Snare (Falling Stars #3) (15 page)

Knowing her, she definitely did.

"It's alright," Sid sighs, finishing Cass' hair and handing her a mirror. "And to answer your question, I don't know."

"You don't—"

"Mom, how about we drop it?"

The look my mother gives me is all too familiar. It's her don't-make-me-slap-you-boy look.

"I'm just curious," she snaps.

"I'm trying to decide a game plan. Buying out my partner, finding someone to buy me out, or just trying to sell the business to a third party."

Sid leans back into her chair, her eyes on my mother.

"But this is your baby, correct?" my mother presses.

Sid nods. "Yes, but I have a feeling a third party buyer is going to be my only option in this situation."

"To get rid of this…" mom pauses, looks over the papers, and looks back at Sid, "Paul person."

Sid's body goes rigid, the muscles in her jaw tightening.

Paul. That must be the little fucker's name.

"Yes," she says through clenched teeth.

"I see," my mom says.

I don't miss the look on my mother's face. The wheels are turning. She's planning something.

Most people make the mistake of thinking my mother's a bimbo without a brain. It's an assumption that's followed her most of her life, and even more so when she started doing porn. What people don't realize is mom is kind of a badass. She doesn't think like everyone else and it's why she's a porn star and not just an actor doing porn—and there
is
a difference.

"I'm hungry," Nate announces, pushing off the couch.

"Let's make smores." Cass stands from the floor, following her cousin.

I glance back at my mother and find the kids have distracted her from the conversation with Sid. She trails after them, telling them where the chocolate bars are.

After two hours filled with smores, hot chocolate, popcorn, and the longest game of Life in history, the kids are cleaning up and planning to watch a movie on the projector screen in the game room.

"Dad, you always end up with two sets of twins." Lyra puts the little pegs back in the baggie.

"Yeah, I noticed that, too." Cass folds the game board.

"Maybe it's his destiny," Ian says with a ghostly voice, wiggling his fingers in the air.

I chuckle and carry my beer to the chair near the fire. Settling in, I add another log and stoke the flames.

"Don't be an idiot." Lyra rolls her eyes, placing the lid back on the box. "Help clean up so Nate doesn't choose one of those car racing movies."

"I still can't believe I didn't see the projector." Sid shakes her head, stuffing her laptop into a black bag.

"It's a miniature one in the ceiling," Ian explains, pointing up. "And the screen retracts too."

Pushing away from the table, he stands and starts for the stairs. On the way, he hooks a finger into Lyra's mouth and pulls. Then, he runs for his life.

"You jerk!" she screams, chasing him.

"Ian," Em yells after her son. "What did we talk about!"

Laughter pours from Sid. So much, she holds her stomach.

"I better go stop her from killing him." Cass sighs and walks in the direction of the arguing.

"You're just going to sit there?" Em glares at me.

I shrug and take a drink from the bottle in my hand, raking a hand through my hair.

"Your son started it," I tease.

Growling, she gets off the couch, walks up, and messes my hair.

"Was that really necessary?" I set the beer on the floor and use both hands to push the hair from my face.

"No," she sighs, "but it made me feel better."

With quick strides, she reaches the top of the stairs, descends, and starts yelling at Ian.

No matter how many times I comb through my hair, I can't keep it out of my face.
Damn sisters.

"Do you have a hair tie over there?" I glance toward Sid.

With her bag over her shoulder, she starts digging through a smaller pink bag the girls brought down and grins. The grin scares me.

"I'm afraid just this one." Using the fingers of both hands, she launches a neon rainbow hairband.

It hits the side of my head before falling to the floor. Her laughter follows.

I grab the tie from the floor, knot my hair at the crown of my head, and bring my eyes back to her.

She's grinning, wide and beautiful. All evening, she sat across from me, her smile, quick wit, and laughter taunting me, seducing me.

Fuck, I want her and she's not in a good place, but…

"Sid?" I call out before I can stop myself.

"What?" she asks, hesitant, and gives me a side-eye.

