PRINCES OF PRIDE sample preview

(explicit scenes and language)

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PRINCESS OF PRIDE- Cruel Legacies

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I hope you enjoy this sample preview and get a feel for Emery and Lachlan's story.

PRINCESS OF PRIDE

Prologue

Emery, 15

Is a first kiss worth getting grounded for life?

I duck into the shadow of the alcove under the grand staircase so the head of security doesn’t see me. If Leo knew I was about to sneak out, he’d wake up my dad just to tell on me.

It doesn’t matter that my parents are exhausted from hosting yet another business party at our estate—one of only a few Gilded Age mansions in Connecticut. They love showing off the house almost as much as Dad loves to brag about the business that his family started in the 1800s and is a Fortune 500 today.

Spencer Securities is the center of his world. The reason for his existence. Mom doesn’t rank high on Dad’s priority list, unfortunately. My older sister, Pippa, and I have a higher status—but only because he needs us. As in, he needs us to remain pure until he arranges marriages for us that will benefit the business.

Which is why my sneaking out to meet a boy is beyond risky. Stupid even. When Dad threatens a chastity belt, he means it. But I’m not going out to have sex. I’m only fifteen. I just want a kiss.

It’s minor. Almost as minor as sneaking out to the backyard.

Leo pauses at the panel to the security system. My heart sucks up my throat. He never sets the alarm. There’s no need to when we have him stationed inside the guard-house at the gated entrance all night.

Sweat drips down my back as I wait to see if he ruins my chance at sneaking out. I hold my breath as he continues to the door and don’t exhale until he’s gone.

Thank God he didn’t arm the system, or I’d be heading back to my room and returning to school tomorrow like the loser I am.

It’s not my fault I haven’t kissed a boy. I’m willing to try, but no one has ever shown interest in me until now. The gardener’s son is my only chance to kiss someone before I turn sixteen. He’s been flirting with me for a few weeks now—and by flirting, I mean smiling from a distance. Yesterday, I ran into him after swimming in the pool, and we talked for a whole ten minutes before his dad yelled for him to get back to work. It was long enough for him to ask me to meet him. He’s cute enough to kiss, but even if he wasn’t, I’d still go to get this prude label off me. I’ll need to get a picture of us kissing too, for proof.

I run my tongue across my freshly brushed teeth and continue to the back of the house, careful not to bump into any furniture or knock anything over and chance waking up Candace, the head housekeeper who always seems to know what I’m up to. Crystal nightlights that look like small wall sconces help me find my way through the dark room.

I slip through one of several French doors and step out onto the terrace. My stomach erupts with what feels like one thousand butterflies.

Don’t chicken out.

The chilly spring night air kisses my clammy skin, offering some relief.

Raphael said he’d be at the pool house by midnight, waiting for me. I’m a few minutes early, but it’s not like he has to go far to get there. His family lives on our fifteen-acre property in a cottage near the woods.

For a moment, I worry he’s confused me with my older sister and won’t be interested in kissing me when he realizes his error. But it’d be hard to confuse me with Pippa. She’s taller, has a bombshell figure, strawberry blonde hair, and blue eyes. She’s a younger version of our stunning mother. She’s also a snotty bitch who has all the boys at our prep school swooning at her feet.

With her around, I don’t stand a chance of gaining attention from anyone.

I take the stairs down to the lawn and gasp when a breeze catches the hem of my night shirt, lifting it high enough to show off my boobs.

Maybe I should have thrown on a bra or a dress. This matching shirt-shorts satin set is hardly sexy, but I thought I’d look less suspicious wearing this rather than clothes. If I get caught in the yard, I can simply say I couldn’t sleep. I’m being careful though, taking paths that security cameras don’t monitor.

The moon offers just enough light for me to find my way across the thick lawn to the pool house in the distance.

The scent of flowers perfumes the air in a romantic way. If this were a romance novel, I’d be meeting up with my true love—perhaps sneaking off with him to elope against our parents’ wishes.

Fiction is better than real life.

Once I’m on the pool deck, I walk faster, desperate to get out of sight. Even with the house a good bit away, I feel too exposed.

