His Plaything (10 page)

Oh, what the hell … you only live once.

Feeling buoyed already, I nodded. “Sure. I'd love to go.”

Chapter 15

Nixon

Even though we'd caught a good tailwind and made it back to North Island almost an hour early, my skin still crawled with impatience. For the past thirty-six hours, I'd barely had time to breathe, let alone call Avery—check up on how she was doing, hear her voice, whatever it was I wanted. I didn't even know. I had never missed a woman like this before. When we'd been standing at the front door and she had said, “I miss you already,” I had automatically replied, “Me, too,” and been surprised at how much I really meant it. Now all I could think about was getting home again. Avery turning at the sound of the door, giving me an excited smile, rushing into my arms for a kiss…

Finally we pulled up to the complex's front entrance. I grabbed my suitcase in one hand, saluted the driver with the other, and made it inside before the Navy car had even gotten back onto the main street. I took the stairs two at a time, too antsy to wait for the elevator. Opening the front door, I called, “I'm back!”

When no response came, I looked around. “Avery?”

Still nothing. But I heard a brief trickle of water, so I left the suitcase in the entryway and checked around the corner to the bathroom.
Bingo
.

Satiny red lips parted in concentration, Avery leaned close to the mirror to paint a swooping line along her eyelid, which shimmered bronze in the harsh fluorescent light. Her lashes were long curls of sooty black. A long silver bag full of brushes and jars and boxes sat by the sink. I had seen women putting on makeup a few times—usually when I'd stayed overnight at their places, which wasn't often—but it always looked like a nit-picking art project and I'd never watched closely before. Actually, I still didn't care what Avery was doing. I just wanted to ogle the woman herself.

She was a goddess: classy and fierce and smoking hot, all at the same time. Her wine-red dress clung to her curves and dipped in a low V to reveal the first swells of cleavage. The fabric was solid up to her breasts, but transparent and lacy where it covered her shoulders and neck; hinting at the creamy skin beneath was somehow more tantalizing than just revealing it outright. Her hair tumbled down her back in glossy waves. The straps of her sky-high heels caressed her slim ankles. Between the dress, which ended just above her knee, and those shoes, her shapely legs seemed to go on forever. I could already picture them wrapped around my back, her heels digging in, spurring me to thrust faster, deeper …

“Wow, babe, you look incredible.” Smirking, I came up behind her, reaching out to wrap my arm around her waist. I wanted to press up against her luscious ass and let her feel exactly how much I liked her outfit. “I hope you're okay with taking that off, because—”

Avery sidestepped, almost flattening herself into the towel rack to evade my grasp.

Whoops. Looks like I interrupted the arcane ritual.
“What, did I make you smudge your makeup or something? Sorry.”

She made an irritable noise.

“I don't speak 'grunt,' babe. What's wrong?”

Without making eye contact, she finally replied, “I'm busy.” Her voice was flat.

“Yeah, I can see that,” I teased. “So what's the occasion? Did you want to go out tonight or something?” Usually I liked to be the one who made plans, and right now, I was worn out from traveling. But anything involving Avery still counted as a nice surprise.

“Nope.” She wet her tiny brush under the faucet, dabbed it into her compact, and started lining her other eyelid in black.

“Uh … okay.” My good mood was quickly fading in the face of uncertainty. “Then why are you all dolled up?” And why did I have to play Twenty Questions with her to find out? Why wouldn't she look at me? Maybe she had put on her sexy best just to welcome me home, but this strange tension in the air was really making me doubt that.

“Why is my outfit any of your business?” she retorted almost casually.

Okay, that's it.
Now I knew it wasn't just my imagination; something was definitely off. But I had no idea what the problem was or where it had come from. I'd only been gone for two days. Just one night. What the hell could have changed? This couldn't be my fault—I wasn't even physically present, for Christ's sake. But she was acting like she hated my guts. Finally I gave up and asked, “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?” Even the smallest clue might help me figure out what was going on here.

“You tell me.” She took out a small bottle and sprayed some clear stuff on her brush, then wiped it on a color-streaked square of paper towel, leaving a messy black blotch. “Did you?”

“Huh?” Oh, come the fuck on. That wasn’t even an answer. “What are you talking about? Can I at least get a hint here?” My patience for this little game was running on fumes.

Without a word, Avery zipped her makeup bag shut and carried it into her room. I forced myself to wait in the hallway instead of following her. But when she came back out, she hustled right past, giving me a wide berth.

“Where the hell are you going?” I almost yelled. I hadn't meant to swear at her, but I could apologize later. After I figured out who this girl was and what she'd done with Avery.

She stopped at the front door, one hand poised on the knob and the other clutching her black beaded purse. For the first time that evening, she looked me straight in the eye. And it was a glare of pure loathing. “You really want to know? Fine. I've got a date with Logan.” She turned back and stepped outside. “So don't wait up.”

With that, she slammed the door behind her … leaving me in stunned silence, reeling for some kind of response. She had to be fucking with me. Because … I had no other explanation for what just happened.

What the fuck
had
just happened?
Slowly, I walked to the living room and sank onto the couch. The TV was off, but I stared at it anyway. This feeling was worse than your chopper going down over enemy territory. At least I'd be prepared for that situation. None of my training had ever covered anything about women. What to do when your girlfriend froze you out and your own place suddenly felt like a stranger's house.

It was unsettling, how the meanings of “home” and “Avery” had already started to bleed into each other. Before Avery moved in, I'd never been particularly attached to my condo; it was just where I hung my hat when I didn't have anything better to do. It only became special because she was there. And when she'd left, something had gone with her. Something I could only feel by the empty chill it left behind.

