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  “We never left it.”

  “Well we have now,” I tell her, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward me, hard.

  Her body slams into mine and—despite the argument, or maybe because of it—heat blasts through me. She feels good, really good, and for a second all I can think about is fucking her again.

  I slide a hand around her waist to her lower back, press her even more firmly against me. She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t try to get away even as I move my hand lower to cup her ass. To lift her up to her toes so that all I have to do is bend my knees a little so that her sweet pussy is lined up with my suddenly hard cock.

  Tori still doesn’t object, so I start to lower my mouth to hers. She lets me and I figure this must be the way to deal with her when she gets irrational, to sex her out of her bad mood. It works for me, and judging from the sound she makes low in her throat, it works for her, too.

  Thank God.

  I ease her backward, closing the distance between her back and the wall as my fantasy from earlier plays out in my head. I want to lift her up, want to wrap her legs around me and fuck her right here with the roar of the ocean coming in the open patio doors.

  But first…I move to take her mouth in a real kiss, in one that involves teeth and tongues and the dark recesses of her mouth. I’m so caught up in the feel of her, the heat of her, that I don’t register the fact that she isn’t kissing me back—at least not until she pulls her arm back and punches me in the stomach hard enough to knock the breath straight out of me.

  Chapter 17

  Tori

  “Seriously?” I demand as Miles doubles over from the hit. “You seriously think I’m going to let you fuck me again? After everything I just said to you?”

  “Tori, wait!” He makes a move to grab me, but I bat his hand away.

  “Don’t touch me!” It takes all my self-control not to hit him again, the smug asshole. “All that stuff out there might pay for one roll in the hay, but it sure as hell isn’t enough to buy you a second. So you need to back the hell off.”

  “I want to talk to you!”

  “Frankly, Miles, I don’t give a shit what you want right now.” I deliberately mimic the words he shot at me a couple of minutes ago. “All I want is to be left alone.”

  I start to walk away, but this time he manages to grab on to my arm. “Stop,” he orders, holding me in place with nothing more than a hand around my wrist. “If you’d just be reasonable for two seconds—”

  “I’m being very reasonable,” I say as I twist my wrist back and forth in an effort to get out of his hold. “If I wasn’t, I would have clawed your damn eyes out by now. Let me go.”

  “Not until you listen. I don’t know what I did to make you think this badly of me, but—”

  “Let me go right now,” I say a second time, my voice low and darkly sincere as I glare up at him. “Or I swear to you, this will be the last time you ever touch me.”

  “Goddamnit, Tori. You don’t actually expect me to just let you walk away in the middle of an argument, do you? We need to work this out.”

  “What we need is a little time to cool off. Or at least, that’s what I need. And I’m going to take it.” I finally succeed in jerking my hand from his grasp—because he lets me, but beggars can’t be choosers right now, so I go with it. “I’m going down to the beach for a little while. Don’t follow me.”

  “The beach? You can’t leave the house. The reporters—”

  “I know you persist in thinking I’m an idiot who can’t take care of herself—and I’ll admit that I’ve done more than a few things these last few days to reinforce that belief—but I’m not a total moron, you know.”

  And with that, I turn and walk away. From him. From his charity. And from the look on his face that says he really doesn’t think I can handle the mess I’m caught up in.

  He’s right about the fact that I can’t go outside the gates right now, not with all the paparazzi lying in wait. But I can’t sit in this house with him for one more second, either. Not when Miles’s larger-than-life presence sucks up all the air.

  So I do the only thing I can do. I walk out the French doors to the patio, then make a beeline past the pool to the rock staircase that leads straight down the cliff to Ethan’s small, private alcove of a beach. In my opinion, it’s the best thing about the house. A small swathe of La Jolla beach with none of the crowds or sunburned tourists.

  I’ve lain out here a bunch of times, but I’m not exactly in the mood to sunbathe right now. The last thing I want to do is make a spectacle of myself for some asshole pap with a long-range camera lens and a little ingenuity. But I can’t go back upstairs, either, can’t face Miles right now.

  So instead I walk to the very back of the alcove and sit down there, with the sand under my butt and the cliff against my back.

  I try to make myself as small as possible, pulling my knees up to my chest and laying my head down on them. Only then do I think about what happened upstairs, about the fight I had with Miles and everything we said to each other. Only then do I start to wonder if maybe I overreacted.

  Now that I’ve had a moment to think about it—to catch my breath away from that mountain of bags in the middle of the foyer—I can acknowledge that maybe he really was only trying to help. Only trying to do what anyone would do for someone they cared about.

  If Chloe and Ethan had bought me that stuff, would I really be this upset? If they’d bought me a phone and shoes, a computer and a couple of weeks’ worth of clothes, would I have been anywhere near as offended?

  I don’t even need to think about it to know that I wouldn’t. I don’t like the idea of taking help from them, but I would do it without thinking twice about it. That’s how I ended up here, after all, at their house. Because I knew they wouldn’t think twice about letting me stay here until I could figure out a plan.

  So what is it about Miles helping me that sets me off so badly? What is it about him trying to do something nice for me that makes me feel like a prostitute instead of someone he actually cares about?