I wrench open one of the glass doors to the pool house and slip inside.

I made it.

The cool air smells clean, minus the fresh flowers and candle scents of the mansion.

I turn and whisper-shout into the darkness. “Raphael?”

“Over here.” His Spanish accented voice sounds from near the tall stone fireplace. Moonlight filters through the windows and his shadowed form appears.

Slowly, I walk toward him, my skin growing hotter with each step.

“You came,” he says with excitement.

I almost blurt, “I’m not Pippa.” My caramel blonde hair and skin and lack of curves make that more than obvious.

I stop a foot away from him. He’s only an inch taller, but he’s my age and could be a late bloomer like me.

“So…?” I begin and give a nervous laugh. “What do you want to do?”

“What most people do in the dark.”

Oh god. Here we go. “What’s that?” I ask, playing dumb.

“It involves our lips.”

“Oh—kay.” I draw out the word and dig in my pocket for my phone to get that picture.

Raphael’s hands go around my waist and then his lips are on mine. I gasp with surprise and drop my phone. It hits the floor with a thud.

My picture! It doesn’t count if I don’t get a picture!

I’m about to pick up my phone when Raphael’s tongue invades my mouth. The odd sensation takes me aback and I freeze. My heart isn’t fluttering like I expected. I’m not sighing or feeling faint. This is how kisses are in the books I read. Real life is very different.

“Raphael?” I murmur between kisses, about to tap-out so we can start over when I’m ready. Maybe then I’ll feel something.

“Don’t worry. We won’t get caught,” he says and drags me closer. “Is this your first kiss?”

I stiffen. He can tell? How embarrassing.

“No,” I squeak and take charge kissing him to prove I’m not lying when I totally am. I just don’t want him to think I gave my first kiss to him. I was saving it for Anton, the hottest boy in school, but he only has eyes for Pippa. Hate her.

I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m rolling my tongue and mimicking Raphael’s movements. He doesn’t say anything else, and I decide, although much sloppier than I imagined, kissing is kind of fun.

I want to learn from this experience so I can be good when I kiss a boy I like in the future. The thought makes me feel a little bad, like I’m using Raphael. He invited me. I remind myself. And he hasn’t called me Pippa, so he knows which sister I am. For all I know he’s using me.

We kiss more, and I’m certain I’m getting better at it because he moans—so I moan too.

In the next instant, my shirt is tugged over my head and thrown on the floor. I’m bare-chested for the first time in my life in front of a boy and terrified of rejection. What if he doesn’t like my small boobs—not that he can see them in the dark. Should I say I’m a late bloomer?

A loud sound echoes off the walls. I whirl to face the front door and scream.

“Grab him!” a man orders.

A second larger figure runs at us.

Raphael jumps over the nearby couch and darts to the back of the pool house with the man chasing after him. Leo?

My heart left my body and is cowering under the coffee table. I have my arms wrapped tightly around my chest, shielding myself from whoever barged in like a Swat team.

“Did you really think you could do this under my roof?” Dad barks as he walks toward me, his shadowed features becoming clearer.

I back up to the couch and fall onto the cushion.

Dad snatches my shirt from the floor and tosses it at me. “Get dressed,” he orders and turns away.

I fumble to yank on my nightshirt, shocked that Dad’s here and that he caught me. Had Leo known what I’d been up to?

With his back to me, Dad shakes his head. “You will be punished for this.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my chin trembling from the verbal lashing I’m about to get. Never in my life have I been so mortified.

Dad turns and stares down at me with a look of disgust. “I’m going to explain this in a way you understand.” He walks closer until he’s towering over me. “Your mother was supposed to do this when you were thirteen but, as with most things, she dropped the ball. Hear me now, Emery, and hear me good. No boy or man will ever want you for more than sex or your money. You will only ever be one or the other to them. so you will be neither until I say so. You will not test the waters and explore. You will save yourself for marriage—a man of my choosing who is worthy of being a part of the Spencer name. For that to happen, you must remain pure. A virgin. No reputable man wants used goods for a wife. You’re no good to this family if you’re tainted. Do you understand?”

