"They're not going to find out about us." A deep masculine voice cut through Kat Roberts's muddled thoughts.
She jerked her gaze away from the street view through the town house's kitchen window. It didn't feel like home, but it was her father's fiancée's house, and she would be coming here for future holidays while studying at Cambridge. She would have to get used to it, even the servants appearing around the corner unexpectedly. Maybe after a while it would feel like home if she spent enough time here.
"Kat." That voice, with its sexy British accent, was the reason she'd gotten into this mess. That voice and its owner were completely irresistible, impossibly seductive.
A tall, dark, and sexy dream. No woman could resist that. She hadn't been able to. Since their kiss in the middle of a pub one snowy night, she'd been falling hopelessly in love with him more and more each passing day. With a man she couldn't have.
Tristan Kingsley. He was a twenty—five—year—old bad boy, a business student at Cambridge, and the future Earl of Pembroke. He was a heartbreaker, and she couldn't stay out of his bed. But most importantly, he was her future stepbrother. Her father had just gotten engaged to his mother, and they were planning their wedding, much to Kat's and Tristan's dismay.
If Dad finds out I've been sleeping with my future stepbrother…
Tristan cleared his throat. "Don't worry. I promise no one will know."
When she looked his way, her mouth went dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, making it hard to form words. He always had that effect on her, and she finally understood that expression about a man being a tall drink of water. He made her thirsty just looking at him.
He was leaning one hip against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. The black trousers showed off his long, muscled legs, and the white dress shirt he wore was unrestrained by a tie, the open collar revealing his throat. She loved to grip that collar when she dragged his head down for a kiss. She glimpsed the sensitive patch of skin she'd spent last night kissing because it made his hips jerk when he was inside her. But her feelings for him were so much more than just physical.
There was something about him, the way he stood at ease, yet every part of his body was hard as steel, like he carried the burden of the responsibility for others on his shoulders. Tristan tried to hide that part of himself when he was with her, but she sensed it was never far from the surface. His sculpted features were undeniable in their beauty and brought to life by his intense, often quiet study of the world around him. He had an air that said he was a cut above others, but what she'd thought was arrogance was actually confidence. She loved that he wasn't afraid to be himself in a world that put too much pressure on a person being someone they weren't. His strength gave her strength, too, which was something she desperately needed after yesterday.
When they'd gone to Harrods to buy a Christmas tree for his mother's town house, paparazzi had tracked Tristan down inside the store. Kat had been overwhelmed by the flashing cameras and questions shouted, but Tristan had kept his calm, and they'd hidden in a broom closet until the reporters lost them.
She'd tasted the pressures of Tristan's position and the nonstop involvement of the news in his personal life. It was apparent that she didn't fit into his glittering world of titled men and women with grand estates, lofty expectations, and an existence that was open to public scrutiny.
Yet when they kissed…well, it was a case of a match meeting a keg of gunpowder, and all the fears and worries of not belonging with him faded away. She just went up in flames whenever he touched her. No man had ever made her feel so wild…so alive. She couldn't walk away from him, even knowing how risky their situation was. She and Tristan weren't blood related, but her dad would freak out if he found his nineteen—year—old daughter sleeping with a man like Tristan. He was a notorious playboy who'd broken hearts and spent nights in the beds of some of London's most famous bachelorettes.
He was her sex god. The man who made every hot, wild fantasy come true. And she was not supposed to be with him.
It was a nightmare.
"What are we going to do?" Kat slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. The house was quiet this early in the morning, except for the occasional creaks and groans of the wood settling.
"We'll explain the photos, but we'll keep the truth about us buried." Tristan pushed away from the counter and took the chair beside her. It seemed so easy for him to talk about hiding their relationship. She knew he didn't take this as seriously as she did. She was falling in love with him, but he wasn't in love with her. This was more of a game for him, a sexy game of hide—and—seek. But the stakes were too high now. Their dirty little secret had just gone public because of the photos.
The photos.
If only there hadn't been evidence, they might've kept their relationship secret a little while longer. A photographer named Jillian had talked them into portraying Snow White and Prince Charming in a fairy—tale—themed charity photo competition at Harrods department store. The set had been lifelike, a glass coffin shimmering with frost and snow. She'd rested her head on a white satin pillow and lay waiting for Tristan to kiss her awake. As magical as that experience had been for her, the fallout had been worse than she could have imagined.
The photographer had led them to believe the winning photo would not be made public and that the stills would be seen only in her portfolio. Early this morning, the winner had been announced on TV. Their photo in a snowy glen, their mouths a hairsbreadth apart from a kiss, their eyes locked in desire and longing, with SOME LOVES LAST FOREVER beneath them, was going to be plastered on every flat surface in London from bus stops to billboards.
How would she explain this to her dad? The last thing Kat wanted to do was create a problem between her father and Tristan's mom.
"Did you call Jillian?" she asked Tristan.
"I did call her. She said it would blow over soon. She didn't think they'd do a news feature about it." Tristan scrubbed a hand though his dark hair and sighed. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Prince Harry will visit Las Vegas again and the press will chase him for a bit and lose interest in us." Tristan's laugh was hollow.
Her heart gave a little tug inside her chest. He looked defeated and anxious. From the moment she'd met him, he'd been cool and seductive and playful. A force of nature in some ways. Nothing had cut through that hardened bad—boy exterior.
Until me. She'd pushed him away twice, trying to deny the intense attraction between them, but she'd only made them both miserable. She'd decided that being with Tristan was worth all the consequences, so she'd asked him to come home from his father's estate. They'd spent all night in bed. It was the kind of lovemaking that changed a person's life forever.
Then they'd woken up to this nightmare. Jillian's photo was everywhere, and the story was out. Their parents would connect the dots.