"Come here," I say, and it's not a request.

"Oh, do you want the nail polish, too?" She drops her bag and starts digging into the pink bag again.

She pulls out the same purple color the girls used and holds it up.

"Come here," I say again, growing impatient.

Does she realize what she does to me?

Her teasing, the smile she's wearing, and the amusement in her eyes makes my body burn. Need courses through my veins and it's hotter than the flames roaring next to me.

"Are we going to braid each other's hair, tell each other our secrets, and paint purple vaginas on our toes?" She feigns excitement.

My need bursts beneath my skin, soaking into my muscles. I tense and push out of the chair. Our eyes meet and what she sees in mine makes the smile fall from her lips.

Holding her gorgeous stormy blue eyes, I stalk toward her. She takes one step back and bumps into a dining table chair.

With only inches between us, I reach out, snag her waist with my left arm, and cup the side of her head with my right. Her hands come to my chest, one palm flat and pressing, the other fisted around the nail polish. I tip my head and tilt her face, my thumb resting beneath her jaw.

"Listen, tiger, if you're asking me to have a girls night with you, I'm saying fuck yeah. You think I haven't done that shit with my girls? I paint an awesome toe."

Her mouth pops open and a heavy breath escapes her lips.

Moving closer, I brush my lips over hers before turning my head and placing my lips near her ear. "As for my secrets," I rumble, and my hand slips around to the small of her back, pulling her closer, "you want them, they're yours, but I'll be confessing them between your thighs."

My next move is as hard as my cock.

I release her and step back, putting space between us.

Her body sways forward, but she catches herself.

"You just say the word and I'm there," I say, dropping my eyes to the juncture between her thighs to make my point.

I rake my eyes back up her body and lick my lips, praying she'll say the fucking word.

Eyes wide and hands shaking, she rubs them over her hips and clears her throat.

"So, you're in touch with your feminine side," she clears her throat again, "good to know."

Twisting, she grabs her black bag from the floor and hauls it back onto her shoulder. She starts to walk away, but spins around to set the purple nail polish on the table before going upstairs.

"Any chance you can give Andrew lessons?" Em asks, teasing.

"Oh, please, your husband's Italian. I know how hot Italian blood can run," Mom admonishes Ember.

I swing my gaze toward them and see her and my mother seated at the island, both holding a glass of wine and wearing large grins.

"You're just like your father," Mom exclaims.

"No way, Dad?" Em gasps.

Mom nods emphatically. "Oh yes, he's quite skilled…with his mouth." She smiles and takes a sip from her glass.

"Mom," Em and I shout at the same time.

"Oh, shut up," she says. "You're both adults and it's not like there isn't video as proof."

She waves her hand in the air, draining the last of the red wine.

Chapter Twelve
Sidra

I place my bag on the floor when I really want to slam it down, and move to the closet. Pulling my clothes from hangers, I move to my empty suitcase and throw the pieces in without folding.

Damn him and his hot and cold bullshit! Who in the fuck does he think he is?

I stomp to the dresser and empty each drawer, one by one, into the luggage. Kneeling down, I yank out underwear, some jeans, socks, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. The pants and shirt are comfortable enough for the trip home tomorrow.

Throwing them into a pile, I start shoving everything else down.

This morning, he couldn't get off me quick enough, and now, in front of his mom and sister, he pulls that shit. Stupid overgrown hairball.

With one last shove, I stand, and remember I didn't take out pajamas for tonight.

"Ugh," I groan, loud.

"What are you doing?" His voice surprises me, but it also inflames my anger.

"What's it look like, genius?" I snap before leaning down and digging into the clothes to pull out shorts and a t-shirt.

"Why are you packing?" He sounds closer, but I refuse to look at him.

"I'm leaving," I state, shoving the clothes back down.

"You're not driving down the mountain tonight," he orders, and it pisses me off more.

I straighten, whip my body around, and glare up at him.

"If I wanted to leave right now, I would, and you wouldn't fucking stop me," I growl.

