His Brother's Fiancée E-Book

Jessa James

• Herausgeber: Jessa James
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 280

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

I loved her once, a long time ago. Effie goddamn White, the raven-haired, pouty-lipped temptress. Hell, I was f*cking obsessed with her. Her touch, her smell, her taste I couldnt get enough. And she shattered my cold, hardened heart into a million pieces. Ill never let that happen again. Ever. I know better. My brother Thorne waited in the wings. When I left, he pounced. Now Im back, and Effies on Thornes arm, wearing Thornes ring. But shes looking at me. And when we are trapped together, shes undressing me with those baby blue eyes. Touching me. Tormenting me. That thing that I said would never happen twice? F*ck, shes doing it to me again. And I love the way it feels, almost as much as she does... His Brother's Fiancée is approximately 55,000 words. It features ABSOLUTELY NO CHEATING (by the hero + heroine), and ends in a happily ever after!

Leseprobe

His Brother’s Fiancée

Jessa James

His Brother’s Fiancée: Copyright © 2020 by Jessa James

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical, digital or mechanical including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning or by any type of data storage and retrieval system without express, written permission from the author.

Published by Jessa James

James, Jessa

His Brother’s Fiancée

Cover design copyright 2020 by Jessa James, Author

Images/Photo Credit: Deposit Photos: VitalikRadko

Publisher’s Note:

This book was written for an adult audience. The book may contain explicit sexual content. Sexual activities included in this book are strictly fantasies intended for adults and any activities or risks taken by fictional characters within the story are neither endorsed nor encouraged by the author or publisher.

This book has been previously published.

Contents

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1. Effie

2. King

3. Effie

4. King

5. Effie

6. King

7. Effie

8. King

9. Effie

10. King

11. Effie

12. King

13. Effie

14. King

15. Effie

16. King

17. Effie

18. King

19. Effie

20. King

21. Effie

22. King

23. Effie

24. King

25. Effie

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1

Effie

Life isn’t fair, is it? Effie thought as she ran her fingers through the rabbit-like fur of the senior ragdoll cat. Certainly not for this cat, anyway.

Effie was stretched out on the machine’s cool plastic as she watched Dr. Yung stare at the screen. In most aspects of her job as a vet tech, Effie played it cool, but she felt nervous as Dr. Yung finished up the MRI.

“Still the same?” Effie asked.

“Unfortunately. He’s not in heart failure yet, though the arrhythmia is about the same. But at least we can tell his family he’s stable.”

Dr. Yung pulled off her gloves while Effie hoisted the languid cat up. The old cat peered into Effie’s eyes, searching.

“He has the most amazing eyes. Like a galaxy.”

“Actually, I think his eyes are quite like yours,” Dr. Yung said.

Effie glanced up at the older woman. “You mean my eyes are like a cat’s, or the other way around?”

“Both, I suppose. Go ahead and clock out once you’ve crated him back up, and I’ll go talk to the family. The next client canceled, so we’re done for the day.”

Effie encouraged the big cat into the crate built for small dogs. He seemed happy to return to barred security.

She pulled the band from the end of her braid as soon as she slid into her Explorer. Both the second and third rows were reclined, and there was evidence of various animal fur all over the taupe interior. Effie sighed as she combed out her loose braid and shook out her thick mahogany locks.

As soon as she started the car, her phone buzzed.

“Hi, Yaya,” she said with a smile as she turned on the speaker phone and pulled out of the veterinary clinic’s parking lot.

“Hi, baby. Pós eísai? Good?”

“Eímai kalá,” Effie said, aware of how stiff and off her Greek was.

“Ah! You have been practicing!” her grandmother said in her thick Greek accent.

“Don’t ask me anything else, that’s about all I have,” Effie said with a laugh.

“Okay, okay. I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you, I couldn’t remember what time you were off.”

“I got done a little early, a client canceled.”

“I see. So what are you doing? Going to Thorne’s?”

