“You’re confusing me.” That’s what he’d said as he let me stoke his back, his hair. As he’d held onto me, still inside me, after we’d just had crazy, confronting sex. And then he had promptly dragged that side of himself back into the dank, dark dungeon where he clearly keeps it locked up and has gone back to asshole mode. And I know I didn’t imagine it. Zeth Mayfair does have a vulnerable side.

I watch him as he scrolls through my messages to both Lacey and my dad, observing his reactions. I know what he’s reading:

Lacey:

You used to really like pink, huh?

Me:

Yep. I also used to like nsync and dungarees.

Lacey:

Yeah. Your mom showed me pictures.

Me:

She refuses to let me live that down! I’m gonna burn those pics.

Lacey:

Don’t. She’ll be devastated. She’s really lovely. Your dad, too. He’s got me pitching tents with him all day today.

Me:

Make sure he’s not using you for slave labor, Lace. If you leave, just let me know and I’ll send in a rescue, okay?

Lacey:

It’s fine. I like it. It’s fun. Say hey to Zee for me?

And then, of course, there are the messages from my dad.

Dr Sloane, MD:

Your mother caught her crying in the bathroom this morning. You didn’t tell me so I won’t pry, but this girl seems a little broken?

Me:

A little, yes. But please, don’t go trying to fix her. She’s already seeing someone for that.

Dr Sloane, MD:

Well, they don’t seem to be doing a very good job.

Me:

Just keep her busy, okay?

Dr Sloane, MD:

Already on it, kiddo.

I’m just thanking the stars that Lacey didn’t write, say hey to my brother instead of Zee in her message. That would be a pretty rough way for him to find out the truth—that the young girl he’s been watching over for the past six months is actually his blood relative. His sister. Zeth looks adorable as he frowns over my phone, re-reading the texts. Adorable in a terrifying kind of way.

“Is he gonna try and convert her?” he asks.

I shrug. “He might ask her what she believes. He won’t push, though. He’s not like that.”

Zeth just nods at this. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s withdrawn to some place deep within himself; somewhere I’d have trouble reaching him. And then just as quickly he seems to realize what’s happened and he surfaces again, tossing me my phone. “You didn’t answer my other question. What the hell did you think you were doing this morning?”

I’m beginning to think this guy is bipolar. He swings so wildly from one attitude to the next. I didn’t see it at first. He just seemed arrogant and pissed off all the time, but I’ve begun to realize something; those negative emotions are his anchors. They keep him from drifting off someplace he doesn’t want to go. Maybe the place he drifted to just now? And I wonder…does he know he’s developed this coping mechanism? I sincerely doubt it.

“Julio knew I wasn’t a call girl, Zeth. There was no point in lying to him about it.”

“So you lie to him about me instead. He knows me. He knows I would never…” He starts pacing, working on wearing a hole in the polished floorboards. His expression is stormy and tense.

“You would never what?”

“I would never submit to a woman. Not like that.”

“That’s bullshit. You told me to own you when we first…”

Zeth raises an amused eyebrow at me. “Fucked? See, you can’t even say it. That’s why I told you to own me. Because having you try was just too delicious. You’re so uncomfortable in your own skin. I just wanted you to break free from that. If I had to play a little game with you, so you could do that…” It’s his turn to shrug now. I glare at him, my temperature rising.

“I’m not uncomfortable in my own skin. Out of the two of us, you’re the one who’s not at home in his own body.”

A broad smile spreads across his handsome, incredibly annoying face. “Have you seen me, sweetheart? I look like a fucking Abercrombie and Fitch model.”

Oh, the smug, smug bastard. “No you don’t! You look like a fucking criminal. And you are a fucking criminal.”

“A criminal who models for Abercrombie and Fitch?”

“Urgh!” I contemplate throwing my phone at him, but then think better of it. I hurl a pillow at him instead, which is nowhere near as satisfying as the phone would have been when it hits his head. He’s too busy laughing at me to care, anyhow. I suddenly realize what he’s doing. He’s actually laughing. Laughing, like a normal person. My anger vanishes. I sit in silence, stunned over how surprising the moment is.

He picks up the pillow from the floor at his feet, still chuckling a little. He tosses it back on the bed, unaware of the reaction he’s caused in me. How he’s completely put me on the back foot. “Well, regardless of the why, you’ve landed us in a mighty fucking awkward situation now, Sloane Romera. You should have just blown me and been done with it.”

“What?”

He paces to the walk-in closet where he packed away his black duffel this morning, and surprise, surprise, pulls the damn thing out again. My palms start sweating at the very sight of it. “We have to figure out how to make Julio believe you’re as ballsy as you made out to be otherwise we’re both in a lot of fucking trouble, aren’t we? He’s already suspicious as fuck about me. Especially now he knows Michael isn’t here spying on me for Charlie.”