He steps closer, towering above me, trying to intimidate. It does the opposite. Furious, I move closer, press my chest to his, and raise a brow in challenge.

"You aren't driving, in the dark, down a snow-covered mountain, city girl." His brow furrows above his angry eyes.

"Stop telling me what I can and can't do, Sasquatch!" Using my index finger, I poke his chest.

He catches my finger in his hand, his chest heaving, nostrils flaring.

Fuck, if it isn't hot as hell.
And I'm all kinds of stupid to think so. Like every other man in the world, he wants the challenge to conquer. When they know they can have it, they no longer desire it. Proven just this morning when I stupidly offered myself up like a sacrifice to this King Kong sized bastard.

"Let go," I shout, pulling my finger from his grip.

His eyes burn into mine, the heat of his gaze penetrating me in powerful waves. My body absorbs them like it needs him to live. Fisting my hands at my sides, I fight between the urge to hit him and the desire to rip his clothes from his body.

The fact that I want this impossibly confusing and bossy man sends a sobering chill up my spine.
He doesn't want you—just the challenge.
Not trusting myself to touch him, I settle for turning and walking away.

"I'm leaving in the morning," I mumble, grabbing my pile of clothes from the floor.

His silence annoys me, but I don't look back as I enter the bathroom and close the door.

I jump in the shower and take my time going through the full routine of shaving, washing, scrubbing, and conditioning. Then, sitting on the edge of the tub, I rub my favorite lotion into my skin.

"Damn," I grumble to myself when I get a splat of lotion in my palm.

Shaking the tube, I try again and get what little is left.

I sigh and make a mental note to visit Wendy's shop when I get home. Wendy, the owner of Wendy's Organic Emporium, turned me into a devoted member of her overpriced products when we were in college.

Thinking back to that time, a chill runs over my skin. I shove the memories down and remember the gift she had given me before I left campus for good. Wendy didn't judge or condemn me. Instead, she gave me a basket full of homemade organic soap in a multitude of scents.

Not only did I fall in love with the honeysuckle soap, but eventually her shampoo and conditioner—in the same scent, of course—became my go-to products. They seem to be the only products able to tame my hair.

After removing the top of the lotion tube and rolling the body to squeeze out the last bit, I toss it into a trashcan.

I slip into my cotton shorts with red lips printed all over and dark gray shirt that says
I shaved my balls for this
, brush my hair, and exit the bathroom. I'm surprised to find the room empty, and that relief is followed by disappointment as I slip into bed alone.

It's still dark when I pull the messy bun tighter against my scalp and lift my bags onto my shoulder. I grip the last bag and pull it along behind me as quietly as possible.

When my cell phone alarm woke me this morning, I immediately knew I was still the only person in the bed. I wasn't sweating or drowning in the heat of the oversized man who had wrapped himself around me the past couple nights.

It was oddly unnerving to be alone, without him there for me to shove off.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, lift my bag, and quietly descend the stairs. Clearly, I need to get out of here without seeing him. Things have gotten out of hand being here with him. It's time for us to push a reset button.

Using an elbow, I guide myself slowly down each step.

I reach the first floor and readjust my bags before moving toward the front door for my shoes and coat. At such an early time, the cabin is silent and dark.

"Sneaking out?"

His question startles a screech out of me and I drop my bags. Spinning around, I squint into the shadows lining the living room. "You scared the shit out of me," I whisper yell.

Still unable to see him, I continue to peer into the darkness.

He doesn't speak again and I have a flight to catch.

"Uh, thanks for letting me use the cabin," I rush out in a hush before turning and slipping my boots on my feet.

"You're just going to sneak out?" A humorless laugh follows his question. Keeping my eyes on the wall of coats, I take a deep breath.

"I'm not sneaking," I declare.

"Tiptoeing down the stairs to the door isn't—"

I spin around and find him standing a couple feet behind me. "I was trying not to wake anyone." It's partly true.

"Anyone meaning me?" He crosses his arms over his chest.

"Anyone meaning everyone in the house." I mimic his stance.