“How’d you guess?”

“χρυσό μου, where else would you be going? The boyfriend’s or work, that is all. And that is good, as it should be. I’m sure King will be happy.”

“Tho—nevermind,” Effie said.

She bit her lip. She still felt a stab at her heart whenever someone mentioned King’s name. It didn’t help that it happened all the time.

Even if Yaya wasn’t heading into dementia territory, being engaged to your ex’s brother doesn’t exactly mean you’ll never hear his name, she reminded herself.

“How are you, Yaya?”

“Oh, fine. Just fine. Remember we need more thyme. Will you pick it up? Clem, don’t forget this time, yes?”

“Yaya, this is … okay, yes. I will pick it up.”

She swallowed the protests that bubbled to the surface when Yaya called her Clem. It wasn’t the first time that Effie had been called her mother’s name, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Effie flew past the WELCOME TO GLENCO, ILLINOIS sign and reached blindly into the console for a scrap of paper. As she took Thorne’s exit and pulled up to the stop sign, she scribbled a note to herself.

Buy thyme.

Effie had no idea if they were actually out of thyme, but if Yaya got into a cooking mood, missing thyme was a full-fledged disaster. She tried to rack her brain for what the spice rack looked like the last time she’d seen it, but couldn’t remember.

“And the oregano. The one in the glass bottle this time. Plastic and glass, it makes a difference, you know.”

“Yes, Yaya, I know,” Effie said.

“Effie?”

“Yes?”

“What is it?” She heard the worry in Yaya’s voice, the hint of clarity that told her Yaya was—at least for the moment—lucid.

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

“You sound… I don’t know. Sad, maybe. What is wrong?”

“Nothing, Yaya, really.”

“Effie, I know you. What is there to be sad about? You have perfect fiancé, so polite. Good job—”

“Yaya, I’m fine. Really. I’m just tired. It was a long day at work.”

Yaya sighed. “Sadness, it is not pretty.”

Effie almost pulled directly into the rear end of a little Mercedes coupe parked in Thorne’s driveway. “Crap!”

“Effie!”

“Sorry, Yaya, I have to go. I just got to Thorne’s.”

“Only if you promise you are not sad.”

“I’m not. Promise. I love you.”

Effie slid the call off as she ran over the curb trying to squeeze the SUV into the limited space for street parking. As soon as she turned off the engine, the gray skies opened up and the downpour began.

“The sun will come out… eventually, right?” she muttered to herself.

The storm was sudden and intense. She could barely get the door open with the strong gusts of rain. Effie pulled up the hood of her jacket, a dark maroon trench coat covered in white cat hair.

She sprinted up the custom stone steps of Thorne’s brand-new condo built in mid-century fashion with floor-to-ceiling windows. Even in the North Shore affluent suburb of Chicago, Thorne’s building was a standout architectural gem. And he— well, it would be them soon enough— had the entire penthouse floor and exclusive elevator.

Effie checked her reflection in the elevator mirror as it hoisted her towards the heavens. She hated that she cared, but Thorne had made it clear more than once that he, or really his parents, expected certain things from her.

Like not coming home covered in animal fur, she thought.

When the elevator doors slid open, she reached her hand out automatically for the familiar bronze knob, but the condo was wide open.

“Thorne?” she called out. In one of the back rooms, she could hear the thump of music. Dua Lipa moaned from one of Thorne’s stereo systems. The stupid things that came with price tags so rich Effie could hardly bear to hear the about costs. Especially when Thorne bragged about his latest purchases to friends or posted over-filtered shots on Instagram.

“Thorne!” she called out again.

She made her way down the hall, one side adorned in mirrors and the other a mish-mash of photographs in sterling silver and crystal frames. She knew each of the photos by heart, including exactly where not to look.

In two of the photos, King was there. One of those photos was taken when they were still together, but of course she wasn’t in that photo. It was a family Easter brunch at Alinea in the city. But King had been wearing that shirt she had bought him, just before they’d broken up.

