Page 12 of Butterfly

“Yeah.” He shrugged, smiling. “You gave as good as you got, butterfly. I almost respect you for it.”

My heart slowed, relief—and something that felt disturbingly like disappointment—filling my chest.

“Truce.”

He held out his hand. “Shake on it?”

I put my hand in his, bemused by how his engulfed mine, and beyond freaked out by the tingles his touch sent through me. Was this the first time I’d ever touched him consensually? I tried to push the sense-memory of his fingers stroking my ear out of my mind.

If so, I was never touching him again. This must be what a heart attack felt like.

Unfortunately, he didn’t let my hand go, instead holding it captive and turning it to rub circles on my palm with his thumb.

“Mason, what are you doing?” God, my voice sounded breathy.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally releasing me. “But I recommend you stay away from me before things get even more out of hand.”

I should’ve listened to him.

5

LESLIE

It was disturbingly quiet from then on. Mason must have taken our truce to heart and taken the partying elsewhere, but the silence was almost as disruptive as the music had been. A few nights later, unable to sleep, I decided to go for a swim. It was late, almost midnight, and the house was quiet, the pool lit a dark turquoise by the fairy lights that hadn’t been taken down after the wedding. My bathing suits were in the wash, but I figured there wasn’t any harm in swimming in my panties and bralette, especially if my parents were asleep and Mason was at Tiffanie’s.

Just the thought of him with her filled me with an agitation I loathed. I loathed him. He was my stepbrother. Maybe if I said it enough times, I would begin to believe it.

As I swam laps in the warm, dark night, I heard a splash. I stopped swimming, treading water as a shadowy figure approached me. But I recognized the height, the build: Mason was a big guy, lean but tall, made of muscles. His blonde hair was dark from the water as he swam toward me.

“If you try to kill me, I’ll get you arrested,” I told him, trying not to show him any fear. “And then poof! There goes Harvard for real this time.”

“Big words for the girl trapped in the pool with me this late at night.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight, like they’d swallowed the stars.

If I wasn’t careful, they’d swallow me up, too.

I backed away.

“I’ll scream.”

He started to respond, then shook his head, splashing me with droplets of water. “Too easy.”

I didn’t bother to ask what he meant, just waded over to the edge of the pool, determined to escape him.

“Not so fast, butterfly,” he said, swimming up behind me and grabbing me by the waist. His hands—warm and hard and huge—wrapped around my bare midriff, sending tingles through me. Briefly, I wondered what else of his was warm and hard and huge, before shaking the thought away like a swimmer dislodging water from their ears. Nothing good followed that thought, no matter how objectively hot my stepbrother and tormentor was.

“Let me go,” I told him, careful to keep my voice steady.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” he told me, and the words struck me as unbearably honest.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. He tightened his hold on me, and leaned his head into my shoulder, breathing heat into my ear and making me squirm back against him.

And then I had my answer. He was hard, and warm, and felt pretty huge behind me.

“You don’t want to do this,” I told him. “You hate me, remember?”

He sighed, rotating his hips so his cock rubbed hard against my ass. “That’s right, butterfly. I hate you. This here,” he jerkedagainst me again, “is hate, pure and simple. Want to hate me back?”

“Mason, if you don’t let me go…”

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