  I don’t know the answer to that question, but I’m not going upstairs—I’m not facing him again—until I do.

  With a sigh, I look out at the ocean. It’s a cloudy day, overcast and a little bit chilly despite it being the end of summer. And the Pacific is definitely feeling the chill. The waves are a choppy blue-gray, rough and foamy and without much setup. They’re kind of ugly, actually. Kind of messy and all over the place.

  A little like my life right now.

  A little like me, right now.

  I don’t like the comparison, like even less that my life is suddenly so completely out of my control. Arguments could be made, I suppose, that it’s never been more in my control. That right now I have the chance to really start over, to take my life in whatever direction I choose without having to answer to anyone.

  And while that might be true, I still hate that it has to be like this. Not the loss of my condo, necessarily, although—not going to lie—that totally sucks. I love that place. And not even the loss of the trust fund for the next couple of years, though that sure as hell stings, too.

  No, it’s that Miles is seeing me this way. That he knows how lost I am, how broke and broken and afraid I am. That he knows what an absolute mess I’ve made of my life.

  He’s not judging me for it—at least, I don’t think he is—but that doesn’t make me feel any less like a loser. And it sure as hell doesn’t make me feel any better about needing his help.

  Again, I think about accepting help from Ethan and Chloe. I think, even, about how I felt accepting help from Miles when I got here early yesterday morning. It wasn’t ideal, but it didn’t incite this bone-deep reaction in me then. Didn’t make me feel like a whore.

  The only thing that’s changed since then is my relationship with Miles. How I feel about him and how I want him to feel about me. From the time we first met, I’ve made no bones about the anger I felt at him—just like he made no secret of
the contempt he felt for me.

  Now all that has changed in the course of thirty-six hours—or at least, it’s changed for me. I don’t have a clue how he feels.

  And that, I realize as I stare out at the storm-tossed sea, is the problem here. That I don’t know where I stand with Miles. The sex changed things between us, obviously—but did it change them enough? Or does he still feel contempt for me? Still feel like I’m a trust fund baby who isn’t good for anything but a quick fuck?

  Just the idea makes me wither inside. It’s not that I want a commitment from him—it’s been less than twenty-four hours since all we did was snipe at each other, after all. But I do need to know that he respects me, that he doesn’t feel sorry for me. That he doesn’t think of me as poor, pathetic Tori.

  And when I saw all that stuff in the foyer, when I realized he’d ordered me everything from shoes to underwear to a brand-new laptop, I was afraid that that was how he saw me. That he’d ordered me all that not because he was doing me a favor to help me get back on my feet, but because he didn’t think I could find a way to take care of myself. I was afraid that—like my father—all he could see were the screwups. The mistakes. The problems that I can’t help but create for myself.

  And so I took it out on him. I accused him of treating me like a prostitute because I’m terrified that that’s how he sees me. Not because he’s given me any indication that that’s how he feels, but because I can’t get my father’s words out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about him telling me that I should have slept with Alexander to keep this from happening. After all, what’s one more time, one more guy, after so many?

  If my own father can feel that way about me, then why shouldn’t Miles? Even though he’s never given any indication that he does…

  Fuck.

  I owe him an apology. The knowledge grates.

  I hate apologizing—really, really hate apologizing—but there’s no getting around it. I was a total bitch to him and he didn’t deserve it. Probably. Maybe. I mean, he could be thinking everything that I’m afraid he is…In which case, I wouldn’t really need to apologize—

  No. No. No. I’m not going down that road again. I’m just not.

  I climb to my feet with a heavy sigh. Brush the sand from my butt. Fix my hair. Straighten up my tank top. Then order myself to stop stalling as I force myself back up the stairs.

  But when I get back to the house, Miles is nowhere to be seen. Everything he bought me is still piled neatly in the foyer, but he is definitely gone.

  It’s anticlimactic, to say the least. Not to mention a little nerveracking. I mean, logically I know that he’ll be back—soon probably—but there’s an irrational part of me that thinks maybe he’s had enough of my bullshit.

  God knows I have.

  Which only makes me more nervous about where he is and when he’s coming back. And that’s a problem, because I shouldn’t care. We just slept together for the first time this morning. I shouldn’t be so emotionally invested. And yet I am.

  Frustrated and more freaked out by everything than I want to admit, I pick up the cordless phone in the kitchen and call Chloe. Not to talk about Miles, because the last thing I want to do is go there with Chloe. I just want to hear a familiar voice.

  But Chloe doesn’t answer. I stare at the phone for a few seconds, debating, then decide to hell with it and call my brother. We’re not exactly what you would call close—he’s always been a little too much like our father for that. But with my mother in France, he’s the closest thing I have to family in this city.

  I half expect my call to go to voicemail—like I said, Jason and I aren’t what you’d call close—but he picks up on the second ring.

  “Tori! Are you okay? Where are you?”

  The panicked note in his voice is the last thing I expected and it warms something inside me, something that’s been frozen since my father showed up at my condo two days ago.

  “I’m fine. I’m at Chloe’s.”

