Pride

they’re mutually exclusive. You and Mother have seen to that.”

His lips tightened, and Kaia braced for an angry response, some of that famous Keith Sellers temper, quick as lightning and just as deadly, but he kept it together. Barely. “This year isn’t supposed to be a punishment, Kaia.”

“Then why does it feel like one?”

“It’s supposed to be a break,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “To give you and your mother some space. To give you some time to think about what you want your life to be.”

“I want my life to be back to normal,” Kaia spit out, immediately regretting it. She’d vowed not to let her guard down. Bad enough that she’d almost cried on the day he’d cut up all her credit cards-and had cried on the day her mother had shipped her off to the airport. She’d refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing she cared.

“Oh, Kaia. I wish I could help,” he said, almost sounding like he meant it. “Maybe if I spent some more time at home…”

“You really want to help?” Kaia asked, allowing a note of near sincerity to creep into her voice. She’d been waiting for the right moment for this, and there was no time like the present-right? “How about a temporary reprieve,” she suggested. “Winter break’s coming up, and I thought, maybe, just for a couple weeks-”

“You are not going back to the East Coast,” he cut her off. “Not for two weeks, not for two days-you know the terms of our agreement.”

“Agreement, right,” she muttered. “Like I had a choice.”

“What was that?” he snapped.

“I said, if this isn’t a punishment, why do I feel like I’m in prison?” she asked, loud and clear.

“Katherine, that’s quite enough whining for tonight.” His measured tone masked an undercurrent of tightly bottled rage. The famous Keith Sellers temper was famous for a reason.

“It’s Kaia,” she reminded him.

“I named you Katherine,” he countered, rising from the table. “I let you call yourself by that ridiculous name, but you’ll always be Katherine, just like I’ll always be your father, whether you like it or not.”

“Trust me, I know,” Kaia snarled. “If I could change that, along with the name, I would have done it a long time ago.”

By the time he roared at her to go to her room, she was already out of her seat and halfway up the stairs.

Just another warm and fuzzy family dinner at the Sellers house.

Bon appetit.

It was almost midnight before Kaia’s father had gone to sleep and she was able to sneak out of the house. She was still fuming about the way her parents felt they could run her life. They were mistaken. They could ship her across the country and strand her in the desert, but they couldn’t stop her from slipping out of the mansion, driving twenty minutes down the deserted highway, pulling to a stop in front of a squat, nondescript, gray house, and scurrying up the walkway, head down to shield her face from prying eyes. They couldn’t stop her from throwing open the door and falling into her lover’s arms.

Her lover-she liked the sound of that. She’d had her share of guys, but never one she’d call a lover. The term was too adult, too mature for the puny prep school boys she’d toyed with back east-it was reserved for a man. And now she’d found one.

“Je m’oublie quand je suis avec toi,” she murmured into his neck.

I forget myself when I’m with you.

He hated when she spoke French to him; it was too much of a reminder of his day job, and of their roles in the real world, beyond the walls of his cramped apartment, where he was a French teacher, she a student. He didn’t want to remember-and she never wanted to forget.

The delicious scandal, the secrecy-why else was she there? It didn’t hurt that he was sophisticated, worldly, movie-star handsome, that at least when they were alone in bed together, he treated her like a goddess-but really, the thrill of the forbidden had always been, and remained, the biggest draw. He was too shallow, too vain to be anything other than an object of illicit desire. She had no fairy-tale illusions of love-and knew he felt the same.

It’s why they worked so well together.

“What are you thinking?” he asked idly, though she knew he didn’t really care.

“I’m thinking you’re a superficial, conceited, despicable human being, taking advantage of a sweet young girl like me.” To Jack Powell, she could always speak some form of the truth-because the things they said to each other would never matter. Neither of them was in this for good conversation.

“And you’re a callous, duplicitous, licentious girl who’s out only for herself,” he retorted in his clipped British accent, and kissed her roughly “I can’t get enough of you.”

It was a match made in heaven-or somewhere a bit farther south.

Chapter 2

“This… isn’t… so… bad…,” Harper lied, panting for breath with every word.

Miranda slammed the big red button on her treadmill and nearly toppled to the ground as the moving track stopped short beneath her feet.

“Are you kidding?” she asked, glaring at Harper. “This has got to be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Harper pushed her sweaty bangs out of her face and grimaced-she would never have suggested scamming Grace’s only gym into giving them a free trial workout if she’d known it would be so much work. After all, working, on the first day of winter vacation? It went against everything she believed in.

But it would be worth it, she reminded herself, and began pedaling the stationary bike even faster. Harper usually steered clear of physical activity (unless you counted the kind that took place behind closed bedroom doors). But she’d always told herself that an aversion to exercise was a choice, not a necessity-if the time ever came that she needed to be in shape, she’d been sure it would be a snap.

The time had come. But the only thing snapping would be her bones, if she managed to fall off the exercise bike one more time.

“Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel,” Miranda suggested. She made a face and gestured toward the soggy towel she’d been using to wipe away her sweat. “Literally.”

“No way.” Harper smiled through gritted teeth. “We’re just getting into the groove.” She looked hatefully at the lithe bodies effortlessly working the machines all around her. Losers, all of them, judging by their baggy T-shirts, saggy shorts, and mis-sized sports bras-and yet none of them were gasping and panting like a wounded animal. Like Harper.

“So what’s with the new work ethic?” Miranda asked, turning the treadmill back on and, with a sigh, continuing her plodding jog to nowhere.

“Hello-school ski trip coming up? Need to get in shape? Remember? Are you burning off calories or brain cells?”

“Funny.” Miranda didn’t show a hint of a smile. “But I don’t buy it. You’ve got us up at the buttcrack of dawn, breaking a sweat. Just to get in shape so you can ski? And you don’t even know how to ski.”

Thanks for rubbing it in.

Harper knew it was ridiculous to want to impress Adam up on the slopes-and though she hated to admit it, she knew a couple hours on a stationary bike and a Skiing for Dummies book wouldn’t help her keep up with someone who’d been on the slopes since he was nine. But it couldn’t hurt to try, right? Adam was such the all-American athlete-skiing, swimming, running, he did it all with an ease that made Harper crazy. And his previous girlfriends had been the same way-even Beth, who’d never played on a team in her life, had a natural athletic grace that made Harper sick to watch.

She just wanted to make sure she measured up. Especially this weekend. This weekend, everything had to be perfect.