Page 8 of You Were Never Not Mine

Chapter Four

SINCLAIR

Isteel my spine along with the spinning out of control emotions that are currently running through me like water when I finally facetheAugust Lancaster, lifting my chin up. Trying my best to appear haughty. Completely unaffected by him and his electric proximity.

Because that’s what it feels like, standing this close to him. Electric. As if there’s a current running between us, drawing me closer to him despite my reluctance. And I’m definitely reluctant. I don’t want to be anywhere near this guy. He’s the freaking worst.

August tilts his head to the side as he studies me, his gaze still curious, though his face is mostly expressionless. He doesn’t want to give away a thing, I’m sure, and I envy him in that moment. That he can appear so unaffected while I’m standing in front of him, rattled to my core.

“Why are you leaving?” His voice is much deeper than I remember and that makes sense, considering it was four years ago when he terrorized me. He’s older now. More of a man than ever and God, I can see it in his frame. The impressive heightand breadth of him and that look on his chiseled face. I called the guy who approached Elise earlier a golden god but I was mistaken.

The true golden god is August. The rest of the men in this house are mere mortals, while he is Zeus, the ruler of Mount Olympus. My thoughts are ridiculous but come on.Lookat him. His face is constructed of pure marble. Hard and smooth and made up of clean, sharp lines. The only thing soft are his lips. They’re a rich, deep pink, and I’m struck with the sudden urge to kiss them.

I shake my head once, pushing the thought out of my brain. I have clearly lost all sensibility being in this man’s presence. I cling to my old hateful feelings, reminding myself that I don’t like him. At all.

“Why do you care?” I finally toss out, my tone as snotty as can be. At least my voice isn’t shaking, which is a miracle as I am currently trembling from head to toe.

His smile is faint. As if he likes the idea that I was rude to him. “You just got here.”

“You were paying attention?”

“I keep watch on everything that happens in this house.” He takes a step closer and I practically throw myself against the heavy wooden door, my fingers curling around the handle. “Who are you?”

“No one that matters.” I shake my head over and over again, not about to say my name. It’s not the most common name there is—Sinclair is my mother’s maiden name and since she is one of three sisters, she felt bad that the family name wasn’t going to be carried on so she did the next best thing and gave her first daughter her maiden name. I hated it growing up. I always wanted to be named Kylee or Casey or any type of “ee” name because I was surrounded by girls with cutsie names just like that.

His smile is a faint curling of his lush mouth and my heart trips over itself at the sight of it. “I doubt that.” His gaze drops to the hand that is still holding the glass. “You want another drink?”

I would be a fool to accept his offer. I need to leave. Now. At this very second.

“Please,” is what I say instead, mentally cursing my weakness.

He reaches for me and I shrink back, which makes him pause, his brows drawing together. “Care to hand over the glass?”

“Oh.” I push away from the door completely, coming closer to him, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. It’s spicy and warm and I have the fleeting thought that I want to bathe in it, which is just…what? Oh, I know. Unsettling. “Here.”

I hold the glass out to him and he takes it from me, his fingers purposely brushing against mine, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. I contain my reaction to him as best as I can, pressing my lips together. Only for my mouth to fall open when he turns his back to me and starts walking without saying another word.

Go after him, the tiny voice inside my head whispers and I bolt into action, following August as he moves deeper into the house. Until he’s in the massive room where I first spotted him, heading straight for the bar that’s set up in the farthest corner. There is a variety of cut-glass decanters and containers sitting on the bar and not a single bottle of wine or alcohol with a label in sight. Everything is clean and elegant and absolutely beautiful. Impressive. My family would never—my dad proudly displays the expensive wine and liquor bottles in their home. Always flaunting their wealth once they came into it, while I was uncomfortable about it. I was twelve when my father’s startup began amassing actual money. My parents immediatelyenrolled me in Lancaster Prep without me having any say in where I got to go to high school.

Talk about wealthy. I was surrounded by it my four years there. And while it was intimidating sometimes, no one has as much wealth as a Lancaster. Everyone knew this.

I keep my gaze fixed on the broad expanse of his back as he sets both of our glasses on the counter and refills them. He moves with controlled efficiency, as if he never wastes his time, and within seconds, he’s turning to face me, holding the refreshed drink in my direction.

I take it from him without touching his fingers, and I’m secretly proud of this little fact. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He keeps his gaze fixed on me as he takes a sip, his lips wet from the liquor and the urge to lick them nearly takes me out.

What is wrong with me? I’m not drunk. Well, maybe I’m a little buzzed because I guzzled that first glass of what tasted like very strong alcohol in a matter of minutes.

“I feel like I know you,” he eventually says, after we stand there in silence together in front of the bar for what feels like five minutes but is probably only thirty seconds tops.

I slowly shake my head, my lips seemingly attached to the edge of the glass. I take another sip before I answer, the liquid is giving me courage. “Doubtful.”

His brows draw together. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I have no idea who you are.” The lie comes easy and I’m impressed with myself.

“Really?” His voice drips with doubt, and I get it. He’s practically a celebrity on our campus.

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