AUTHOR’S NOTE:
This story is a full-length, stand-alone novel with two main female protagonists. Each chapter is written from the point of view of either Marnye Reed or Charlotte Carson.
This book acts as an extended epilogue for two completed series: Rich Boys of Burberry Prep and Adamson All-Boys Academy. If you haven’t completed both series, you might not fully understand all of the references, but it is possible to read it if you’re only interested in one girl’s story. However, I highly recommend finishing both before embarking on this journey.
This story takes place in college and, as such, the steamy scenes are quite a bit steamier than they were in either series. No joke: like surface of the sun hot. You’ve been warned (or lured might be a better word).
Charlotte’s story will end here, but Marnye’s will continue in a new series—Boys of Bornstead U.
Enjoy!
Marnye Reed – Burberry Prep Alumna
How could this possibly happen on the day of the wedding?
There isn’t going to be a wedding if we can’t find the groom.
I turn to find the bride in a crumpled heap behind me, a pool of pale pink skirts frothing around her as she drops her face to her hands. I’m not sure if she—Charlotte Carson—is actually crying or not. We haven’t known one another all that long, but she doesn’t seem the type to fall into hysterics.
Although, if any exception were to be made to her generally cheerful disposition, it’d be this.
Tristan throws the door open to the sanctum, shirt torn, eyes wide, blood running down the side of his face.
Blood?
Why is my lover bleeding? Why is the boy I met on the steps of Burberry Prep, the one who really and truly changed my life the way I knew he would, standing there looking like he’s about to kill somebody? Or like somebody tried to kill him?
“I found Church.”
As soon as he mentions the name of her groom, Charlotte’s head flies up, her blue eyes dry, mouth parted. She struggles to her feet, and I help her, swatting copious amounts of fabric out of the way as she lunges toward Tristan and snatches him by the front of his shirt.
He looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.
“Where?!” Charlotte—or Chuck, as she prefers—is shaking him now, and he’s trying very nicely to pry her hands off of him. I move up behind her, swathed in lace and pearls of my own, and place a hand on her shoulder. Tristan doesn’t like to be touched. Well, except by me. A thrill chases through me at the thought, but I tuck it away for later.
We have more pressing concerns.
“We found him, but I don’t think he’s going to make it to the wedding.”
Charlotte shoves Tristan aside, squeezing her voluminous skirts between him and the doorjamb.
“Chuck!” The twins—Tobias and Micah McCarthy—have just come stumbling down the hallway. It amazes me how in sync they are at all times. They call her name together, slide to a stop together, hold out their hands in perfect unison. “Come with us.”
She snatches onto those outstretched hands like a drowning person reaching for salvation. The three of them are sprinting down the hallway together before I can even think to move my feet.
“What happened?” I ask, pausing just in front of Tristan. His gray eyes slip to mine, and there’s a tremble in him when I reach up a tentative hand to touch the blood on his forehead. He snatches my wrist in tight fingers, stopping me just short of touching him.
“I told you that I was poison …” he whispers, eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen them. Understand that this is a boy—no, no, he’s a man now—that is frustratingly unflappable. Nothing bothers him. Nothing shakes him. He pretends as if he cares about nothing and no one. “I told you that you’d be better off picking someone else, anyone else.”
I move to draw away from him, but he squeezes my wrist even more tightly and then he yanks me toward him. Our mouths crash together like an electrical storm, sparking the world to life, brightening the clouds, tearing apart the atmosphere. I can’t breathe but for him, the peppermint and cinnamon scent that’s always been his.
Tristan’s tongue obliterates me. I’m no longer Marnye Reed. I’m just his.
It’s hard to admit, but it’s something I’ve always wanted.
I wanted it when I saw him that first day, when he called me a charity case, when he set out to destroy me. I don’t know why; I can’t explain it. That’s what makes love so damn insidious. It’s a kiss of poison, an ache you never want to stop hurting.
He pulls back from me so suddenly that I’m breathless, gasping, stumbling.
Tristan releases me and turns away, sliding a hand down his face.
It’s Creed that catches me then, his hand on my arm, his bare fingers showcasing every nerve ending in my exposed skin. Have you ever seen a ‘two-point discrimination test’ done? Doctors use calipers to test a patient’s skin sensitivity. With Creed Cabot holding onto me the way he is, I don’t need that test.
I can feel it all—excruciatingly.
I turn to look at him, and the intensity in his face scares me. Creed is not intense; he is lazy. He is insouciant. He slouches rather than sits. He drags his feet when he walks. He looks at everyone and everything with half-lidded bedroom eyes and a healthy dose of feigned apathy.
There are only two things that rile him up: sex and fights.
Since we’re clearly not having sex …
“What’s going on?” I’m so confused right now. Church Montague, Charlotte’s soon-to-be husband, and one of the five men in her (God, this word is so embarrassing) harem has been missing for hours. That’s the problem here; that’s the issue.
So why is Tristan Vanderbilt bleeding from the head and kissing me like this is the end? Why does Creed look as murderous as the day he beat up a boy for sharing nude pics of his twin sister, Miranda?
Today is a stressful day—but it isn’t supposed to be stressful on my account or on the accounts of any of my boys. My harem. That’s such a weird word.
“The Infinity Club.” That’s what Creed tells me.
It takes an entire minute for those words to sink in; I can see a clock on the wall to my left. It’s ticking down the seconds as I let that phrase drift through the recesses of my mind, dredging old memories. Painful memories. Best left forgotten memories.
“What about the Infinity Club?” I ask as politely as I’m able to.
We left that nonsense behind at Burberry Preparatory Academy, the high school I attended and then graduated summa cum laude with Tristan, Creed, Zayd, Windsor, and Zack by my side. Yes, my harem. A harem that I still have, that I can’t believe I’m holding onto, that I’m afraid is too good to be true.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Infinity Club: this is a Bornstead U thing. It’s a hazing thing. It’s not a good thing, but it isn’t an Infinity Club thing.” I’m not sure how many times I can say the word ‘thing’ in one sentence, but I’ll say it as many times as I have to in order to prove that it’s the truth.
“Marnye …” Creed trails off, reaching up to brush his white-blond hair back from his forehead. Even his hair is slothful, flopping right back into place when he stops messing with it. His gaze, that forlorn arctic breeze of color, makes my knees weak beneath the high hemline of the dress. “It might be a Bornstead U thing, but there’s more to it than that.”