I nod, willing to agree to anything just to get this horrific moment over so I can return to my room and hide under my covers until the day I die.

“Remember this moment, Emery,” Dad scowls. “Remember the shame and these words. Every move you make in the future will be watched. Any time you do anything like this with a boy again, I’ll know, and I’ll end it in the most humiliating way for both of you. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” I whimper and wipe tears from my cheeks.

“Is that clear?” he roars again through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir!” I reply as loudly as I can on the verge of sobbing, my body shaking with fear.

“Good. Now pack your things.”

“What? Why?” Is he kicking me out? Oh god. I should never have done this.

“I’m enrolling you in an all-girls boarding school in Vermont where there are no boys for miles. You’ll leave first thing in the morning.” He turns his back and walks away as I sit there in shock, terrified over the night’s events.

Why does Pippa get to stay? I want to ask. She flirts endlessly and kisses boys all the time.

But that’s all she does. Two kisses are her limit. She’s the biggest tease in school. It’s partly why all the boys want her—because they can’t have her.

They even make bets about what guy will be the first to touch her boobs or see her topless. She loves it too. That’s why Dad will never send her away. She follows orders and doesn’t do anything more than what Dad will allow. I think he even likes that she’s desired but no boy can have her. It makes her more appealing for his future plans. Which daughter will get him the best opportunity and benefit the family business the most. That’s all that matters.

Lachlan

There are two kinds of people in this world.

- Those who love.

- And those who control.

Love is the most efficient form of destruction. I’ve seen it turn strength into sacrifice and leave nothing but grief in its place. People will die for it. And worse—live with the wreckage it leaves behind.

Control is different. It keeps you sharp. Distant. In command. It protects what’s yours and delivers what you want. It doesn’t ask. It takes.

The two cannot co-exist.

One weakens. The other wins.

So I choose control. Over my actions. My emotions. My empire. And my world.

Love is a death sentence. The ultimate reaper. It steals your breath, your heart, and in the end, your soul.

1. Celtic Tattoo

Six years later

Emery 21 – Lachlan 27

I watch the man Dad wants me to marry from where I sit at one of many white-clothed tables in our sunlit estate yard.

Summer in New England has lived up to its charm, offering beautiful days made for outdoor events like this. Today’s luncheon serves two purposes. Business and a place for me and my suitor—Dad’s word—to mingle.

So far, the striking man has mingled with everyone but me.

Lachlan MacReid Ashford stands by the seafood buffet, where an ice sculpture of an ocean wave drips onto lobster tails, while he talks to investors of my father’s company. He wants to buy out my father upon his retirement at the end of the year and own Spencer Securities.

Dad will only allow that if he marries me.

No matter how much Dad admires Lachlan and thinks he’s a worthy owner, he’ll only sell his shares to someone in the family.

With Pippa already married, that leaves me. I thought—hoped—I’d escaped this fate when I found a suitable husband for myself. Gabe is no Lachlan, but he’s smart, handsome, and comes from a family that, although worth far less than ours, is reputable.

That act of rebellion, as dad called it, landed me here. I didn’t sleep with Gabe and swore to remain pure until my wedding night. I’d only kissed him—maybe a teeny bit more—like I had kissed other guys throughout my college years. Dad had gotten a little lenient, so I took a chance on Gabe—sweet Gabe who didn’t care that I wanted to wait until marriage to have sex. That should have been my first clue that he was using me.

It took Dad one day to prove Gabe only wanted me for my money and name.

There’s nothing worse than your dad being right—or so I’d thought.

Dad taking away my trust fund and cutting me off was worse. If it weren’t for Pippa needing me for the first time in her life, I wouldn’t have survived. I even had to drop out of college, unable to make tuition.

After the deceit I suffered from Gabe, I decided love wasn’t in the cards for me. Why not embrace Dad’s plans for my future and the business? If I have to marry someone, why not a gorgeous, aloof man? I can handle his detached personality. It might even work to my advantage. I have a plan of my own—terms for the marriage that benefit me and require nothing from Lachlan.

