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  As an observer, I saw it in full force—the ideal West family with the successful, wealthy parents and attractive children. The flaw of Archer’s rebelliousness marred the perfection just enough to make them even more intriguing.

  After most of the food had been devoured, the men gathered in the den to watch football while the women gossiped and fixed coffee.

  “You ever been to California before, Olivia?” Archer West pushed a chair away from the patio table and sat down beside me. Too close.

  “It’s Liv,” I said, edging away a little. “And yes.”

  “Yeah? Where?” His voice was friendly, conversational, unlike the sly tone he’d used earlier that morning.

  “LA,” I said. “And Santa Cruz.”

  Santa Cruz was just over the mountain, less than forty-five minutes away. My heart clenched at the thought of Twelve Oaks, of North.

  Archer lifted a hand to shield the glare of the sun. “Otherwise you’re from Wisconsin?”

  I nodded. “Where do you live?”

  “Wherever the wind takes me.” He gave me an engaging grin, his teeth flashing white.

  “Do you work?” I asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Wow.” He leaned forward, studying me with a gaze that was unnervingly like Dean’s. “Third degree, huh? You majoring in law?”

  “Literature and library sciences.”

  Archer laughed. “Good lord. No wonder you like big brother.”

  I got the dynamic. Archer was the baby of the family, the messed-up dropout who couldn’t hold a job and tried to mooch money off his mother. And eldest brother Dean was the responsible overachiever who excelled at everything.

  “Hell of a starched shirt, though, isn’t he?” Archer continued. “He was like that as a kid. No surprise. Got all his weekend homework done on Friday night. Took AP courses. Was always on time. Class president. Football hero. You name it, big brother succeeded at it. He could do no wrong.” He shook his head. “Jesus, the fawning that went on over him…”

  “Resent it much?” I asked, unable to prevent the challenging note in my voice.

  “Nah.” He shrugged. “No one has any expectations for the screw-up.”

  No one had had any expectations for me either, but that was exactly the reason I’d had to create them for myself.

  A rush of animosity filled me. Archer West came from a wealthy family who’d likely tried to give him everything, and for some reason he’d thrown it all in their faces. Dean had had the same upbringing and hadn’t made a mess of his life. Just the opposite.

  I shaded my eyes from the sun as Richard West crossed the lawn and climbed the terrace steps.

  “Hey, old man.” Archer tilted his head toward me. “I was just chatting with Dean’s new girlfriend. Nice that he brought someone home, isn’t it?”

  “I want you out of here by tomorrow morning,” Richard told him.

  “Hey, did I tell you I’m looking for an investor for my new bar?” Archer examined his fingers, digging a ring of dirt out from beneath his thumbnail. “If I find one, I could be on the road in half an hour. If not—”

  Richard moved forward so fast that I flinched at the blur of motion. If there hadn’t been people milling around nearby, I swear he would have hit his son. Instead he stopped right in front of Archer, his voice lowering. “Don’t you threaten me.”

  “Dad.” Dean’s voice cut into the sudden fury. He pushed himself between his father and brother. “Back off, both of you.”

  Richard held up his hands, his eyes shooting daggers at his younger son before he stalked inside.

  “Have a seat, bro.” Archer recovered his composure as he slouched back into his chair. “Liv was telling me all about her studies. You got yourself a girl who’s both smart and pretty. Nice work. Better than that cold fish Helen.”

  “Shut up, Archer.” Dean took my arm and tugged me to my feet. “Come on, Liv.”

  “Dean doesn’t like cold fishes,” Archer continued. “And you don’t look like one to me, Liv, I can tell you that.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Dean snapped.

  The instant Archer looked from Dean to me, I saw a realization click in his brain. Apprehension filled my chest.

  “Stay away from him,” Dean told me as he pulled me away from his brother, back toward the house. “He’ll be gone tomorrow morning.”