That’s what happens when you date two men from the same family, she thought idly. It makes family photos awkward, to say the least.

Effie let her eyes slip past the formal engagement photos of her and Thorne. Her mom and Yaya had the same ones in their little tucked away house. They were beautiful photos, but she could swear the couple in them was foreign to her. Their matching fake smiles looked picture perfect, though.

The music got louder as she approached the master bedroom with its door slightly ajar.

“Thorne?” she asked as she pushed the door open. She saw his broad, naked back perched on the edge of the bed. “What are you—”

He turned sharply just as a girl raised her head from between his legs. The girl wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as Thorne released the girl’s hair from his fist.

“Effie! What the hell— why aren’t you at work?”

“Me?” she asked, surprised by how small and tight her voice was. “What are you… who is she?”

“What’s going on?” the girl asked as she scrambled for something to cover herself with. Effie couldn’t tear her eyes off her. It was like looking in a mirror. The same thick, reddish brown hair. The striking blue eyes. The same full breasts.

“Thorne, what the fuck?” the girl screamed. “You said you broke up!”

“I— I never said that,” Thorne said. He looked between the two of them. “Effie, you have to believe me, I never said that—”

“I don’t care what you said,” Effie said. She wanted to scream, to cry, but everything just felt stuck in her chest. “I don’t care what you told her! Why are you… how long… never mind,” she said. “Forget it.”

Effie turned and slammed the door. As she barreled down the hallway, she could hear the girl screaming and glass shattering.

Get him, she thought to herself. If she couldn’t bring herself to show the rage he deserved, let her look-alike do it.

She locked herself into the library and grabbed one of the leather duffel bags out of the closet. Effie hadn’t realized until that moment that the things that were really hers, what she adored the most, Thorne had designated to the smallest spare room in the condo. It was basically a closet, albeit a beautiful one. She shoved her USB sticks and laptop into the bag, the bottle of perfume her Yaya had brought back from Greece years ago, and the stack of her favorite romance books.

Forget the clothes and the makeup, she thought. Just get out.

As she zipped the bag and left the library, she could still hear the two of them going at it in the bedroom. She couldn’t tell whether they were fighting or fucking, but she didn’t care. She needed to get away, as soon as possible.

Effie pounded her thumb against the elevator button. Tears started to prick at her eyes, but she’d be damned if she would cry until she made it to the car.

“Effie!” she heard Thorne yell as he started down the hall after her, his footsteps heavy. “Effie, stop! Let’s talk about this, this is being taken way out of context—”

Please close, she prayed as she watched him turn the corner towards the elevator, naked and still half-hard. Please close.

As if it were in a perfectly timed movie, the elevator slid shut when he was inches away.

Effie ran to the car, hood down, and let the demanding Illinois rain pound at her head. She locked the door immediately and pulled away from the curb without looking. Behind her, a horn blared and she saw a white Escalade veer to the left to avoid hitting her.

“Three years,” she said aloud as she wiped at the tears that streamed down her cheeks. “Three goddamned years.”

It was a long time to spend, to waste, on anyone. And that was after dating King all of high school!

Oh, the years I have thrown away on the Smith brothers. Damn them both.

“I’m a freaking moron,” she said, thinking that she needed a drink.

Effie searched the little artisanal boutiques in Thorne’s neighborhood for some kind of bar. Anything that didn’t have twenty dollar cocktails and entrees that cost an entire day’s pay would do. But there was nothing in Thorne’s hoity-toity neighborhood that even came close to what she needed right now.

Actually, what she needed most was just somewhere to disappear.

Finally, she pulled into a little tapas place advertising happy hour. Effie parked in the far back of the lot and watched as impeccable couples squealed as the valet opened doors with expansive black umbrellas.