  “Thank God. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

  “Pick me up? But you’re in LA.”

  “It’s a two-hour drive. I can be there before dinner.”

  “You want to come down here?” I can’t keep the incredulity out of my voice.

  “Jesus Christ, Tori. Just because Dad has his head up his ass doesn’t mean I do. I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking, but let me come get you. You can stay with me—”

  “With you?”

  “Are you seriously going to repeat everything I say to you?” he asks, obviously exasperated.

  “It’s just—” My voice breaks and fuck. Just fuck. This whole thing is turning me into a total wimp, one who cries over everything.

  “Tori?”

  “I’m here. Thanks.”

  He snorts. “For what? I couldn’t talk Dad out of being a total jerk, though God knows I tried. We had a huge fight when he told me what he’d done. And I’ve been looking for you ever since—I don’t know why I didn’t think about Chloe. I guess because I thought she was going to school near San Francisco.”

  “She is. But she’s letting me stay at her place.”

  “Thank God. I’ve been so fucking worried, trying to figure out where you might be. I’ve talked to everyone in town I could think of and no one had heard from you.”

  “Well, it’s not like I could call anyone. Dad took my phone.”

  “I figured that out after the hundredth or so time I called and didn’t get an answer. Look, give me Ethan’s address. I’ll come pick you up.”

  I think about Miles, about the fight we just had. I don’t want to go, don’t want to just walk out when things are so up in the air between us. There’s a part of me that wants to stick around and see where this thing between us goes, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome, either. I did just show up here, unannounced, and demand to stay.

  “Tori?” Jason prompts.

  “Can I think about it?”

  “What’s there to think about? You can’t stay at Ethan Frost’s house indefinitely—”

  “Two days isn’t indefinitely. But I need to figure some things out before I do anything else.”

  “What’s there to figure out?” he demands. “You’re in the middle of a sex scandal, you have no job, no money, no place to live. It’s not like you have a lot of options—”

  “Maybe I don’t. But I’ve spent the last two days just reacting to what’s happening to me and I can’t keep doing that. I need to stop reacting and start acting. This is my life and I need to take control of it.”

  “I get that. I do,” he insists when I don’t say anything more. “But let me help you. Let me call in some favors. I can get you a job, get you an apartment—”

  “I don’t want you to do that for me.” The words are out before I even know I’m going to say them. But once they’re out, I know I mean them. Because if I let Jason help me like that, if I let him do that for me, then I’ll be right back where I was two days ago. Depending on him for what I have instead of my father, but still. If everything I have is given to me by him, then he can take it away whenever he wants.

  There’s no way in hell I’m doing that again. No way in hell I’m putting myself in the position to be dependent on a man again. Not my father. Not Jason. And not Miles.

  That’s when it hits me, when it registers why I’m really so upset about all those packages in there. Not just because I’m afraid Miles doesn’t think I can stand on my own, but because I’m afraid not to stand on my own. Every man I’ve ever known has let me down, and there’s no way I’m going to give Chloe’s too-often-self-absorbed brother the chance to be the next one to hurt me.

  “What do you mean?” Jason sounds totally confused. “Tor, you need help.”

  “I know. But I’m still so shaken up I’m not sure what help I need right now. Give me a couple of days to figure it out and then I’ll call you, okay?”

  “A couple of days? You don’t even have a phone!”

  “I’m cal
ling from the landline at Ethan and Chloe’s. You can reach me here anytime you want—God knows, it’s not like I have the money or the desire to leave the house.”

  “What about food? What about—”

  “I’m not starving to death, I promise. I’ve got everything I need to survive. I just need some time to figure out what my next step is going to be.”

  “Your next step should be coming up to LA and moving in with me for a while.”

  The last thing I want is to move to LA—I hate the place with a passion. The idea of not only moving there, but also moving in with my brother when I get there, makes me all itchy. I don’t say that to him, though. I can’t, not when he’s being so helpful and supportive.

  “Maybe it will be,” I finally say, to keep the peace. “But I need to figure that out on my own. Once I know what I want to do, I’ll call you. I promise.”

  “Oh you’ll call me before that,” he answers. “I want to hear from you every single day until this mess is sorted out.”

  “Every day?”

  “Every day,” he orders. “And I want your address. I’m going to send you a few things.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Don’t tell me what I need to do. You’re my baby sister. Just because we don’t see eye-to-eye on stuff doesn’t mean I want to see you living on the street. I love you, Tori.”

  He doesn’t say it often. We don’t say it often, so the fact that he’s saying it now, when he should be turning his back on me to keep my dad happy…

  “I love you, too.” I have to work to keep my voice steady. “I’m sorry about the vid—”

  “Shut up. The only thing you’re guilty of is having as bad taste in men as I do in women. Now give me your freaking address before I lose my mind completely.”

  “You really don’t need to send me anything,” I tell him after a second. “I’m okay here for now.” Even as I say the words, I hope they’re not a lie.

  Now it’s his turn to be silent. “Are you sure?” he finally asks.

  “Yeah. I’m trying to figure out what to do about this mess and I feel like that’s something I have to do alone.”