"Go," I whisper.
"It's not that I don't want--"
"Please," I snap. I can't let him finish that sentence. It's too damn painful to hear. "Just leave."
For a moment, I hear nothing and know that he is standing perfectly still. I clench my hands into fists, my shoulders stiff, my jaw tight. Go, I say in my head. Go, I want to scream.
Finally, I hear the rustle of his clothes as he moves away, then the scrape of the door as he slides it open. I count to ten before I turn around, and when I do, I'm alone.
I close my eyes again, and this time it's to hold back my tears.
I stay on the daybed for at least fifteen minutes. Just sitting. Not even really thinking, because right now I don't want to think. I don't want to do anything. If I could, I'd gladly disappear, and I'm incredibly frustrated with myself for losing control. If he hadn't stopped us, I'd be naked on this daybed right now, with his cock deep inside me, and--
I let out a little moan as I think about all the possibilities that go with "and."
The King of Fuck, indeed.
I stand, determined to get myself and my errant thoughts under control. I take a deep breath, run a hand over my clothes to smooth them, and then head out of the cabana.
No one even looks my way. Why would they? I'm his sister, after all, as he so conveniently announced so that everyone in the vicinity could look past my drab clothes and recognize me from the frequent media shots and TV talk show appearances.
If I'd been any other female, all eyes would be on me. Looking for clothing askew. For smudged lipstick.
There would have been winks and nudges, and probably even a secret handshake to mark my entry into the already massive Fucked by Dallas Club.
I should be grateful not to have the attention.
But I'm not grateful at all. Instead I'm frustrated. And I'm pissed. And that reaction just pisses me off more. Because I shouldn't care. I shouldn't want to be part of that club.
I don't want to be a pastime. I don't want to be a casual fuck. Just one more woman in a never-ending stream.
Not that it matters.
Because when you're in love with your brother, how many women he screws is really the least of your problems.
Jane West couldn't sleep. Her arm ached too much. And all the memories from the day kept jumping out at her when she closed her eyes.
She was going to have nightmares, she knew it. A broken arm and nightmares and a daddy who was getting erased. No, terminated. That was the word. Only not like the cyborg in those movies.
It was her eleventh birthday, and it was probably the worst day of her life.
It wasn't fair.
She heard the light tapping at her door, but ignored it, thinking it was one of the staff making noise in the hallway. When it came again, though, it was louder, and she sat up in bed, smiling for the first time that day. "Come in!"
The door opened right away, and Dallas hurried in, then shut the door quickly behind him.
"I had to wait until everyone was asleep," he said. "And I couldn't get Liam. The grown-ups are talking in the kitchen, so he's stuck back there in his rooms with his mom."
Jane just nodded. Liam was one of her best friends, too, but right then she really only wanted Dallas.
He climbed onto the bed, a lanky boy of eleven, taller and leaner than most of the other boys in school. His hair was short, and right now it was spiky, probably 'cause he ran his fingers through it when he was worried. Jane knew he'd been worried about her. She could see it on his face, and in the green eyes that had always seemed magical to her.
He had Mr. Fluffles with him, and he passed the bunny to her. "Here," he said. "I figured he'd help."
"He's yours." For some reason, it was really important to her that he keep the bunny.
"Well, duh. But just for tonight I thought you'd need him."