She couldn’t get the image of that cheater out of her mind. The thought of her lookalike peering over the top of Thorne’s thigh made her eyes well up. She felt rage building in her chest, scraping at the lining of her throat, desperate to escape.

“How could you do this to me?” she screamed into the empty cabin of the car. Finally, her voice had arrived.

She hadn’t been stupid. She knew that when Thorne first approached her it was to get under King’s skin. After all, she and King had only broken up the month before.

There she was, sitting at a Starbuck’s, staring into her drink. Thinking of how King had never even called or wrote in the month since he’d left.

He’d forgotten all about her, even though he’d called her the love of his life. So when she saw his big frame that day…

She could admit to being more than a little crushed to realize that it was Thorne. And he’d come looking for her with a proposition.

Effie had to admit, part of her liked the idea. She’d reveled in it a little. If she and Thorne could both piss off King, why not?

It’s not like King was standing around waiting for them. He was long gone.

They hadn’t ever said anything about it aloud, but it was a kind of unspoken agreement. Then things got more complicated. Messier.

When Thorne said he loved her three months in, she said it back because they were already in the thick of it. Plus, her mom pushed her insistently in his direction.

“But he’s King’s brother!” she’d argued. She remembered the night clearly. Effie was still in her high school graduation robe.

“So what?” her mom asked. “You and King, it was nothing. Puppy love. Thorne is the respectable one. The mature one. And his family already loves you!”

“Mom—”

“Relationships aren’t just about two people,” her mom said, which made Effie clamp her mouth shut.

Three years later Thorne proposed to her. Thorne had taken her, her mom, and Yaya out to a posh restaurant where he ordered for everyone. Before the appetizers even arrived, Thorne leaned across the table and took her mom’s hand.

“I want you to know, Effie and I getting married? It means I’m committed to you, too. And Yaya. You don’t need to worry about a thing anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

When her mom’s eyes had welled up with tears, Effie knew she was doing the right thing. Besides, Thorne was a nice enough guy. At least she’d thought so.

“Is this how you’re taking care of me? Of us?” she asked, but the empty car gave no answers. “Motherfucker!”

The word, rare coming from her lips, made her shiver.

Don’t you dare cry over him, she scolded herself. Not a single tear!

Effie sniffed and gazed at the restaurant through the cascade of rainfall. As much as it sounded right, she couldn’t bring herself to drink now. Least of all in a public place surrounded by happy couples.

Instead, she picked up the phone and scrolled to MOM.

“Mom?” she asked when her mom slurred a sleepy “Hello?” into the phone. “Where are you?”

“A debutante ball, where do you think?”

Effie heard the agitation in her mom’s voice.

“Mom, I have to go on a work trip for a conference. It’s really sudden, I just found out today. Can you take care of Yaya? We’re… we’re out of thyme. And maybe oregano.”

“Effie, seriously? Now isn’t a good time. You don’t live with Thorne yet, you know. You live here. With us. Where you have responsibilities.”

What the hell else are you doing besides locking yourself up in the house all day and watching television?

“I’m sorry, but this is really important for my career—”

“You’re a glorified pet groomer, Effie. What kind of emergency could it be?” Effie heard the slam of the phone on the other end. Sometimes she thought her mom kept a landline just for that purpose.

“Screw it,” she said. She started up her car and tried to decide where to go.

It was getting dark and the roads back to her place would be at a crawl for rush hour by now. She would need someplace to go that was outside of town. She thought about renting a hotel, but the idea of spending a lot of cash when the future was so uncertain unnerved her. She went through a few ideas and discarded a few places, and then hit on a possible answer.

The Smith family cabin.

King had taken her countless times in high school to his family’s little local getaway in the hills. She’d lost her virginity there.

Effie rustled through the glove box, and hoped against hope that the little spare key box contained the cabin key. She grabbed the keys, and almost sighed with relief when she saw it.

A big golden key, labeled “Cabin”, hung on a little pine tree keyring.

She pulled out of the parking lot, her destination set in stone.