I'd thought I missed Avery before, when I'd known—no, when I'd
assumed
—she was waiting for me. That was nothing compared to what I felt right now. The need to chase her down and drag her back here clawed through me. But it was more than some possessive reaction—I was absolutely fucking mystified by what had just happened. There was no rational explanation for it. I’d been so fucking excited to get home to just
be
with her. What the hell had happened in two damn days? I needed to call Logan, or better yet, drive over to his apartment and punch him right in the goddamn face. And if I missed him there, I should track them down and demand to know what the hell was going on.

But even I knew a stupid idea when I saw one. Stalking Avery and then beating the shit out of one of my closest friends would only lose me points. I needed to calm the fuck down and get a handle on my emotions before I let myself go near either of them. I was in the kind of mood to say things I could never take back. I was missing something—that was clear. So I would wait. Maybe Avery would lower herself to give me a goddamn explanation for what the hell was going on when she got back. If she still wouldn’t talk, I would grill Logan. He had no idea what kind of territory he’d stepped into because I hadn’t wanted to share with my friends. Either way, I needed to cool down and get some perspective before taking another crack at this situation. There had to be some sort of explanation and flying off the handle would only fuck things up with Avery more.

But I still couldn't resist texting Logan:
Don't forget she's my stepsister. If any part of you touches her, I'll cut it right the fuck off.

A moment later, my phone beeped with Logan's reply:
10-4
.

Chapter 16

Avery

That evening I had carefully dressed to kill, wanting to impress myself as much as Logan. Nixon had been nothing more than a lapse in judgment. I was already moving on from this bad dream, and soon, I would forget all about Nixon and how stupid I'd been. Believing all that got harder, though, when he came home early. Just the sound of his voice had rattled me. Who did he hope to fool with that fake innocent act? Did he really think I was that stupid? Maybe he did—after all, I'd been stupid enough to trust him in the first place. But my recovery had been swift and sure. Now that I knew he'd take a mile, I hadn't given him an inch. That was worth being proud of, right? Standing firm?

As I drove to The Pointe, I told myself that I was a strong, awe-inspiring queen and Nixon was totally beneath my notice. Not even worth staying mad over. I pulled up to the front entrance, handed my key to the valet, and tried to walk in like I owned the joint.

But even a queen would slow down to admire this place. It was gorgeous—one of the most upscale restaurants I'd ever been in. Small crystal chandeliers dotted the ceiling in blazes of golden light. The walnut floors and paneling, weathered into ashy mellowness, created an atmosphere of comfortable intimacy. Bay windows on two walls offered an incredible ocean view from almost anywhere in the restaurant. Each table had a snowy linen tablecloth, a tea candle, and a single scarlet rose.

I gave my name and Logan's to the hostess, and she guided me out to the balcony. Not far below us, black waves sparkled in the moonlight, their quiet, soothing rush filling the air. I spotted Logan at a table near the railing, with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. He was just sitting down—and he stood up again at the sight of me, eyes widening.

“Your waiter will be with your shortly,” the hostess said with a smile. “Please enjoy your evening.”

As she bustled back to her station at the entrance, Logan pulled out my chair. I settled into the low, plush seat and he sat back down.

“I hope you don't mind that I went ahead and ordered drinks.” He waved in the general direction of the champagne. “You look … beautiful, by the way.”

“You don't look so bad yourself,” I replied with a teasing smile. It was true; on top of his natural boy-next-door cuteness, Logan clearly had fashion sense. A charcoal pinstripe suit, a dove-gray shirt, and a gunmetal-blue houndstooth tie. Complementary without being boring. His good taste in clothes definitely added another few points to his growing total.

While I looked over the menu, Logan poured us each a flute of champagne. Eventually we decided on a caprese salad to share, veal marsala with porcini mushrooms for him, and duck confit with blackberry sauce for me.

“So,” he said after we had ordered, “I know this is your last semester at UCSD, but that's pretty much it. Tell me about yourself?”

“Uh … well, I…” Family was an obvious icebreaker topic. But even though I had shared so much with Nixon before, I didn't really want to talk about cancer and dead moms and hysterectomies on a first date. For some weird reason, I just wasn't as comfortable with Logan as I'd been with my douchebag stepbrother.
I guess even my gut instinct isn't immune to mistakes. Huge, terrible mistakes…

The caprese salad landed in front of us. I realized that I was zoning out and forced my focus back to the conversation. “Well, I'm a fashion design major, and eventually I want to blog about beauty advice and fashion-related news. Last year I studied abroad in London.” School and work were usually safe topics.

“Did you grow up around here?”

“Yep, in Irvine. Dad actually met Cynthia—that's my stepmother—at an In-N-Out Burger.” I laughed a little. “It's just about the most 'southern California' story I've ever heard.”

I had left Mom's name conspicuously absent, and Logan was graceful enough not to mention it. “Was it an office romance? Did their eyes meet over the deep-fat fryer?” he asked instead, lips quirked.

“No, but you know, I'm … not totally sure what Dad
does
do.” I laughed again. “His company makes semiconductors. He has some kind of obscure management position.”

The waiter chose that moment to reappear and set down two steaming dinner plates. I took the opportunity to change topics. “So what about you?” I asked, raising a tender forkful of duck to my lips. “Have you always been in the military?”

“Pretty much. I dropped out of college and joined the Navy when I was twenty, then became a SEAL when I was twenty-two.” He fell silent as he started cutting up his veal. Just when I thought I'd made a mistake by bringing up his job, Logan continued, “I'm thinking of quitting in the next year or two. I figure I've had a good ride.”

“Then why do you want to stop now?”

He gave a quiet huff of a chuckle. “Well … this isn't a great first-date topic, but since you asked… I want to settle down soon. Wife, kids, whole nine yards. And I like the SEAL life just fine, but it's no place for a family man.”