"You don't have to leave today. You know you can take a flight tomorrow," he whispers harshly.

I square my shoulders and keep silent while mentally telling myself to stay strong and not fall for his hot and cold bullshit again.

Dropping his arms, he runs a hand through his shoulder length hair.

"Sid…" he starts, saying my name like a plea.

In the dim light, I can see the lines around his pained eyes.

My heart thumps as heat climbs from the pit of my stomach over my chest.

Space. Distance.

Releasing my crossed arms, I grab my coat, then reach down and gather my bags. "Thanks for letting me use your cabin," I rush out before quickly exiting through the front door.

The sound of a thud against the glass door jolts my body, but doesn't stop me. Instead, I take quicker steps to the rental car. Bags loaded, I slip into the driver's seat and start the car.

I give in to the urge and look up at the door.

Through the wooden slats of the porch, I can see the outline of his body, his forehead to the glass.

Gripping the steering wheel tight, I keep myself from exiting the car. But I sit there too long because the door opens and he emerges. His steps are long and quick.

Run. It's the challenge he wants—not you. Go now before you get drawn in again, before you actually believe he wants you.

Panic widens my eyes and pushes me into motion.

Shifting into reverse, I slam on the gas and the car jolts back. My feet stomp on the brakes, giving my body a hard jerk.

I slant my eyes to the right, finding Xavier standing at the bottom of the steps, his hands fisted at each of his sides.

"Sidra, wait," he yells.

Throwing the car into drive, I hurry away from the cabin and Xavier.

I glance in the rearview mirror, catching Xavier jogging to the space I just pulled away from. His arms come up and he plants his hands on the top of his head, watching me drive away.

Focusing on the road before me, I ignore the sadness creeping over me and how wrong it feels to drive away from the cabin, his family…and him.

"Oh my God," I shout at myself, "this is fucking ridiculous.

You don't even like him.

I stab the radio button with my fingers and let the music drown out every stupid thought I have about Xavier. The feelings aren't as easily deterred, but I know how to bury those—just give me some time and space.

Xavier

"It's a bit early for whiskey. Don't you think?" Em says to my back before grabbing the bottle from the island in front of me.

Placing the bottle near the sink, she turns and leans back against it. Her eyes roam over me.

I fist my tumbler glass, stare directly into her eyes, and drink.

"I know today is a bad day for you, Xavier, but don't forget your daughters are here." She pushes away from the counter, comes to stand across the island from me, and snatches the glass from my hand. "Plus, you have a guest here, who—"

I snort at the mention of Sid and Em furrows her brow. "What's that about?" she asks.

"My
guest
left hours ago," I inform, trying to reclaim my glass.

She pulls it out of my reach.

"Damn it, Ember, give me the glass," I growl.

Ignoring me, she asks, "Did you ask her to stay?"

I rub my palms over my face and groan.

"Did you?" she presses.

Dropping my hands, I level a look at her.

"I told her she could stay and fly out tomorrow."

"So, you were a pussy and didn't ask her." It's not a question.

"Leave your brother alone," Mom says, breezing into the kitchen.

Great, now she's going to get involved.

"He's a grown man," Em states, turning toward our mother, "even though he's acting like a brooding teenager at the moment."

"Ember," our mother warns.

Em gives an exasperated sigh before pushing away from the island and moving to the coffee machine. She presses the button and the scent of coffee begins to fill the air.

"Sid's gone?" my mother asks.

I nod and she sighs.

"Xavier, I like Sid. I really do, but—"

"Jesus, Mom, I don't need a fucking lecture about women, okay?" I sit back roughly and the wooden chair creaks under my weight.

"I'm not lecturing you about women," she snaps, narrowing her eyes and planting her hands on the counter between us. "Both of you are going through some things right now. That girl has a lot on her plate at the moment and jumping into whatever you think you want is probably a horrible idea."

I open my mouth, preparing to tell my own mother to shut up, which will probably end my life, but she points one long perfectly manicured finger at me.