By the time she pulled into the gravel lot, it was dark. But walking into the familiar cabin with its soaring cathedral ceilings, she was instantly comforted by the warmth. Effie lit a fire and dug through the wine reserve for a rich dessert wine. Something that would get her drunk and still nuzzle her with sugar.

She curled up next to the fire and wrapped herself in a heavy wool Pendleton blanket. Just as she got comfortable though, the image of Thorne fucking some strange woman came into Effie’s brain and wouldn’t leave.

All right, she told herself begrudgingly. You can cry a little. Just for a few minutes.

She started to think about how entangled she and Thorne were, about how much she had allowed herself to rely on him for… well, everything. Sorting it out would be next to impossible.

And that wasn’t even taking into account their upcoming nuptials. Only last week, they’d put a deposit down on a venue for the reception.

Jesus, what a mess!

By the time she’d finished half the bottle, she was all cried out. Exhausted, she fell asleep as the light from the flames flicked across her swollen face.

2

King

King groaned and rolled over in bed. The coolness of the silk sheets did nothing to ease the pain. He winced as he felt the bruises blossom, fresh and new, across his ribs. As he pushed himself up, the numbness sleep offered wore off completely.

King stood in front of the mirror, framed in thick wood to complement the family cabin, and examined his ribs. In some areas, they almost completely covered some of his ink and turned his tattoos into shadowy figures.

As he ran his hands across the ripples of his stomach, he felt a touch of pleasure blend with the pain.

“That’s the price you pay,” he told his reflection.

The gray eyes in the mirror stared back at him. Effie used to tell him, “the skies are angry today,” when she’d gaze up at him. He hated that, how she could read him to easily.

King looked at himself in the mirror for another minute, then headed to the bathroom. The floor boards creaked under his bare feet like the wail of faraway ghosts.

He turned on the faucet above the bathtub, intending to give himself a quick shower. As he waited for it to heat up, though, he couldn’t stop thinking of the past.

When King had left the mob bosses in L.A. he’d worked for the past few years, he knew there would be a tax. He just hadn’t known when to expect payment to come due. But as soon as he’d seen the thugs in the parking deck, he’d known.

He’d once worn a suit that was just like the ones they wore.

“King Smith?” one had asked.

King hadn’t replied. He’d simply turned to take whatever they had for him.

The first hit was always the hardest. The one who’s asked his name was young, barely eighteen, and inches shorter than King but built like a bull. As soon as he felt the solid knuckles against his jaw, copper filled his mouth.

“The hell is wrong with him?” he’d heard one of the others ask as his knees hit the pavement.

He couldn’t tell the difference between fists and kicks, they were all over him. A swarm of furious punches and digs. It had felt like his entire head had filled with blood, and the sound of a rib cracking was like the snap of a twig.

But King had refused to fight back. It would have only made it worse. Even through the swollen slit of his eyes, he could see that young one pause when they were done.

King knew that look. The kid was wondering if he should get in one last good kick, like the villains always did in the movies. The money shot that would dislocate King’s jaw or shattered his nose.

He wasn’t sure if he remembered this quite right or if he just wished he’d done it—but he thought he’d lifted his head just enough to give the kid a good shot. But in the end, the young man walked away with the rest of the crew.

King shuddered in the bathroom as he stripped his clothes off and slipped into the steaming shower. It was cold as hell outside, as a sort of final fuck you for his return to his hometown. There was supposed to be some serious snow outside tonight.

Which was why he’d chosen to head to the cabin in the first place. That, and it was the only property he technically owned. Even if Thorne or his parents found out that he was here, there wasn’t shit they could do about it.

He lathered himself up instead of getting angry about Thorne, and what a thieving, conniving piece of work his little brother was. Getting away from Thorne and their politician father was the best thing King could have done. Even if it had cost him some things.

Like Effie, he thought.

He grimaced. He scrambled to think of something else, anything else. He found himself replaying the past again in his head.