He’d be a fool not to go for it. Maybe. Hopefully.

The only thing stopping me from approaching him about these terms is my nerves. If I had Pippa’s confidence, I would walk right up to him and declare my conditions, certain he’d accept anything just to have me—but I don’t. I have insecurities about my body and my worth. The fact that Lachlan is six years my senior isn’t helping.

How can I entice him to agree to anything I want if I don’t even believe in the product I’m trying to sell him? He wants Dad’s company, but he may not want me. If that happens, this potential deal is over. Lachlan will look for another company to buy, and I’ll be blamed for the failure.

To be honest, I’ve always waited for guys to come to me. If they’re interested, they do, and my nerves simmer down, yet Lachlan hasn’t looked at me once.

I, however, have studied the tall man as if I’m writing a thesis on him.

For a person who doesn’t seem to lack charm, Lachlan isn’t a fan of smiling. He’s composed but stiff in a guarded way.

Could be his fitted suit making him look so rigid. The steel blue European cut is tailored to perfection. The same can be said about his face. God had the most skilled angel carve his features. His thin nose, sculpted cheekbones, and chiseled jaw remind me of a younger Sam Heughan in the first season of Outlander, if Sam’s character had impeccably trimmed light scruff.

It was a favorite show at my boarding school. Damn, those sex scenes were steamy. Having no experience, I learned a lot from those scenes. Now I had visuals to go with the romance books I’d read and the stories I heard from Tinsley—the only sexually active student.

Even though Lachlan has sharp features like Sam aka Jamie Fraser, his eyes are a much brighter blue—nearly fluorescent. And his hair looks like dark chocolate with toffee highlights that are only visible in the sun. The wavy strands are shorter in the back but longer on top. It’s styled in a way that is sexy but also professional. Everything about him is crisp and pressed. I bet he has his underwear ironed.

Many of the women enjoying my father’s luncheon have eyed him. Some have even approached him, attempting to make small talk.

He engages politely but doesn’t go beyond answering questions with short remarks. They take the hint—he’s not interested—and walk away.

For two hours I’ve watched this go on. I even snuck a picture of him for my bestie, Adelaide. There is no shortage of gorgeous women here, but not one has caught his attention or made his gaze linger, which has me curious about his sexual preference.

He’s here to mingle with me, but it’s as if he doesn’t know I exist.

I gasp.

Maybe he doesn’t know I exist because he doesn't know who I am, and that’s why he’s never paid attention to me and isn’t now.

Mom strolls over, the image of a Stepford wife, and sits in the empty seat beside me. Everyone from my table has left to either dance to the live band or walk about the property, talking and taking in the blooming hydrangeas bordering most of the yard.

“How long are you going to sit here, Chewy?” Mom asks in an accusatory tone.

That nickname. I hate it. Who would have thought my sixth-grade obsession with caramel chewy candy would lead to this constant comparison? The sugar-free treats were one of a few Mom allowed us to snack on.

She would cup my cheeks and wiggle my head whenever she caught me eating them. “My caramel-blonde baby loves her caramel chews.” Eventually, she started calling me chewy, and Pippa thought it’d be hilarious to share the nickname with everyone we knew.

If I had been born with one other color, it wouldn’t have stuck. Blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair like Pippa and Mom, or even dark hair like my dad had in his youth. But no, I’m the color of light caramel—a caramel chew—from my hair to my eyes to my skin.

“You haven’t tried to talk to Lachlan once.” Mom sets her mimosa in front of me. “If it’s liquid courage you need, chug this. Do whatever you must to keep him interested in only you. This is our chance to marry into nobility. Don’t ruin it for us.”

Nobility? “I thought I was here to lock him down so Dad can keep the business in the family.”

She waves her fingers like the business arrangement is an inconsequential detail. “I’m in it for the nobility. Apparently, Lachlan’s mother is a countess. Your dad says he even has an ancestral castle back in Scotland.”

This is news to me. “Does he have an accent?” I’ve never spoken to him directly to know.

