Page 74 of Bitter Rival

I don’t even hate it when she narrates the movies we watch or puts her own unique spin on things.

Or when she moans her way through dinner.

Or when she barges into the study while I’m working on my laptop to “keep me company.”

On those evenings, she sits in the leather chair in the corner reading and I can tell by her expression if the particular scene makes her feel sad or joyful or angry or somber.

Some passages move her to tears. Some poetry plunges her into despair. I know this because she leaves annotated copies on my desk earmarked with Post-it notes for easier access.

Daisy can’t even listen to Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah” without lamenting over the death of a musician she didn’t even know.

That’s how deeply Daisy feels things. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that deeply about poems or novels or music or art.

But Daisy…she feels it all. She revels in her feelings. Marinates in them. What a fucking curse that would be.

But I guess that’s what makes her such a good artist. Another thing I have grudgingly acknowledged after my self-guided tour of the photos clipped to a clothesline in the dining room-turned-darkroom.

“Grayson wants you to introduce him to Caiden,” Daisy says, stretching her arms above her head, exposing a sliver of golden skin where her T-shirt rides up, before standing from her chair.

Grayson nods. “Daisy sang his praises and it looks like he did a great job on this place. And since he’s a friend of yours, I already know I can trust him.”

I drop into the chair Daisy just vacated and now I’m inundated with the scent of orange blossoms and honey. “Trust him for what?”

“I’m doing a walk-through of an old inn later,” Grayson says. “Cool place. Nineteenth century mansion. Figured it would be good to bring along someone who can tell me if it’s structurally sound.”

I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. Structurally sound for what?

“See you guys later. I need to get to work,” Daisy says, grabbing her iced coffee and heading across the terrace. “I’ll be in the tasting room if you need me because my boss doesn’t trust me to work on the vineyard.”

I watch her ass and the sway of her hips as she saunters away then run my hand down my face and suppress a groan.

It’s a special kind of hell being forced into close proximity with Daisy Larsson.

After she’s gone, Grayson smirks. “What kind of boss are you, exactly? Does she call you daddy?”

Jesus. I shudder at the thought. That’s definitely not one of my kinks.

“Since you’re obviously not interested, she’s fair game, right?”

I glare at him. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

He chuckles under his breath. “That’s a pretty strong reaction for someone who wanted her gone two months ago. I keep forgetting that she’s your stepsister,” he muses. “What could be hotter than forbidden love? Remember that time I slept with those two sisters? I didn’t even realize they were sisters until one of them slapped me in the face.” He grins. “Worth it, though.”

I roll my eyes. I never understood the appeal of openly discussing your sex life, but Grayson is big on sharing. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

He leans back in his seat, props his feet on the coffee table and laces his hands behind his head. “I’m working on my next venture. And I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to surprise you with a visit and check on your progress. Two birds, one stone,” he says with a grin. “And I have to say, I am pleasantly surprised. Things have changed. I can feel it in the air. I’ve come up with a few theories about you and Daisy?—"

“You obviously have too much time on your hands.”

“You don’t hate her anymore. In fact, I think you’re infatuated with her.”

I scowl at him. “Don’t get too carried away. We’re coexisting, nothing more.”

“Whatever you say.” His smile is smug. “Anyway, Daisy mentioned that your friend owns a biker bar so here’s the plan. Invite Caiden to the bar. We’ll swing by and you can introduce me to your childhood friends. And then we can all bond over a few beers and talk about you behind your back.”

“How about I introduce you to my friends and we can all talk about the time you got so drunk in Cabo that you woke up the next morning with no keys. No phone. No wallet. You showed up at my door empty-handed and in tears.”

He snorts a laugh. “In tears, my ass. I was pissed off.”

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