For nearly two years, King had been a fixer for the bosses. It was his dues. He’d been the bad guy long enough, the boogeyman nobody wanted to stumble upon in the dark streets. And it had been thrilling at first.

King could still remember the first time one of the boss men met him in person. It took weeks of meeting with lesser members as they vetted him, tried to get his angle. When King was seated across from the paunchy, middle-aged man in the private dining room in Everest, one he hadn’t even known existed, it was a bit of a let down. The boss had milky blue eyes and skin like crepe paper. Nothing like Marlon Brando’s Godfather.

“King Smith. What kind of name is that?” the man had asked.

“It’s what my parents gave me. Sir,” he’d added on quickly.

“Yes, your parents. Chicago’s modern-day Kennedy’s,” the boss had said with a small laugh that sounded a bit girlish. “I’ve seen my share of rich prep school boys looking to sample the other side. Is that what this is about? You have something to prove to your daddy? You too good for his money?”

King’s face had burned. He’d hoped in the dimness of the restaurant, a bodyguard at attention on either side of the boss, that nobody noticed.

“No, Sir,” he’d said. “I just want to make my own money.”

“Top-rated schooling. Well-read, well-bred. I imagine you’d make a very nice living working for your family business. I hear it’s a bit more on the up and up than mine. Nepotism notwithstanding, but there’s politics in any business. Family or not.”

The boss nodded as the waiter presented a bottle of scotch. Two fingers worth were poured elegantly into crystal tumblers.

“Macallan 1952,” the boss said as he raised the crystal to his lips.

King followed suit and let the amber burn fire down his throat after holding it along the apex of his tongue for six seconds to smooth it.

“Fine and rare,” King said.

The boss smiled. “You’re familiar with the year.”

“It’s Macallan’s best.”

“So tell me. If it’s not to get back at your daddy, what is it? Why do you want to work for me?”

This is what King had prepared for.

“You’re right,” he said as he pulled in a breath. “It does have something to do with my father, but it’s not an act of revenge. I… I don’t want to be like him.”

The boss leaned back as caviar was brought to the table. “And why is that?”

“I have a brother,” he said, but stopped himself before saying Thorne’s name. Not that he needed to. The boss knew everything about him. “And, in our family, we’ve always been yin and yang.”

“The angel and the devil,” the boss said as he spooned a small dollop of caviar onto his fist. “How quaint. And let me guess who you are.”

King didn’t say anything. The boss didn’t offer him any caviar. Instead, King watched the boss enjoy an entire four-course dinner while being served nothing, not even a second glass of that forty-thousand dollar scotch.

When the boss was satisfied, he looked at King.

“You start tonight,” he said, standing up.

And thus it began, King thought. All the blackmail, bribery, extortion that you could ever dream about, just waiting for me to put on that suit.

He got out of the shower, turning off the water. Wrapping himself in a towel, he hustled back to the bedroom to get dressed.

Now, the bruises were no longer coupled by welts and open wounds. They’d entered the dull aching stage. It had taken the bosses’ fixers six months to collect from him.

The bruises suited him more than he liked to admit. At least this way, you could see the damage, instead of just imagining it.

Being the bad boy was all he’d ever known, and he’d played it his entire life.

Thorne was always the good one, the responsible one, the one who followed all the rules and fit so neatly into the family’s expectations.

King sighed. Thank God for melatonin, he thought.

It was the only thing that even gave him a shot of sleeping without being a zombie the next day. The whole getting up early in the morning schtick wasn’t for him.

He spent a few minutes tidying everything in the bedroom. It was one of the things King liked about himself. Fastidiousness.

In order, there was comfort. His mouth kicked up when he thought of how not everyone appreciated how much he loved things clean. That was something about him that Effie never understood.

It was one of those things that drove him crazy. How she’d dump her purse on the first available surface when she walked into a room, or how she’d kick off her shoes, not even bothering to pushing them neatly against a wall. Those romance novels she left dog-eared and scattered everywhere.

