King of Hawthorne Prep Page 27

  “That’s probably a good thing,” I murmur, thinking about our families.

  “Yeah, it probably was.” He falls silent, pulling off his aviators so that his gaze can pierce mine. “I thought about you a lot after that. I wondered what you were doing in Chicago and if you were spending time with anyone else. Were you letting those guys kiss you the same way I did? It pissed me off.”

  My heart spasms as I shake my head. “I never kissed anyone the way I kissed you.”

  “Good.” His gaze grows heated. “I don’t want anyone else to touch you the way I do. Not ever.”

  Doesn’t he realize how crazy that sounds?

  We’re too young to be making this kind of commitment. “King—”

  “No!” he snaps before his eyes narrow. “I want you. I don’t give a shit about the company or this agreement.” He pauses for a beat before rectifying the statement. “Actually, that’s not true. I’m fucking thrilled this arrangement gives me you. The only reason I’m even going along with it is because I have to have you. We belong together, Summer. I realize that even if you can’t see it yet.” His voice drops, becoming more of a challenge. “Tell me that you don’t feel this between us.”

  I bite my lip and glance away.

  “Summer,” he growls, “I’ll walk away from the whole damn thing if you can tell me that you don’t feel the same way. I’ll tell my father that he can go fuck himself.”

  If I were smart, that’s exactly what I would say.

  “I can’t.” My gaze stays fastened on his. I don’t ever want to look away from him. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “We belong together,” he repeats, stronger this time. “You belong with me, to me.”

  I don’t realize how desperate I am to hear those words until they’re reverberating in my ears.

  When I remain silent, he adds, “I know we’re young, and that everything is stacked against us, but we can make it work. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never wanted—needed anyone the way I need you.”

  Marriage. He’s talking about marriage. It’s no small thing. If I agree to this, I’ll be shackling myself to Kingsley forever. A reluctant thrill shoots through me at the notion, but I quickly tamp it down.

  I shake my head and whisper, “I don’t know...”

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing I do.” With one swift motion, he rolls on top of me. Instead of feeling trapped by the heaviness pinning me to the boat, I’m tempted to wrap my legs around him and pull him closer. There’s something soothing about the feel of him covering me. “You just need to trust me.”

  Does he understand what he’s asking?

  We will never be just Summer and Kingsley. He’s a Rothchild and I’m a Hawthorne. Our families have been enemies for generations. It’s doubtful anything will ever change that. There is too much ugly history standing between us.

  My feelings for Kingsley have nothing to do with the company. But can he say the same?

  Therein lies the problem. That’s an answer I’ll never know. The insidious little question will always be there, clawing at the back of my mind, creating doubts.

  Why is he with me?

  Can I live with that? Never knowing for sure?

  When I remain silent, he says, “You are aware that my family owns a shit ton of stores throughout Wisconsin and Minnesota, right?”

  What?

  I had assumed there was only one.

  His lips quirk into a cocky grin. “Maybe you haven’t realized this, but my family has money, Summer. A lot. During the early eighties, my grandfather started Rothchild’s. The store in Hawthorne was the flagship. Since then, it’s continued to grow, and now we have over fifty stores. Every year, a few more get added.”

  But that doesn’t make sense.

  “Then why?” I shake my head. “Why is your dad doing this?”

  The smile fades from his face as his expression grows somber. “He wants what was stolen from his great-grandfather. He’s been obsessed with getting the company back for decades. His thirst for revenge drove my parents apart.” He searches my gaze as his voice turns gruff. “There is no way I’d go through with this arrangement unless it’s what I wanted. I wouldn’t martyr myself for Hawthorne Industries.” He presses a quick kiss against my lips. “Since the first moment I saw you on the beach, I’ve wanted you, Summer. And throughout all of this, even when I found out who you were, that never changed. My feelings never wavered. Maybe I wanted them to, but they remained the same, only growing stronger.”

  “We’re talking marriage. Are you willing to put enough stock in your feelings to marry me?” My head spins as I force myself to say, “We’re only eighteen years old. Doesn’t that scare you?”

  No matter how strong my feelings are for Kingsley, that knowledge frightens the hell out of me.

  His lips quirk as his expression softens. “How about we take it one day at a time and get through high school first? If our parents can’t accept that, they can fuck off. We’ll do things our way, when we’re ready. Got it?”

  I pin my lower lip with my teeth before nodding.

  “So, is that a yes?”

  I shouldn’t...

  “Yes.” Only now that the word has been released do I realize how much I want this.

  How much I want Kingsley.

  “Thank fuck.” He grins before his lips slam into mine.

  And then I do what I’ve been dying to. I wrap my arms and legs around his body, pulling him tightly to me so there isn’t a whisper of space between us.

  “No matter what happens, we can make it work,” he vows. “I promise you that. You just need to trust me. If you can do that, we’ll make it through anything.”

  Contentment washes over me as I sigh into his mouth. It seems almost unbelievable that I could be this happy. A couple of months ago, I’d had everything worked out in my head. A detailed roadmap of how my future would unfold. That included—graduating from high school in Chicago, attending a prestigious college in Illinois or Michigan, and majoring in astronomy. In none of those well-laid plans was there a handsome, domineering boy.

