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“Geez.” I roll my eyes. “He’s so demanding.”
Britney giggles. “You’re the first girl he’s given so much attention to; the first girl he brought home. He likes you, Kayla. A lot.”
Butterflies dance in my tummy. I turn shy and unable to respond.
She frowns while adding, “Don’t break my brother’s heart.”
I shake my head, promising without words that I wouldn’t dare. Then I hurry from the kitchen.
Brandon pivots, leading me down the passage. I observe family photos and scenic photography on the walls as we walk by.
Turning into a media room with floor-to-ceiling windows, he opens the glass door, and we step out to the patio.
The property seems endless. I trail Brandon down stone steps onto the manicured grass, passing the large swimming pool, flowers, and a gazebo. I can only imagine the fancy parties their parents’ host in such a setting.
Reaching the guest house at the back, I gasp at the fact that it’s still larger than my home.
I enter behind Brandon through the sliding door and look around. The furniture and décor are lovely against the gray walls and dark floors.
“Back here,” Brandon says, turning into the passage. He opens the door to a bedroom, and I enter after him, heart skipping when the easel comes into view.
He’s set it up with the canvas, large bottles of paint, and brushes.
I steer my eyes to him, grateful. “Brandon—”
“I didn’t want you to use the ones for school. That way, you won’t run out in class.” He lingers on my face a moment before adding, “Don’t say I’m treating you like a charity case. It offends me.”
I swallow to speak. “I was going to thank you.”
He smirks. “You’re mine, Kayla. I want to give you nice things.”
“Hm.” I twist to the easel again, running my fingers across the smooth wooden edge. I glimpse my painting of the vase and tulips resting against the wall. The sweet sensation wavers a bit as a thought occurs.
I face Brandon, asking, “Are you compensating?”
He crumples his brows and drops his hands from his pockets. “Compensating?”
“I mean, are you buying things to make up for not touching me?”
A dark shadow falls over his face. “You refuse to admit you like me, much less say you’re mine. Yet, you seem so obsessed with touching me.”
“I’m not,” I sputter and fold my arms.
“No?” he mocks. “Wasn’t it you who begged me to touch you days ago? I remember you whimpered when I didn’t.”
“I did not whimper.”
“But you did beg,” he counters.
I purse my lips, unable to deny it.
Brandon’s right. I’ve been craving for him since he seductively teased my flesh with the rose.
“Get undressed,” he orders.
My brows lift in surprise. “What?”
He backs up to the door, shuts it, and turns the lock. “Take off your uniform. Show me.”
