The worst form of exercise was when we went swimming. The first time I’d seen Valentina’s curves in her demure one-piece bathing suit, I’d almost come in my shorts.
I hadn’t been back to the pool since.
I resented her presence in my home.
I resented her temptation.
I resented her innocence.
And yet, I found myself watching her. Wanting her. Stalking her.
I was ashamed of my weakness, but I couldn’t help myself.
Now, I stood at the threshold to the media room, where Valentina lounged on the couch by herself. My father never came in here; this was where I played my video games. Vicente had no interest in my pastimes.
But I hadn’t played a game in weeks, because Valentina liked to come here in the afternoons and watch telenovelas.
Until today, I’d avoided being in this room with her. I’d found other ways to occupy my time, since she’d taken over my space.
I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe, half-hiding my body in shadow. Her dark eyes were glued to the drama unfolding in her show. Onscreen, a couple shared a passionate kiss. Valentina giggled and blushed.
The sound sent waves of heat rolling through my body, and I recognized the telltale signs of my rising desire.
Then, her laugher faded, and she touched her fingers to her lips, rubbing them lightly as she watched the couple kissing.
A low growl slipped between my teeth, a hungry sound I’d never made before.
She gasped and jolted to attention, sitting bolt upright and turning to face me. Her wide eyes met mine, and she trembled.
Another feral rumble eased up from my chest, something savage and cruel.
I’d liked the sound of her laugh, but her fear was intoxicating.
“What do you want?” she asked tremulously, sinking back into the couch cushions.
I set my jaw and lifted my chin, struggling to master the lust raging through my system.
She’s too young.
She’s not mine.
The second thought made my stomach twist. Valentina belonged to my father, even if he hadn’t touched her yet.
“I want my room back,” I said tersely, lying to cover my raging emotions. In this moment, I didn’t give a fuck about my video games.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “I didn’t know this was your room.”
“Turn that shit off,” I snapped, striding toward her. I was closing the distance between us. I paused when I loomed over her. She cringed into the couch, as though she could sink into it and hide from me.
I reached down and grabbed the remote from where it rested on the cushion beside her. She tried to grab it at the same time, and both our hands closed around the device. My fingers brushed hers, and an electric current jolted up my arm, sizzling deeper into my body.
Grinding my teeth, I yanked the remote away from her. Her chocolate eyes began to shine, and her lower lip trembled.
Something dropped in my chest. I’d liked her fear, but I didn’t enjoy her tears. She’d been sad and quiet ever since she’d arrived on my father’s estate.
“Why are you crying?” I demanded.
Her small hands suddenly curled to fists at her sides, her body tensing with anger. “Because you’re mean!” she flung at me. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and a sob hitched in her throat. “You’re acting like this is my fault, but I don’t want to be in your space. I don’t want to be here. I miss my family. I just want to go home.”
She tucked her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. She ducked her head, hiding her face from me as her shoulders shook on a harsher sob.
I stared down at her, my stomach knotting.
Suddenly, I was sitting on the couch beside her, and my arm wrapped around her trembling body. I’d never touched her before, and her soft warmth sank into my skin, warming my insides. This wasn’t a blazing heat; it didn’t further incite my lust and rage. It felt comforting, even though I was the one offering solace.
I should say something, but I couldn’t seem to formulate any words. Any reassurance felt like a false platitude. Valentina wasn’t going back to her family, and it wasn’t within my power to grant her wish.
Sighing, I tightened my hold on her, my hand slipping from her shoulder to curve into her waist, tucking her into my side. She remained stiff against me, but I held her anyway. She felt too fucking good to release her, even if she was crying.
“It’s my birthday,” she mumbled into her knees, a miserable declaration.
I didn’t share her misery. Instead, hope flared in my chest.
She’s fifteen. Less than two years younger than me.
I jerked my head to the side, shaking the thought away. Her age didn’t matter.
She’s not mine.
My fingers bit into her waist, hard enough to leave a mark. She sucked in a little gasp, but she stopped shaking. She sniffled, her tears drying up.