  And yet, here Kingsley is.

  He burst into my life and turned my world, along with all of my plans, upside down and inside out.

  And now that I know how he feels...

  I won’t lie to myself or pretend that I don’t feel the same way. Why would I bother when he’s everything I didn’t know I was looking for?

  Maybe we have a lot to figure out, but he’s right. There is plenty of time to do that.

  As long as we trust each other, nothing will tear us apart.

  ~The End~

  I hope you enjoyed reading Summer and Kingsley’s story as much as I loved writing it! Summer and Kingsley are the main players in the Hawthorne Prep series. Even though they found their happy ending, their story will continue in Queen of Hawthorne Prep. Thanks so much for reading!

  Have you read?

  The Girl Next Door

  Chapter One

  Mia

  Summer before freshman year of college…

  “Get your butt over here,” my best friend squeals from the window where she’s taken up sentinel, “you need to see this!”

  That’s a negative, Ghost Rider. I’ll take a hard pass. I have zero interest in spying on a yard full of drunken classmates who are partying it up at my neighbor’s house. Reluctantly, I glance up from the toes I’m painting with a pale pink polish. Coney Island Cotton Candy, to be precise.

  When our gazes lock, Alyssa waves me over. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. Kind of like a schnauzer.

  “Everyone is over there!”

  “Not true,” I mutter, lacquering my baby toe with an impressively steady hand. “We’re right here.” And that’s exactly where I plan to stay.

  “Yeah, that’s kind of the problem.” She steeples her hands together before shaking them at me. “Please?” she begs. “Can’t we go over there for a little bit? Just a little? That’s all I’m ask
ing.”

  That’s all she’s asking…ha!

  I’m calling bullshit.

  Alyssa knows I’d rather chew my arm off than crash one of Beck Hollingsworth’s parties. I didn’t mention it to her, but Beck shot me a text earlier this afternoon with all the details. If she even suspected an invitation had been issued, she would have dragged my ass across the lawn that separates our properties as soon as the first guest pulled into the drive.

  No, thank you.

  It’s obvious from all the commotion coming from next door that the entire senior class has shown up to celebrate our newly graduated status. If we didn’t live on a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away in a gated subdivision, I’d expect the police to make an unannounced visit and shut down the festivities.

  Then again, no one wants to mess with Beck’s father, Archibald Hollingsworth. He’s a high-priced attorney with a fleet of underlings working for him. He’s one of those overly tan guys with blindingly white veneers you see on television yapping about if you’ve been injured, you need to call them—they fight for the little guy! The dude is everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. Newspaper and magazine advertisements.

  The local police have tangled with Archibald several times over the years because his son is a magnet for trouble. Let’s see, there was the time (or five) when he was picked up for underage drinking. When Beck was fifteen years old, he borrowed his parent’s brand spanking new Range Rover and did a little off-roading. And the police were involved when he super glued the locks on the high school building doors for senior prank day.

  Instead of hauling Beck to the station every time he’s picked up, they drop him at his front door and don’t bother talking to Archibald about it. Beck is on a first name basis with a number of guys on the force. A few showed up to his graduation party in June.

  It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Beck always figures out a way to circumvent the obstacles standing in his path. His parents. School. The law. It’s as irritating as it is impressive. Maybe one of these days, he’ll use his powers for good instead of evil.

  “Come on, Mia!” Alyssa whines, all the while flashing sad puppy dog eyes at me.

  Double whammy.

  My bestie knows I have a difficult time resisting puppy dog eyes.

  I wiggle my toes from the bed and grumble, “I can’t go anywhere until my nails dry.” I’m doing my best to prolong subjecting myself to the aggravation of being anywhere near Beckett Hollingsworth. The guy drives me bat shit crazy.

  And that’s putting it mildly.

  “Great! So…five minutes?” She swings away before pressing her face against the screen as her voice turns dreamy. “I bet Colton is already there.”

  Ugh.

  Colton Montgomery is Beck’s righthand man, so it’s not a wager I’m likely to win.

  Against my better advice, Alyssa has been crushing hard on Colton for more than a year. Not only is he popular, but he’s a football player. Heavy emphasis on the player part. If Alyssa were smart, she’d find a nice guy to fall in lust with, but she has tunnel vision when it comes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker.

  Colton has it all going on. Brains, brawn, and more than likely, a one-way ticket to the NFL after college.

  The only problem is that he’s aware of his own appeal.

  His ego is as massive as other parts of him.

  Or so I hear.

  And not from Alyssa since he refuses to sleep with her. I can’t decide if the situation is amusing or sad. The more Colton keeps Alyssa at a firm distance, the more determined she is to have him.

  Last football season, Alyssa dragged me to every game. Even the away ones. My greatest fear was that Beck would assume my ass was in the stands in support of him. His fan club is already legendary without adding me to the ranks.

  When it comes to the ladies, Beckett makes Colton look like an innocent babe. He goes through girls like most people go through underwear. Speaking of panties, the girls at our high school are always happy—hell, I’d go so far as to say thrilled—to drop theirs for him.