  Dean didn’t leave my side for the next couple of hours. By late afternoon, several of the guests had gone home while the others sat out on the terrace with the last of the coffee and pie to watch a pickup football game between neighbors.

  The Coleman brothers were three athletic-looking men in their late twenties and early thirties who had greeted Archer and Dean like long-lost friends. I learned they’d all grown up on the same street and had known each other since they were kids. Two cousins joined the game, along with the Coleman patriarch Brian to even out the teams.

  I sat to the side on the terrace as the players haggled back and forth about the teams, where the goal lines would be, and which trees would serve as sidelines. I was glad everyone else was worn out from food and conversation because it meant there were no distractions as I sat watching Dean in motion.

  A thing of beauty, if ever there was one.

  He had changed into frayed jeans and a T-shirt, and his lean, muscular body arched with natural grace as he leapt to catch the ball and run. The sight of him was enough to get my pulse racing—his thighs flexing beneath his jeans, the way his T-shirt rode up to expose the flat, hard muscles of his abdomen, the wind ruffling his thick hair. He was playing quarterback and threw an interception.

  “Still got that rag arm, big brother,” Archer called as he dashed just past Dean’s outstretched arm and beyond for a touchdown.

  After Dean’s team got the ball back, he threw a long pass down the sideline to Matthew Coleman. Matthew turned to run upfield. Archer was right beside him, thrusting out his arm to knock the ball from Matthew’s hands.

  With eight testosterone-and-turkey-fueled men playing, the game soon took on a hard, competitive edge. Archer had a more hotheaded style than Dean, which didn’t surprise me. Whereas Dean’s power was coiled, contained, Archer moved and reacted with a barely leashed energy, as if he were about to explode at any moment.

  It also became clear that Archer and Dean brought their personal stuff into the game. Dean eyed his brother every time they lined up, and Archer made a point of going after Dean whenever he had the ball, several times tackling him with what seemed like unnecessary force.

  The game progressed with lots of running, shouts, taunting. Archer’s team led by a touchdown. Dean gripped the ball with both hands and dropped it, his right foot connecting with it several feet from the ground.

  The ball sailed forty yards into the crisp breeze, and it looked like the other team might let it bounce through the end zone. At the last moment Archer lunged and grabbed the ball, turning upfield in one smooth motion. James Coleman brought him down with a thud that made Joanna West stand up.

  “Is he all right?” she asked as Brian helped Archer back to his feet.

  “He’s fine, Mom.” Paige sounded bored.

  The men lined up. Archer got the ball and ran for the goal line. Dean closed in on him. Archer thrust out an arm, slamming his elbow into his brother’s chest. Dean grunted. He stumbled backward, but managed to strip the ball loose from Archer’s hands and fall on it as he was going down.

  The players lined up again. Dean’s mouth set into a hard slash. Grass stained his jeans and shirt, and there was a scrape on his jaw. Matthew snapped the ball. Dean caught it and backed up, looking downfield for an open receiver.

  “Go deep!” he yelled at James.

  “Hey, Dean, that’s what your hot girlfriend said to me last ni
ght!” Archer shouted gleefully from the other end of the field.

  My heart lurched.

  Joanna West gasped.

  Dean froze. For half a second.

  Then his anger exploded. He slammed the ball to the ground and raced toward his brother. He was a blur of movement as he passed the terrace, but I saw his face—a mask of rage and hatred.

  Oh, no. No…

  Dean lunged at Archer so hard that the thud of their bodies hitting the ground shook the earth. Shock paralyzed everyone. Dean wrestled his brother to his back, then threw a leg over him and straddled him. He drew a fist back, his whole body unleashing in a series of fast blows.

  Archer yelped. He had no time to counterattack. His legs kicked out, his torso twisting as he struggled to escape the relentless punches. Dean’s fists flew, striking him again and again. His muscles bunched beneath his shirt, his jaw clenched. He slammed a fist into Archer’s nose. Blood spurted.

  “Do something!” Joanna screamed.

