Page 6 of Her Filthy Mistake

The second I step out of the bedroom and into the living room, my skin tingles. He’s here. Shit, I’m going to be sick. His back is to me, so there’s still an opportunity to flee. But I can’t move. His hair is cut shorter than I remember. It’s barely long enough to run your fingers through, and I find myself missing the dark locks that he typically has tied back into a ponytail. Along his jaw is facial hair that’s somewhere between a 5 o’clock shadow and a beard.

He was always slender and wiry, but now, his body is more defined with muscles and harder angles. But it’s his aura that always called to me–broken, but cocky. Sexy, but wounded. The ultimate bad boy who always had a guitar in his hand, and his voice sounded like velvet wrapped in a shot of tequila–sensual, but deadly.

As if he senses me staring at him, he spins to face me. “Zoe.” He nods and stares at me with eyes sharp enough to cleave your soul.

I straighten my shoulders. “Hello, Uncle Jace.” I practically choke over the two words, but I won’t turn into a fan girl again. It’s a detached formality, or I’m on the next plane home.

“How’re you?”

“I’m great. Thank you for asking.” I smile like a clown–too bright, too big, too ridiculous. “I graduated in May, and now, I’m working full-time with my dad. I guess that probably makes me a big girl now.”

The muscles in his neck flex, but otherwise, he’s still like a statue, still like the multicolored calla lilies in the vase beside him–white, vibrant purple, bright yellow, all the colors blend together to perfection. The beauty of them is almost as painful as looking at him.

“Make it big yet?” The words are laced with venom because I know he’s not gotten a record contract. It’s my business to know. It’s childish but I can’t stop the dig from slipping out of my mouth.

“No.” He shifts his head sideways and pops his neck. “I haven’t made it big but thank you for asking.”

Lord, this is painful. What do I say next? Ask him how he likes the weather? Or the resort? It’s not like anyone doesn’t love 80-degree temperatures, luxury resorts, bungalows that sit on the water, and bright blue skies.

“How’s your sidekick?”

I wrinkle my nose. “My sidekick?”

“Daisy? Isn’t that her name?”

“Oh….” I smile warily as my head pounds from tension. “Her sister is getting married this weekend, or I would’ve convinced her to come.” And damn her for not being here. If Daisy were here, I wouldn’t have a care in the world. We could’ve spent all our time drinking and dancing at the bar, and I wouldn’t be stuck in a cabin with the last person I ever wanted to see again.

“That’s too bad. How is she?”

My teeth grind together. “She’s fine.”

Seriously? I bet he’d be all over Daisy if she were here. I stomp past him, march into the kitchen, and throw open the refrigerator door. Holy smokes. My mouth waters. I forgot how awesome an all-inclusive resort could be. Fruit. Meat trays. Champagne. Wine. Cheese cubes. Mini petite cakes. I think my ass just gained ten pounds looking at the spread.

“How’s work?”

I jump and spin on my heel, finding him leaning against the doorjamb.

“Good.” I snatch a bottle of water and twist off the top. “I’m helping set up the talent for local venues. The businesses contact us, and I find the right event performers for them. I’m also involved in talent acquisition.” I shrug. “I enjoy it.”

“That’s good.” Energy seems to snap around us with an undercurrent of anger and something else. I can’t afford to think about the something else.

Or maybe it’s only snapping from my side of the kitchen and sizzling around him. He’s likely not feeling anything because he never has. I’m his half-brother’s stepdaughter. His half-brother’s 8-year younger stepdaughter.

I take a sip of the water, but before I swallow, I choke and cough until tears fill my eyes.

“Are you okay?” He steps forward, eyes filled with concern.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I manage to choke out the words and catch my breath before he has the chance to smack my back and cause even more mortification. Lord, I’m an idiot.

Now what? I survey the room behind Jace. Where’s Zayden? At least if he was here, he could entertain Jace, and I could disappear without it being obvious.

“And you? How’s the singing going?” During the holidays, my stepfather would force him to sing everything from Christmas music to songs he wrote. I could listen to him for hours. When he sang with his band, it was fast, loud, and abrasive. But when he sang by himself, it was haunting and beautiful.

“It’s not.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. I wait, hoping he’ll elaborate to fill the silence in the room.

“There you two are.” My brother bounds across the living room like a Labrador retriever, saving me at long last. “I was hoping you’d both be around when I returned.” He slaps Jace on the back. “It’s good to see you, man. You’re looking good.”

“Thanks.” He returns my brother’s embrace.

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