Art laughs, taking a step too closer, and I realize too late that my words and expression might be taken as flirtation, in the dim light and close quiet of the garden. “If I didn’t, wouldn’t you have told me to fuck off already?”
I take another swallow of wine, feeling nerves creep over my skin. I’m naive when it comes to these things, I know that, but I can feel the direction that this is headed in. I wish suddenly that I were inside, in my room, that Max was here–anything other than being alone with Art in the garden. I can feel the gut-clenching, cold fear of the memories of being alone with a man who wanted something from me before, and I swallow hard, trying not to panic.
“Maybe I’m just being polite,” I manage, trying to keep my voice from catching. “You’re Max’s brother, after all.”
“Or maybe you realize that Max isn’t ever going to want you more than he wants to feel the sweet pain of devotion to something that will never keep him warm at night–but that he’s not the only man here that wants you.” Art’s smile fades, his green eyes locking onto mine with something more heated than before. “Maybe you realize that someone elsecouldbe right for you. I have as much money as Max, but I, unlike him, know how to have fun with it. I could show yousomany things, Sasha. I could take you all over Europe–”
“You don’t know me.” I shake my head, setting down my wine glass. “You have no idea of anything about me that means anything. You don’t know my past, what I’ve been through, or even why I’m here. Those are all things thatMaxknows about me.”
“What if you told me?” Art raises a shoulder, still watching me. “I’ve been trying to get to know you, Sasha. I’ve been taking this slow.”
“Takingwhatslow? There’s never been anything here.” I stare at him, wide-eyed. “I’ve said time and again that I think Max is overreacting with how he treats you, but that doesn’t meanItrust you completely, either. I don’t know you any more than you know me.”
“Then ask me anything you want.” Art steps forward again, his wine glass abandoned now too, and before I can stop him or move out of the way on the close garden path, his hand snakes around my waist. “But before we spend more time talking–”
His other hand grips the side of my waist, too, pulling me into him, and I slap my hands against his chest as he pulls me close, but it’s as if he doesn’t feel it–or doesn’t care. His mouth crashes down on mine, firm and hot and insistent, and my hands fist in his shirt as I try to jerk my head away.
I turn my face to one side, but Art’s hand comes up, tangling in my hair as he drags my mouth back to his, his tongue an onslaught against my lips as I hear him groan, and I cry out, trying to get free.
“Sasha?”
I freeze in place in Art’s arms, my blood turning to ice as I hear Max’s voice coming from the garden path behind him.
20
MAX
Ican’t quite believe what I’m seeing at first.
I’d left the party as soon as I’d spoken and mingled with the men I needed to meet with the most, and as soon as I could without giving offense. I wanted to be back home–not because I craved being at the estate, but because I wanted to see Sasha, to tell her how things had gone, to reassure her.
She hadn’t been in the house when I’d returned. I’d walked all over, looking in all the usual rooms, only to remember how pleasant of a night it is, and head out towards the gardens to see if she’d walked out there.
As it turns out, she had.
I just hadn’t expected to find Art with her.
It takes me a moment to understand what I’m seeing–Sasha clasped in his arms, her hands clutching his shirt, his hand tangled in her hair as she lets out a low, whimpering cry, her body arched against his. She’s kissed me just that way so many times that I canfeelthe echo of it against my skin, the way her slender body feels in my arms, the silkiness of her hair trailing through my fingers, the sound of her small cries of pleasure and the way she squirms against me, wanting more.
I feel cold and hot with rage and hurt all at once, my hands curling into fists at my sides as I stare at them for a split second, feeling something within me turn black with fury. I’d known Sasha would move on one day. It’s an inevitability, and I’d only just been at a party with a woman who could very well become my fiancee. Just as I might have to seek someone else as my partner for what I need, Sasha very well might do the same–a pain I tell myself every day that I can accept.
But withArt?
All I can think in that brief instant is that she’s trying to hurt me–and that it’s worked.
“Sasha?” I can hear the surprise and anger in my voice, and I see her stiffen, twisting out of Art’s arms and breaking away from him as she whirls to face me. I see him grab for her, but she’s already rushing towards me, her face moonlight-pale.
“All it took was one night where I’m not here?” The words come out of my mouth like a whip crack, before she can speak, and she flinches back as if I’d actually hit her.
“Max–”
“You know what?” I look between the two of them, at the twin wine glasses on the bench, and the anger burns through me with a ferocity to match anything I’d felt before. “I don’t fucking care. But if you don’t want to watch me put my hands on your new lover, then you should get up to the house before I change my mind and beat the shit out of my own brother.”
The voice speaking doesn’t even sound like my own; the words don’t sound as if they belong to me. I can hear it as if it’s someone else, low and harsh and rasping, vicious, and Sasha recoils, tears springing to her eyes.
“He’s not–”
“Go!” I shout at her, and she jerks back, spinning on her heel and fleeing towards the mansion. I turn towards Art, and he backs up, raising his hands.