  The sound spurred the other men into action. Richard West was not one of them. He stood at the sidelines, watching his younger son get pummeled.

  Matthew and James grabbed Dean’s arms and tried to pull him off. A growl tore from Dean’s throat as he shoved them away and kept thrashing his brother. Another punch. Another strike. More blood.

  Holy Christ…

  I ran before I could think, my shoes slamming against the grass. I heard someone shout my name. Wind whistled past my ears. Dean’s fists were a blur, rage firing with every sharp movement. Another Coleman brother tried to yank Dean away.

  Beneath him, Archer tried to curl up defensively, his hands over his face. Dean punched through every opening, refusing to stop.

  “Dean!”

  Not knowing what else to do, I tackled him, bracing myself against his flying fists. His knuckle caught me under the jaw. Stars burst behind my eyes. Pain lanced through me.

  I threw my arms around him from behind and held on, praying he would listen. He was rigid, rock-hard with fury, his breath sawing through the air. He seized Archer’s collar and pulled back for another blow.

  “Stop,” I gasped. “Dean, stop. Please, please stop!”

  He stopped in mid-motion. The instant was long enough for me to shove him to the side. We tumbled to the grass. I landed on top of him and grasped his wrists, pinning him to the ground. His chest heaved beneath mine.

  I stared into his rage-dark eyes.

  “Stop,” I whispered. “Stop.”

  He stared back at me, his breath rasping against my neck. I released one of his wrists and put my hand on his cheek.

  “It’s okay.” My voice shook. I brushed my palm over his hair. “It’s okay.”

  Some of the rigidity drained from his muscles. One of his arms clamped around my waist, locking our bodies together. I lowered my forehead to his chest. His heart pounded.

  “Dean! Are you all right?” Paige shoved at my shoulder. “Get off him, Liv.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Dean growled.

  I closed my eyes. I absorbed the feeling of him beneath me, the gradual slackening of his body, the subduing anger. My thoughts and emotions tangled in a knotted mess I couldn’t even begin to unravel.

  Slowly I lifted my head and opened my eyes to meet Dean’s unreadable gaze. A bruise marked his jaw, and blood was smeared beneath his nose.

  A fraught tension coiled through the air. I was struck by the sense that something was about to break wide open, like an egg dropped from a vast height.

  Voices rose in a pitch of agitation. I turned to find the Coleman brothers surrounding Archer, who was struggling against their restraining arms, his face bruised and bloody and hard with anger.

  “You asshole!” Archer yelled at Dean, trying to dart forward. The Colemans fought him back.

  “Archer, come inside,” Joanna pleaded.

  I pushed myself to a sitting position. Dean climbed to his feet and scraped his hands through his hair. Strain lined his body, but at least now he appeared in control of his rage. His face was scratched and bleeding from where Archer had gotten a few punches in. He took my hand and pulled me up.

  “Dean!” Paige hurried toward her brother. “Dean, how could you—”

  He held up a hand to stop her.

  “We’ll…” My voice broke. I tightened my grip on Dean. “We’ll go clean up.” I gave him a gentle tug. “Come on.”

  I managed to get him into the house without another confrontation. Voices came from the kitchen, where I assumed the rest of the group was tending to Archer. I heard the word hospital and winced.

  Before I could turn toward the stairs, Dean pushed me into the library. He slammed and locked the door behind him. Dim light and silence descended.

  I pressed my palms to my face. My jaw ached from both the blow and trying to restrain my tears.

  I felt Dean’s gaze. He latched a hand around my wrist.

  “What the hell?” He cupped my chin with his other hand and turned me toward him, brushing his fingers beneath my jaw where a bruise must have formed. “Did I do that?”

  “It was an accident. It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Goddammit, Liv.” Self-directed anger speared his expression.

  Oh, Dean.

  “Don’t.” Tears burned my eyes. “I’m okay.”

  A ripple of anger coursed through him. Blackness concealed the gold flecks in his eyes. I stepped back, my heart thudding.