But, still. It was part of the balance, that yin and yang.

“Love is weakness. Weakness is for losers,” he reminded himself.

Now get dressed, for God’s sake.

King realized he wasn’t quite ready to put his clothes on, though. He needed the brand new stick of deodorant that he’d bought at a convenience store on his way here. It was still in a plastic bag, hanging by the front door.

He re-anchored the towel around his waist and started down the hallway. The scent of a wood fire flooded his nostrils.

“What the hell?” He could have sworn he’d put out the fire last night, but as he entered the living room it was roaring. “Shit!”

A head popped up from the other side of the couch. King’s heart almost stopped, sure that this was it.

That last beating was just a warm-up. This one wouldn’t just stop at bruises, he was certain of it.

And then he realized it was her.

“Effie?” he asked, uncertain. “What…”

She looked at him, her eyes wide.

“King?”

He felt so exposed for some reason, standing there in nothing but a towel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.

It came off angrier than he intended.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t know you were here. Or anyone was here. There wasn’t a car—what happened to you? Are you okay?”

Her eyes were wide as she examined the bruises on his chest.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

“I… I don’t know,” she said softly.

What did that mean?

“How did you get in? Wait, never mind. Where’s Thorne?”

“He’s… not here?”

It was a question, not an answer. It just made him more confused.

King shifted slightly, completely thrown by Effie’s sudden appearance. Of course he’d seen Effie a few times over the years. She could only be avoided so often, as the person who was practically glued to Thorne’s side.

He stared at her, and she stared back.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

As he got dressed, he ran over scores of things he should say. Her being here, surprising him like this, it was the last thing he needed.

When he stormed back into the living room, Effie was on the couch with her shoulders covered in the thick blanket. He could see the low-cut satin camisole underneath. It dipped into dangerous territory, but he refused to let that distract him.

Who cares if she’s even hotter than she was in high school?

“Where’s Thorne?” he asked.

Great. That’s a really strong opener.

“He’s… he’s…” Effie gestured, and then dissolved into tears.

King glanced around the room, but there was no one to help.

This is exactly what I need, he thought.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“He’s cheating on me!” she said between sobs.

Awkwardly, he reached out and patted her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said. “He’s—”

“It’s not okay! I freaking caught him in bed with someone else! Someone who looks just like me, by the way.”

“Oh,” he said, frowning. “Well, I guess that’s kind of good.”

“Good?” she asked, exasperated.

“I mean, at least he’s attracted to you, right?” King could hear the smugness in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it. “I mean, kind of keeping it in the family. You are both so good at that.”

He just couldn’t stop himself. King hadn’t realized until that moment that for the past three years he’d harbored so much anger over her dating his brother.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” she asked.

Effie stood up and let the blanket fall onto the couch. She grabbed her jacket, but not before he could see that she’d taken off her bra to sleep. The sudden chill from losing the blanket hardened her nipples instantly against the thin fabric. He felt his cock stirring below, but pushed the urge aside.

She deserved this.

King heard the front door slam and a car start in the driveway. Slowly, he made his way onto the patio. His erection refused to wane even when her SUV was out of sight.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

3

Effie

Effie had thought she’d been cried out, but by the time she’d reached the end of the Smiths’ cabin’s driveway, her tears were blinding.

There’s no way I can be around anyone like this.

She didn’t even have to think about it. Effie angled the SUV towards the trailhead of the familiar chipped paths she’d explored with King all through high school.

It soothed her, just the sound of her footsteps in the wild. Like she was a teenager again, she easily picked out the sounds in the forest that hugged the outskirts of the city. Dark-eyed junco. American Goldfinch. Northern cardinal.

It was here, her junior year, that she’d first told King she wanted to be a vet tech. He’d laughed and joked that it was good her relentless memorization of bird songs would come in handy.