Casanova(46)

I stepped back with a smirk curving my lips. “Sweet dreams, kitten.”

She said nothing as I strolled across the courtyard and back to the back door that was still ajar. I stopped in the doorway and looked back at the annex. Lani hovered in the doorway long enough that I could feel the ire in her gaze from where I was standing. The gentle click of the door shutting traveled through the still night air.

I waited until the kitchen light clicked off before slipping back into the house and locking the back door. My cock throbbed in my pants, and by the time I got back to my room, it was hard as rock and throbbing against the confines of my boxers.

I kicked off my sweatpants and got into bed. The head of my cock was trying to escape up over my waistband, but I tugged the underwear up higher and threw my arm over my eyes.

No. I wasn’t going to do it again. I wasn’t going to get myself off to the thought of fucking her.

The next time I got off, it’d be with her under me.

Or over me.

Or in front of me.

I didn’t care how.

But the next time I came, it would be because Lani Montana was coming over my cock too.

I was determined.

She was the ultimate itch—and she needed scratching.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


LANI



Masturbate.

That was Google’s answer to my problem.

Yesterday morning, Camille and I had woken before the birds despite the fact I hadn’t slept much that night. She had me home by eight in the morning. I handled emails and all the shit I needed to do, counting on the fact that I’d be so tired I’d sleep right through last night.

I was wrong.

Brett Walker plagued my dreams once again. Except this time, every one had been the same. I was against a door—or a wall—and he was fucking me exactly the way he said he wanted to. My legs were wrapped around his waist and I gripped onto his shoulders for dear life as he cupped my ass so tightly it only added to the way he moved inside me.

And I woke up before I came every single time.

Masturbation was, of course, the obvious answer. It wasn’t something I was shy about either. A girl has needs, after all. But over Brett...

I really did hate him. His personality was giving me whiplash. I could physically feel the neck pain starting—or maybe that was from the dream sex... No, it was him. One minute he was sweet, my Brett, as my sentimental bitch of a memory had named him, and the next, he was that Brett.

That sexy, unfiltered, filthy-mouthed Casanova who made me want his infuriating ass.

Clearly, my current methods of dealing with him weren’t working.

He was, after all, impossible. Trying to get him to be serious was like pulling teeth and having an orgasm at the same time. He had a one-track mind, and trying to get him to veer off that line of thinking was harder than trying to convince a physicist the big bang never happened. Not to mention that the charisma that radiated off him meant it was hard to stay focused myself.

He had a crazy way of making me forget how badly I hated him.

He had an even crazier way of making me forget that he once broke my head.

All he had to do was smile.

That slow, easy smile that lit his eyes up just right. The same one that hinted at mischief at the same time it screamed sex.

I’d seen that smile too many times. Fighting it was ridiculous—he just turned on the charm even more, and while his words didn’t always get me, that smile sure as hell did.

Maybe because I remembered that same smile being thrown my way tons of time as a teenager. Maybe because that smile now came with words—words I would have wanted to hear back then.

Was my brain putting two and two together and coming up with four or fifty? I didn’t know. Everything about Brett confused me.

I was running out of ideas. I didn’t know how to handle him.

That was a lie. I knew how to handle him, but it was too risky. Playing along with him, letting him think I was giving in to his charm slowly... It was dangerous.

Because he was dangerous.

Then again... If it meant I could find out the supposed Walker family secret, would it be worth it? I didn’t have to tell Mr. Reeves what it was if it was too bad. If the secret would hurt Camille or anyone else, I wouldn’t say a word.

I could do that. That would be easy. And okay, right? It was okay. I had to tell myself it was or I wouldn’t be able to do it. Finding out would be the hard part, but what if Brett thought he could trust me? What if he assumed it would be fine to tell me? Would he do it, or would it be an impossibility?

I guessed there was only one way for me to find out.





I grasped my little camera tightly in my hand. The small backpack I had with me held everything I needed to get through three hours in the scorching summer heat, plus everything I needed to get notes on the race. My camera and voice recorder would get mostly everything, but I liked having a notebook around at all times.

“Who are you looking for?” Camille sidled up next to me, pushing her bangs out of my eyes.

“Who do you think?”

She sighed. “My brother. Is he supposed to be here?”

“Yep. I dropped a few hints earlier this week and told him that if he could show his ass around here and raise some money for charity, it’d be really helpful for me.”

“Brett? Charity? The only charity he gives is to poor, lonely women whose vaginas need some company.”