Fern clenched her jaw and slapped Cal again, this time hard enough to make the bones in her hand ache. The ring’s stone cut his skin, leaving a small gash behind. He lifted his fingers andtouched the blood on his cheek.
“Nice work,” he muttered just as a knock landed on his door.
Cal held her stunned stare before backing up. Fern peeled off the wall, her legs and arms trembling, and crouched to pick up her one shoe. Cal threw open the door to reveal Francis, as suspected. He held her other shoe, the one she’d lost. He inspected her, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. It stretched as Cal made a show of swiping the blood from his cheek.
Cal took the shoe from his hand and held it out to Fern. He waited while she slipped it on her foot, then turned and barked, “Tell Rod I’ll be back.”
He pushed past Francis and took off down the hallway. Francis stared at Fern, still smirking as she followed, purging herself from the bedroom. Cal stood by the door leading to the outside steps, and they spiraled down them in silence. Outside, rain had started to fall. It misted the creamy yellow paint of the Roadster, the windshield beaded with silver drops.
By the time Fern reached the passenger door, he was already in the driver’s seat with the engine cranking. She barely had time to shut herself inside before he spun around the yard and started for the street.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she said as they bumped onto the road. “If the photographs worked, why do this too?”
He didn’t respond. Only drove, eyes forward.
She didn’t know what to make of him. Or of herself. In his room, with his mouth sealed to her neck, she’d become another person. She hadn’t cared about anything other than his lips, his hands. This man, thiscriminal, had blackmailed her father, undressed her, let someone take crude photographs of her. And still, she’d liked his mouth on her. Still, she’d felt a measure of safety with him.
She faced the window, shame consuming her.
The roar of the engine filled the silence, the windshield wipers squelching in an incessant rhythm. When he finally turned onto South Woodlawn, Cal accelerated. His tires squealed as they turned into the driveway, rather than pulling alongside the curb. He slammed on the brakes, clearly eager for her to be gone and out of his hair.
Fern opened the door, a stone lodging in her throat.
He caught her hand as she moved to get out of the car. “Fern.”
She battled an appalling urge to let him stop her. But her self-control won out, and she jerked away. “Don’t! You don’t want to answer me, that’s fine. But I don’t ever want to see you again. Stay away from me.”
She slammed the car door and ran through the rain. The front door to the house swung open, and her stomach dropped. Buchanan rushed outside and came down the brick path straight for her, a murderous expression twisting his face.
The sound of another slamming door shuttled up her spine. Fern spun around as Cal came around the nose of his car. Buchanan pushed past her on the walk, and she just barely hooked his elbow and was able to haul him to a stop.
“Patrice was here,” Buchanan shouted at her. “Mother’s been in hysterics. Is that what you wanted?”
“No!”
He pushed her away and faced Cal. “A sister for a sister, is that what this is?”
Fern stared at the back of her brother’s head, at the rain slicking his blond hair.A sister for a sister?
Cal stayed within the beams of the car’s headlights, his glare cooling to something deadly calm. He looked at Buchanan the way Rodney had stared at Cal earlier. Calculating. Dangerous.
“Buchanan.” She fumbled for his arm again and pulled him back. “Come inside. Before Mother comes out.”
He didn’t relent at first, and he and Cal continued their icy standoff. But then his muscles gave. He shook off her hand, turned, and clutched her elbow. He dragged Fern along, wrenching her arm painfully, and practically hurled her inside the house.
The soles of her shoes slipped on the polished parquet floor as he slammed the front door. Her dress was drenched, dark purple now instead of orchid, and somewhere, she couldn’t recall when or where, she’d lost the wrap and her black beaded clutch.
Fern found her footing, and immediately, Buchanan gripped her chin and hiked her head up. She knew what he was seeing before he released her with a curse. Disgust turned his usually handsome face into an ugly scowl.
“You really are stupid, aren’t you? Fucking desperate. He’s using you.”
“What did you mean, a sister for a sister?”
“Fern? Is that you?” Their mother’s voice shot downthe staircase. She clapped a hand over the still throbbing bruise on her neck.
Buchanan gave her a final glare and stalked off, out of the foyer and away from the stairs, leaving Fern to face their mother alone. She couldn’t. If she saw her ruined dress, her disheveled hair, and the mark Cal had given her… She panicked and ran for the kitchen. There, she took the backstairs to her turret and locked herself in. Minutes later, her mother was at her door, demanding to be admitted.
“I’m fine!” Fern shouted as she stripped out of her ripped, sopping dress. “I just need to be alone!”