  “Dean?”

  He advanced, coiled with leashed energy, his fists bunching at his sides. “I want you.”

  “I’m… I’m yours.”

  “I want to fuck you. Hard.”

  Shock jolted me. My hips hit the big oak desk. “You—”

  He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in almost painfully. Tension knotted his muscles. His eyes blazed with heat.

  “I need to know you’re mine. That you’re all mine.”

  “I am.” A dark, thrilling arousal spiraled through me at the anger-edged lust emanating from him. “Of course I am.”

  “Let me.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He hauled me against him, his lips crashing down on mine. He pushed his tongue into my mouth with a sharp, possessive gesture, as if he wanted to mark me, claim me. The length of my body pressed against his, every one of his muscles still locked tight. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, the burn of his blood.

  Heat rocketed through me. I grasped his biceps, stunned by the flood of excitement. He dug his fingers into my hips and hauled me up onto the edge of the desk, his mouth never ceasing its plundering of mine. He kissed me, licked me, bit my lower lip, dragged his mouth down to nip the throbbing vein at the side of my neck.

  I inhaled sharply, spreading my legs around his hips. He shoved himself between my thighs, already hard through his jeans. With a sweep of his arm, he sent the desk clutter behind me crashing to the floor, pens and paper scattering.

  I pushed my hands underneath his blood-spattered T-shirt, sliding my palms over his damp skin, the rigidity of his muscles. He yanked my skirt up my thighs, his mouth close to my ear.

  “Take these fucking things off,” he hissed.

  My heart pulsed. I pushed him away so that I could slither out of my pantyhose and drop them to the floor. Dean tangled his fingers into my underwear, brushing against my sex. I fumbled for the button-fly of his jeans, but my hands were shaking too much. He stepped back and kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned his fly and shoved his jeans and boxers off. His erection sprang up between us, thick and heavy. My throat went dry.

  “Oh, God, Dean.”

  I reached for him. He pressed his palm to my breastbone and pushed me back onto the desk. He took hold of my blouse and ripped it right down the middle. A fever da
rkened his eyes. I undid my bra, aching for him to touch my breasts. Panting, I twisted, rubbing my spread sex against the head of his cock as he bent to take my nipple between his teeth.

  An intense shudder vibrated to my toes. He slid his hand down my belly, beneath my underwear. His forefinger ran over my folds, spurring my excitement higher. I tightened my legs around his hips.

  I need to know you’re mine.

  His rough voice echoed in my lust-fogged mind. Didn’t he know that already? How else could I show him?

  He pulled my underwear over my legs. A gust of air brushed against my sex. Dean pushed his hands under my thighs, opening me to him fully. For an instant, his hot eyes met mine before he plunged his cock into me.

  I was ready. He’d warned me, asked me, prepared me. But the intensity of his thrust, the sheer power of it, rocked me to the core. My emotions exploded. I cried out in sudden shock, clutching his rigid arms. Sparks spread through my nerves as my inner flesh tightened around his pulsing shaft.

  He gripped my thighs, keeping me open, as he thrust again and again, a relentless fucking that shook the desk and made my body bounce. I arched upward, drenched in the fog of desire, the dawning knowledge that I was binding myself inextricably to this man, and that I did not want to be free.

  Leashed urgency pulsed through his muscles. His T-shirt dampened with sweat, smearing the remnants of his and his brother’s blood. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. My whole body ached and throbbed.

  “Dean!” I gasped, bucking upward to match his deep thrusts.

  “Come on, my beauty. Fuck me.” He stilled suddenly, pressing my thighs open, watching me with a seething intensity that made my heart tremble. His hair fell across his forehead. A flush burned along the crest of his cheekbones.

  His cock was halfway inside me. With a moan, I pushed forward, impaling myself on him. I squirmed, twisting to try and repeat his heavy plunges. It wasn’t the same, I needed more, needed his power… and then he thrust forward again and filled me.