I intended to search for her but halted when I discovered Mirabelle curled in a ball reading on the main staircase. “Why are you still awake?”

“What’s it to you?” She must have sensed that I was in no mood for her attitude because she quickly amended. “It’s summer. I don’t have a curfew. Or a nanny anymore, it appears.”

Right. Erin was fired. Mother must have won that battle.

If we had parents that gave a damn, Mirabelle would have a curfew whether it was summer or not. “As long as you’re up—” Might as well use her for information. “What’s Celia’s car doing here?”

My sister shrugged her slight shoulders. “She came by. I told her you weren’t home and she said she’d wait for you on the patio. That was, like, two hours ago. She probably fell asleep out there.”

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. I wasn’t in the mood to deal any more with Celia that night. But it would be even worse to have to explain her sleeping on a deck chair in the morning.

I nodded up the stairs. “Get to bed, Mirabelle.”

“I don’t—”

“Get to bed.”

“Fine.” She stomped up the stairs muttering something about “never having any fun.” I waited until she was out of sight before checking on Celia. Last thing I needed was Mirabelle as a witness to whatever was going to happen next.

The patio outside was empty, so I walked down to the pool to see if Celia had ended up there. She wasn’t there either. I was about to head down to the beach when I noticed the lights on in the guest house. My father had stayed there after the party the night before, and that morning my mother had his things moved as well. Maybe Celia had wandered over looking for me.

I’d only taken two steps toward the house when the door opened. Celia walked out then my father appeared in the doorway behind her. From where I was, and in the dark, I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed he wasn’t wearing anything but swim trunks or boxer briefs. He held his hand out and he must have said something because Celia turned back to him. She took his hand. He pulled her to him. And they kissed. It wasn’t a long kiss, but I knew that kind of kiss. It wasn’t a first kiss—it was a thanks-for-the-fuck kind of kiss.

My stomach churned, and I looked away. I stepped back into the darkness both to remain unseen and to be off the pathway in case I puked—I’d rather do that on the lawn.

At some point, their kiss must have ended, because when I glanced back, the door was closed and Celia was halfway up the walk. She slowed the tiniest bit when she saw me, but she didn’t stop. As she passed, I saw her more clearly—her lips were swollen, her hair and clothes a mess. We didn’t speak a word to each other, but a conversation transpired nonetheless. With my eyes, I told her I knew. With her eyes, she told me we were even.

With our silence, we said that it was done now. We were done now.

It was a shared understanding. Soon she was gone and a few minutes later, I heard her car starting up in the driveway.

Then I walked down to the guest house. Celia and I might be done, but my father and I were not. He’d done a lot of f**ked up shit before, but this I couldn’t stand by without giving him my take on the situation. This was too low. Fucking his wife’s best friend’s daughter not one hundred feet away from where his wife slept? No wonder I had no sense of ethics.

The light inside the guest house was out now, but I knocked on the door lightly—light enough that he might assume it was Celia again and not his full-grown son. It didn’t take long before he answered the door, and when he did, I was ready. I punched him in the face. Hard.

I left him cursing and holding his cheek. He didn’t need any explanation for my behavior. He might have been an ass**le, but he wasn’t an idiot.

The night hadn’t gone exactly as I’d planned. But I’d finished my experiment. I’d ended the drama with Celia. I’d learned more about how the idea of love affected human behavior. I’d even gotten laid.

If it had been such a fulfilling evening, why did I feel so f**king empty?

With my head throbbing and my chest heavy, sleep took its time to arrive. When it finally did, I dreamed I was in a fire, that flames licked at me, scorching me, robbing me of oxygen, destroying me. I woke in a sweat. Fucking nightmare. It held no truth in it.

In reality, I wasn’t on fire. I was the fire.

Chapter Nine

After

It’s been two days since I first kissed Alayna. Yesterday, she came by my office and accepted my proposal. I was surprised, to say the least, as I’d thought I’d need more time to work on her. I was glad though, because I could then concentrate on the aspects of our relationship that interested me more.

After our arrangement was settled, I took her upstairs to the loft and made her come with my fingers and my tongue. The experience was unlike any other I’d had with a woman. While it wasn’t the first time that I’d given pleasure with no expectation for the return, it was the first time it hadn’t been about me. Usually, my focus is on my own skills. I’m studying, investigating. Watching and mentally recording how my actions cause the woman I’m with to respond. I love to try and find the trigger points. Love to discover how to make her come. It’s intriguing. It’s fascinating. It’s also very self-centered.

With Alayna, however, my thoughts were not on myself at all except in the sense of how could I make it better for her. From her first moan, I became her slave. Everything I did after that was for her—for her pleasure, for her release, for her satisfaction. My entire being disappeared in the singular purpose of making her feel good. Though the episode ended with my c**k rock hard and uncomfortable in my pants, it was the most fantastic sexual experience I’d ever had.

We made plans to meet this evening. I can’t stop thinking about being inside her cunt. I’m so preoccupied by it that I’ve only half-heartedly addressed many of my other obligations—including Celia. I haven’t spoken to her in days and she’s eager for news. Not wanting that to disrupt my night, I figure I better speak with her before Alayna arrives.

Shortly after three, I walk out of my office, briefcase in hand, and ask my secretary to clear the rest of my afternoon. Then I come up to the loft through the main elevator so that even she doesn’t know I’m still in the building. It reduces my chances of being disturbed.

Once in the loft, I make the call I’ve been dreading.

“It’s about f**king time,” Celia says in place of a greeting.