“He does, but it’s English and mild in my opinion. You’d know this if you’d have tried to talk to him.” She gives me a stern look.

I check him out again where he now stands by the champagne fountain, talking to two men.

I try to imagine an English accent sounding from his lips as they move. As a lover of Jane Austen movies, I’ve always had a thing for men who sound like Mr. Darcy or Mr. Lefroy. James McFadden and James McAvoy will always have my heart. Lachlan having an accent makes him even sexier. I swore I’d never fall for another man again, but my resolve might not survive a walking fantasy like him.

Mom touches the top of my hand, and I realize she’s still talking. “…his mother is Scottish, but his father is English. He was raised in England and attended Eton, but eventually he came here to get his MBA.”

“Does he live in America now?” No one mentioned I might have to leave New England.

“I think so,” she says with uncertainty. “Your father says he travels back and forth to his business in London and his castle in Scotland. Traveling implies he lives here. Apparently, the entire Scottish village works at his factory and relies on it for their jobs.”

“Factory or castle?” I don’t know how many glasses of wine Mom has had yet, but if it’s her usual, she might be too tipsy to know what she’s talking about.

“Both.”

I can’t picture Lachlan in his perfectly fitted European suit standing in a factory. “What does he make? Cars? Food?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care. His priority is finances and buying our business. The factory is a birth inheritance. It came with the castle.”

“Is it near the castle?” I can’t picture that either. But then, I don’t know anyone who owns a castle other than Kingston VonAston—the sexy guy Adelaide, can’t seem to get over. And a nearby factory isn’t how she described his home.

“Why don’t you ask him? It would give you something to talk about. Go on.” She waves her hands like she’s shooing a fly. “Off with you.”

I don’t move, just keep my gaze on Lachlan’s back and how his suit jacket shows off his broad shoulders and trim waist.

“As much as I hate to admit this, I don’t think he’s interested.” Dad finally picks a suitor who doesn’t make me cringe, and he acts like I don’t exist. “Are you sure he isn’t gay?”

Mom laughs. “Far from it.”

“What does that mean, and how would you know?” I glare at my mother with an odd sense of jealousy. Ridiculous, considering Lachlan and I haven’t even made eye contact.

“It means I’ve seen Lachlan with women on plenty occasions. He brings dates to dinners, fundraisers, and other events. The only reason he didn’t bring one today is because you’re supposed to be his date.”

“How can I be his anything if he won’t look at me? Does he even know who I am?” I ask the question I wondered earlier.

Mom’s lips curl with a grin. “He knows. Your father has pictures of you and Pippa in his office. And we have them all over the estate. I caught him staring at your high school graduation photo just yesterday.”

“You did?” That picture is hideous. “Was he smiling?”

“Smiling.” She scoffs. “He was riveted by your beauty, staring for so long I almost offered it to him.”

Riveted my ass. He was probably trying to figure out how I was born into this family or why I don’t look more like Pippa and Mom—my generous boobs aside. Those damn things ballooned as soon as I turned sixteen. Unfortunately, my hips didn’t, leaving me to look like a caramel apple on a stick.

The only thing Mom and I have in common apart from a generous chest is our love for Jane Austen novels. While she’s stuck in the historical genre, I venture down all romance paths. Contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, mafia, new adult, and even some young adult. My dream is to open a romance-only bookstore that serves traditional English afternoon tea.

Mom squeezes my hand. “I’d hoped to offer you and Pippa the fairy tale romance I never had, but it seems the best I can do is an attractive man, and a bit of nobility in your case.”

Poor Mom. I discovered a while ago her love of romance novels came from the lack of it in her marriage, but not until she rambled out the truth after two bottles of wine one night.

She was on the couch in her favorite reading room with a book on her lap and tears in her eyes. I sat next to her and took her hand, the way I always did when I found her this way.

Only this time, she said, “Your father and I were in love once.” Her words were sloppy, but I understood them clearly. “For four years, I was the only woman for him—until she came along. She didn’t even have money, but she was young and beautiful and able to do what I couldn’t. I wanted to hate her for it, but I accepted it as was my duty. I even found comfort in another man’s arms. I thought once she was gone, your dad and I would return to how we’d been when we first married. Instead, he took another lover, so I did too. I found happiness when and where I could. It’s the only way to survive.”

