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Surprisingly, my dad spoke up, and all of us stared at him, probably with identical expressions of shock on our faces. “Christine, leave it, please. Let’s try and have one evening as a family without jumping down each other’s throats.”
Her mouth snapped shut, and she pursed her lips, folding her arms, clearly fuming, but not saying another word.
Fucking finally.
My brother elbowed me again, and I glanced at him to see him mouth what the fuck? at me. I shrugged, just as baffled as he was.
“Anyone fancy a game of cards?” Winter’s tone was hopeful, and just like that, my anger left me. I stared between her and her mother. How could I have thought they were alike? Christine was so fucking prickly, she was practically a cactus. Winter was all soft lips, soft hair, soft skin, and a fucking spine made of steel. My girl could walk through fire and come out the other side without being burned.
“Stop looking at Winter with that loved-up expression on your face. Dad’s gonna notice,” Weston hissed to me, interrupting my thoughts.
Loved-up? What the fuck kind of face was I making?
“I’m having an early night,” Christine announced. Just like that, my evening got better again. She got up and left, still in a sulk, giving us a general goodbye accompanied with an exaggerated huff that left all of us rolling our eyes. Other than my dad, that is. He had his nose buried in his tablet again.
“Arlo?” Winter tried again, waiting until he looked up.
“Yes, dear?” He eyed her over the rim of his glasses.
“I asked if anyone wanted to play a game of cards. Nothing too taxing—we could play Crazy Eights, or something?”
He glanced at his watch and then back at his tablet screen. Then back at his watch again. He was going to say no, I just knew it.
“I can squeeze in one game. Cards are in the bureau over there.”
I was not expecting that.
Later, in bed, lying on my back and idly playing with Snowflake’s hair while she languidly traced her fingers over my tatts, done in after the three orgasms I’d given her, I voiced the question that had been on my mind all evening. “What was with all the being friendly with Christine and inviting my dad to play cards?”
She wriggled a bit so she could look up at me. “More, now than ever, I don’t want Christine to have any reason to suspect us of being suspicious of her.” She yawned, her voice sleepy, and I kissed the top of her head. “The cards thing—I thought it would be good for you all. Try and, I don’t know, build bridges or whatever.”
“It’s a bit late for all that, but thanks for trying.” I kissed the top of her head again.
“Yeah, but you had a good time, didn’t you? If your dad isn’t involved in this shit with my mother, you’re going to have to work with him after uni. You have to find a way to relate to him. As equals. In business, at least. I just thought, maybe if you started chilling out around each other more, it might help.”
“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” I pulled her on top of me, putting my arms around her.
“I have my moments.” She smiled, biting my lip playfully, suddenly less sleepy.
Time to take advantage of it. I rolled us over so she was pinned beneath me, my cock hardening against her.
“Again?” Her voice had turned husky, and her blue eyes had darkened, and fuck if it didn’t turn me on even more.
“One more time.”
She raked her nails down my back, marking me, and I hissed, scraping my teeth down her neck, which never failed to turn her on. Her words came out on a moan. “Cade. One more time with you is never enough.”
I stared into her eyes as I buried my cock deep inside her, watching her lashes sweep down, her mouth falling open as she moaned my name again, and I swear my heart fucking jumped. Why did I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach every time she was near me?
Fuck. The realisation hit me like a ton of bricks.
I was falling for this girl. Hard.
TWENTY-THREE
Me and Weston were sitting in front of his laptop, watching a little blinking purple dot move across a map, as we tracked my mother’s car. Arlo’s green dot was stationary—he was in the office, and the car hadn’t moved all day.
Cassius was following my mother’s car, at a discreet distance. He was actually driving Kinslee’s car—she’d left the keys for us to use it while she was away, because we figured that out of anyone’s cars, hers would be the least recognisable since it was a nondescript, silver VW Polo hatchback, nothing to make it stand out from any other car on the road.
