understand how she wears those things so gracefully – they look like something German soldiers used to march in – but they always make her the center of attention when she busts her moves.
I'm going to miss her stupid purple hair and how she can't let go of the goth look, even though she's pushing twenty-two, just like me. Hell, I'm going to miss this place. Mostly, I'm going to regret wasting this precious time with my eyes glued to the devil by the bar, the giant towering above everybody else.
It's so obvious I can't hide it anymore. Dana grins at me after a long, dizzying sip on her drink. She spins around and follows my eyes.
“Jesusss, Claire! Don't tell me you've never seen the owner before? Haven't you seen him?”
“Nope, never.” I shake my head. “That's the boss man? He's so young...”
My friend waves a hand, flashing the bright purple nails that match her hair dye. “Pssh. You'd own this place if your daddy was a billionaire too. That's Tyler Sterner. Playboy for life and easy on the eyes when he's actually here doing his job.”
My brow furrows. Seriously? This guy barely looks older than we are. It's even more amazing I haven't seen him around campus or here on our earlier outings. He's got the kinda body any woman with a beating heart would notice anywhere.#p#分页标题#e#
He's at the end of the bar, slapping some older, balding man on the back and laughing. Two plastic looking girls are at his side in short skirts, their ruby red lips and pearly white teeth grinning at him like statues.
Massive is a gross understatement. He puts everybody else in his shadow, even the other well-built guys next to him.
He looks like something from another age in the neat suit jacket wrapped around his broad shoulders. An aristocrat, maybe, remembering all the paintings I studied for my art history minor.
Except country gentlemen didn't get this built in the old days taking strolls through the hills and chasing after foxes. No way. Mister – what's his face? – Sterner looks like he's been pumping serious iron and eating big to get big in all the right ways.
The harpies next to him step aside for drinks, and I get a view of his tight packed torso. He's a Greek god from head to toe, a six foot something goliath with a beast of a jaw and blue eyes that look like they're there to put out the fires he's bound to spark in every girl who looks at him. The quirk in his lips and the messy wave in the dark hair on his head matches the self-assured way he's leaning back against the stool.