She never confessed anything like that again. It breaks my heart that she still wants Dad’s affection, even knowing she’ll never get it. That’s why I have to be smart. Careful. Guarded.

“What if he’s not interested?” What if I’m not enough to get him to close the deal? What will Dad do then?

“Darling.” Mom turns me to face her and cups my cheeks. “There is nothing not to like. You have the beauty, the wealth, and the name. It’s a win for Lachlan.”

“Shouldn’t he be marrying nobility?”

“He wants an American wife, who am I to argue?” She lifts her shoulder. “This is a good match. He’s well-mannered and polite. I’ve never seen him raise his voice. The women he’s brought as dates can’t take their eyes off him, which means he’s good in bed.”

I cringe. “Ew! I don’t want to hear this from you.”

“It’s important, Emery. You’ll find out soon enough.”

All my life my parents have sworn me to celibacy, and now they want me ready to act.

“Up, up, up.” Mom stands and takes me with her. “Let me make sure everything is in place.” She combs her hands over my silky pin straight hair to the long ends then squints at my chest. “Why are your nipples showing through your dress? Are you not wearing a bra? You know better than to do that. The Spencer women show cleavage. Classy cleavage, but nothing more.”

“I can’t fit a bra with this dress. It won’t zip.” The silky material has little give.

While my boobs are a DD cup, my ruler figure is a size small. If I had curvy hips and stood at five-eight—those three inches my sister and Mom have over me make a big difference—I could wear anything and look amazing. Instead, I have to work with this. Shopping is a nightmare. Small bottom, large top. They don’t make dresses like that, so I squeeze my boobs into small sizes.

“Emery, I chose this dress to show off your chest. The green moss color is perfect against your caramel skin and the slit adds a bit of sexiness without being trashy. You should be proud of your figure. Except for these.” She gestures at my beaded nipples. “The least you could have done is wore nipple covers.”

She knows I hate them. They irritate my skin and give me a rash.

“That’s why I brought a sweater.” I take it from the chair behind me. I’ll feel better if my chest is covered up.

Mom yanks it from my hand. “You are not covering your best assets. Now, stop being a baby. Adjust your boobs so they sit right and go show Lachlan what you have to offer.”

When Mom gets like this, there’s no arguing with her. I take her mimosa and gulp a huge sip. The sweet drink scorches my throat. I cough and set down the flute before I spill it. “What’s in that?”

“A little vodka.” Mom rolls her eyes.

“A little? If I had a match, I could breathe fire.”

“Oh, stop.” Mom waves my words away then fixes my hair again. “Are you ready to do what you must and make us noble?”

“I guess.” I shrug. What choice do I have?

She sighs with disappointment. “Your father gave you more time to be single than he did Pippa. If you don’t make it work with Lachlan, he will either choose someone else or disown you. If you choose the latter, he’ll ensure no one hires you, not even a small diner in a no-name town. He’ll make it his business to ruin you so you come crawling back home. Then he’ll marry you off to someone else. He may not be as attractive or as well-mannered as Lachlan. He may be like Hunt.”

I shiver. My brother-in-law isn’t ugly on the outside, but he’s disgusting on the inside—an ego-centric narcissist who made Pippa feel special only to break her heart.

Dad sprung him on Pippa at a dinner party when she was nineteen, had them engaged within two weeks and married three months later.

“Do you understand why making this work is important?” Mom asks in a gentle tone. Her words aren’t slurring yet.

I nod in understanding, my throat too tight to push out a single word. This is it. The day I dreaded. The day that will change my life forever. It is within my control to make or break it. I know what I have to do.

“Good girl. I’ll be at the bar if you need me.” Mom strolls away.

2. He’s Gay

I don’t adjust my boobs in my dress like Mom insisted. As for my nipples, they’re on display in a way that I don’t like. If the sun hadn’t been stolen by some random clouds when Mom came over, I wouldn’t be nipping and self-conscious as a result. I take that back. Any attention to my boobs makes me nervous.

