We’re not kids anymore. I stopped thinking that about myself years ago…and I get the feeling so did she. I don’t know much—fuck, anything—about her except the few snippets Dad has chosen to share. I know the Sloanes are broke. I have no idea how Dad met Diana, but since they never talk about it, I can only guess Harper’s mother was a stripper or a prostitute. A high-paid one, if she could afford implants and Botox, but an escort is just a pretty whore with good business sense.
I hood my eyes, draw a deep, slow breath, and let my hand slide onto my thigh as I sit back on the barstool.
It’s been ages since I’ve had more than a few sips of cognac, or some wine at dinner. But I’d be an idiot to turn down a chance to learn more about my stepsister. Especially if she’s already loosened up. Maybe I can find out just how much of a gold digger her mother is.
“Fine,” I say.
She glances at the row of bottles behind the bar. “Pick your poison.”
“You shouldn’t be mixing.”
“You shouldn’t be telling me what to do,” she answers whip-quick.
I sigh and move around the side of the bar. I grab a bottle of tequila and open the fridge to get a lemon, but she stops me.
“None of that shit. Just pour.”
I slide a full shot glass over to her. We toss them back, me with a grimace and Harper with a cough and a shudder. She shimmies her shoulders and lifts her eyebrows expectantly. “You starting, or am I?”
“Ladies first.”
Harper purses her lips. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Her question comes out so fast, she must have had it ready. “How did your mom die?”
The room darkens, and it’s got nothing to do with the clouds building on the horizon. “Dare,” I growl.
“Uh-uh.” Harper tuts me with a finger. “No takesies backsies.”
“Dare.” My voice drops low. “Or nothing.”
She brushes off my irritation with a shrug and looks about the room again. “Fine, cheater.” She starts tapping her lip. Then she spins around and points out through the glass sliding doors. “Dive in.” The corners of her mouth lift up. “Naked.”
I bark out a laugh. “Not a fucking chance.”
“Why not?” She blinks innocently at me, taking another tiny sip of her drink. “Our parents won’t be home for at least an hour.” She leans over the bar, peeking at the mound in my jeans. “Too embarrassed for me to see your little wiener?”
I growl as I stare out the window. “Choose something else,” I say.
“I’m penalizing you if you don’t do it.”
“What’s the penalty?”
She points at the bottle of tequila.
“Fine.” I pour myself a shot and down it. “Truth or dare?” I ask, my voice rough from the alcohol burning its way down to my stomach.
“Dare,” she says with a lopsided smile.
I tug at the collar of her T-shirt. “Dive in the pool. Naked.”
“You can’t steal my dare.”
“Too late to change the rules.”
“Those are the rules, I didn’t just—” She cuts off with a strangled sound and pulls her shirt over her head, baring a black lace bra.
“Christ, I was joking,” I say, bolting to my feet.
“I wasn’t.” Her pink lips pull into an impish grin. She tosses her shirt at me, hesitates, and goes to unlatch her bra. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Any red-blooded man would have let her strip, but just the thought of seeing her naked is already giving me a semi.
It feels wrong, but in such a fucking good way that my hand curls into a fist. I slam it into the mahogany counter, and Harper jerks her hands away from her underwear. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted.
“Leave your underwear on,” I manage in a thick voice.
“What are you, Amish?” She laughs, but there’s a tightness in her voice I know I’m not imagining. “Your loss.”
I’m already regretting it when she pushes her jeans down, baring her long, slender legs. Goosebumps break out on her skin, but she kicks off her pants, turns, and races out to the pool.
My hand tightens around my glass, then I toss the cognac down my throat. It burns like liquid fire, but I swallow down a cough and move around the bar, peeking out at the pool just as Harper dives in. Which is a pity, because I was really enjoying the view of her ass in those lacy black panties.
Her head emerges in the middle of the pool, her dark hair flying as she tosses her head to look back at me. “Come on, loser. It’s not that cold”
She’s right about us having the house to ourselves—Rosie’s watching her favorite movie in the home cinema, and I know she won’t venture outside until she’s ready to go swimming. I should go fetch Rosie. It only makes sense that my little sister gets her swimming in while we’re all in the pool. It could be the perfect time for Rosie and Harper to bond.
But I’m a selfish fuck, because I don’t want anyone in a ten-mile radius of Harper’s curvy little body right now. Not even Rosie. I want her all to myself, and I don’t understand what drives that possessive urge…only that I’d be kidding myself if I tried to resist it.
So I do what any guy my age would do. I strip down to my boxers and jump in the fucking pool.
Chapter 6
Harper
Jude watches me from the pool house with an unreadable expression on the hard planes of his face. Why does he always look so…growly? There’s no way his life sucks, living in a place like this. He’s got it easy. I could tell him shit that would turn his black hair white as snow. But he probably already thinks I’m nothing more than trailer-park trash, so I wouldn’t dare.
For the first time since we’ve met, we’re actually having a semi-good time. He looks somber as always, but I don’t get the feeling he wants to throttle me with his bare hands anymore. That’s got to count for something, right?
I almost think he won’t join me. That he’ll chicken out and go upstairs to his room. It’s probably what he should do. Although I’m wearing the same amount of fabric as I would in a bikini, this feels…improper. Which is fucked up, because we’d be complete strangers but for our parents’ marriage certificate.
But Jude doesn’t go inside. He pulls off his shirt and pants and stalks onto the patio like a tiger.
I’ve never seen his bare chest before and I can’t help but stare at his abs and his thick, muscular thighs. He plays football, but that’s as much as I know. I couldn’t care less about sports but it seems like you have to spend hours a day in the gym if you want to compete, even at high school level.
I’ve never seen a guy with a pelvic V. Jude’s disappears behind his boxers and makes me wonder how the rest of him looks.
The sight of him makes me feel all squirmy inside, and the dreams I’ve been having of him flood my mind. I spin around in the water, forcing myself to break eye contact, desperate to regain control of my thoughts.
There’s barely a splash when he hits the water. Thank God they heat the water a little, so at least it’s not freezing as I’d expected, but I still shiver as I paddle toward the side, intent on getting out now that I’ve made my point.