  It’s ridiculous.

  He’s a chronic user and abuser.

  There should be a warning label slapped across his forehead.

  Beware. Toxic to the female species.

  But you know what?

  That wouldn’t stop these bubble-headed chicks from spreading their legs wide for him. I’ve stopped trying to figure out the appeal. All right, I’m well aware of what the attraction is. As much as I’ve tried to pretend I’m immune to his charms, I’m not. I just do a damn good job of burying them deep down where they never see the light of day. If I didn’t, Beck would annihilate me in a heartbeat, and I have zero desire to end up a casualty on his hit list.

  Given the choice, I’d rather flip through Netflix and find a movie to watch rather than be dragged over to Beck’s bash.

  Doesn’t sitting around in pajamas and stuffing our faces with pizza sound way better than watching a bunch of our classmates get sloppy drunk, engage in way too much PDA, puke all over the place before alcohol poisoning sets in?

  I won’t bother posing the question to Alyssa. There is no way she’ll willingly opt for sitting home instead of stalking her crush.

  Would you like to guess what Colton will be doing while I wipe drool from Alyssa’s chin?

  You guessed it. He’ll be flirting with every vagina he thinks he has a chance of penetrating.

  Honestly, it’s one of the most masochistic things Alyssa could do. I have no idea why she insists on putting herself through this kind of agony. Apparently, my job as her best friend is to support her decision to inflict untold amounts of mental anguish onto herself. I’d slap her upside the head if I thought it would knock sense into her.

  My prediction for the evening goes a little something like this—Alyssa will have a few drinks, moon over Colton, before dissolving into a puddle of tears while that manwhore makes out with other girls in front of her face. Then I’ll drag her home and she’ll end up knuckle-deep in a gallon of triple chocolate ice cream.

  But that’s what friends are for, right?

  Don’t worry, I’ve already made my peace with it.

  “Fine,” I grumble with a scowl, hoping she understands the depth of my reluctance. “But let it be known that I won’t be staying for more than an hour. So you better make good use of your time, girl.”

  She swings around to face me, bouncing on the tips of her toes as she claps her hands together with excitement. “Yay!” As soon as she gets the affirmative, she beelines for my closet, which is half the size of my room.

  I have the kind of closet most girls my age can only dream about. Shoes, purses, clothes, jewelry. It’s all there and organized.

  “Cue the montage music while I find something schmexy to wear!” she squeals.

  “What you have on is fine.” I roll my eyes and yell, “It was good enough for me, wasn’t it?”

  From within the depths of my closet comes a snort.

  For the next ten minutes, I’m treated to an impromptu fashion show. At the rate Alyssa is going, we won’t make it to the party any time soon.

  Take your time, girlfriend. I’m totally good with that.

  A dozen outfit changes later, Alyssa settles on a black knit tank and white skirt that showcases her sun-kissed legs to their best advantage. Alyssa has been taking dance classes since she was three years old. She’s toned with long, lean muscles.

  “Damn girl, you look hot.” Not that her crush will appreciate the effort. Alyssa needs to move on. I’m thinking a twelve-step program would help kick the Chase Montgomery habit.

  “I would gladly live in your closet if you’d let me.” She grins before doing a little twirl. “It’s my happy place.”

  A reluctant smile quirks my lips.

  My mother is a card-carrying shopaholic and has the Amex Black Card bills to prove it. She buys clothes like our house burned to the ground and nothing could be salvaged. Even with racks and racks of space, my wardrobe
is bursting at the seams. Three quarters of the stuff has never seen the light of day. Alyssa is lucky we’re roughly the same size so she can borrow whatever she wants.

  Now that she’s dressed and ready to mingle, her eyes narrow as she takes a hard look at me. Wordlessly, she spins around and races back inside the closet only to resurface a handful of minutes later.

  “Here you go,” she says, tossing two garments at the foot of my bed.

  I glance at the shimmery gold tank and dark wash jean skirt that resembles a folded-up napkin. The skirt is cute as hell, but I would strongly advise against going commando while wearing it unless you’re looking to flash everyone your goodies.

  Since that’s not my usual style, the price tag is still dangling from the pocket. I have no idea what my mother was thinking when she picked it up.

  Unsure why she’s throwing clothes at me, I point to the small pile. “What’s that about?”

  “You need to change.” She gives me a look that says—duh before clapping her hands together. “Chop-chop.”

  Changing my clothes was not part of the plan. I’m fine with going in my pajamas. It’s not like I’m looking for a hookup. Or anything else, for that matter.

  I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “No, thank you.”

  Her gaze rakes over me as she points at my T-shirt. “Is that a coffee stain on your boob?”

  With a frown, I glance at my chest and inspect the dark spot marring the fabric of my right breast. My guess is that she’s right. Caramel Macchiato, to be specific. “Possibly.”

  Her lips flatten. “I refuse to go anywhere with you looking like that.”

  “Great!” I stretch out before stacking my hands behind my head. “What kind of movie night does it feel like to you? Romcom? Horror? Psychological thriller? Angsty tearjerker?” A benevolent smile curves my lips. “You can choose.”