In my mind, people see the size of my chest compared to the rest of me and think, poor girl. If only her boobs were smaller or her hips were wider.

Pippa always told me, “Men prefer an hourglass to a spoon. Being top-heavy will work against you.”

So I learned to conceal them as best as I could.

Mom knows this, which is why she took my sweater, but I refuse to push up my boobs like she wants. Instead, I leave them smooshed in the dress and work my long hair over my beaded nipples. There. If I keep my arms at my sides, my boobs will stay stuffed down, appearing smaller than they are.

Ready, I turn toward Lachlan and frown. He’s gone. A second ago, he was there, right there by the champagne fountain. He was there before Mom and I stood.

I scan the spacious backyard. About fifty or more women and men, mostly men, mingle in groups. I don’t see a tall man in a steel blue suit anywhere though.

Did he go to the pool house to use the bathrooms? Both are at the back of the estate. This area is on the side of the house, near the orangery.

He could have gone there, I suppose, but men don’t often feel the need to stroll through a greenhouse that grows oranges. It’s more of a lady’s thing, and my favorite place to read.

With my arms at my sides, I stroll toward the pool house around the corner. The crowd thins the closer I get. People I recognize from previous parties smile at me, but no one waves me over to talk to my relief.

I stop outside the two bathrooms meant for guests and swimmers. Inside, the pool house has a large living space, full kitchen, and two-bedroom suites that accommodate guests who want privacy from the main house.

After waiting several minutes and watching women come and go along with one man, I decide I was wrong. A surge of panic shoots through me. What if he left?

Mom will scold me for not trying hard enough, and Dad will blame me for his leaving.

Maybe I should call Adelaide and take her up on her offer to let me move in. To what end, though? I can’t live off her forever. And who’s to say Dad won’t try to ruin her life too for harboring his traitorous daughter. I can’t do that to her.

Lachlan is my only hope to break free from my dad and to obtain my dream.

Buzzing sounds near my ear and a huge bee flies close to my face. I squeal and swat at it as I run toward the pool. I’ve had a fear of bees ever since I was stung by a nest when I was five. My entire face swelled.

Swat, swat.

Squeal, squeal.

Rip.

Oh no!

I freeze long enough to notice two things. The bee is gone, and the side zipper to my dress ripped from my armpit to my hip. That’s what I get for trying to make my boobs smaller in a tightly fitted dress.

In a panic, I hold the material together as much as I can and race for the pool house, praying it isn’t locked.

I don’t even glance around to see if I’ve caused a scene, I just run. The door handle turns, and I enter in a flurry. My heels patter on the tiled floor on my way to the bathroom that’s behind the kitchen.

Stopping in front of the mirror above the sink, I assess the damage. It’s bad. Side boob galore. Safety pins wouldn’t stand a chance.

A tall figure appears in the doorway.

I scream and jump. My hip bumps into the stone counter. Ow. Dammit. I rub the tender spot where a bruise will no doubt form.

Lachlan stands at the threshold, watching me with those aqua eyes as an oak and musk scent tickles my nose. I’ve never stood this close to him. I would take the opportunity to check out his perfectly chiseled features, but my gaze drifts south to his bare chest. Firm pecs meet six pack abs that are romance book cover worthy. His biceps bulge with sculpted strength. He’s more muscular than he appears in clothes. But what steals my attention is the large Celtic tattoo over his pec. Another tattoo with writing in a foreign language covers his ribs on that same side and disappears in back.

With his clean-cut, polished image, I never would have expected tattoos. I lick my lips as I watch his sculpted chest move with his breathing.

“Emery,” he says my name in an intimate way, as if he’s said it a hundred times.

I glance up at Lachlan’s face, my lips parted, my body heating from the sight of him and the sound of his deep voice. The kind of voice that draws romance readers to audiobooks.

“Why are you here?” His gaze lowers as if he’s just noticing my ripped dress and exposed side-boob. His eye twitches. “Who did that to you?” Rage sounds in his voice.