Even the lame threat didn’t make Kate laugh.

Janine stuffed a bite of ice cream in her mouth. Kate had let the rest of hers turn to soup, feeling nauseated with anxiety.

“I’d get Chris to spank you if I didn’t think Banner would blow a gasket.”

Kate froze. What?

“It’d be hot to watch anyway,” Janine said, more to herself.

“Why would Banner care what anyone does to me? He’s the one who threw me at Ambrose.”

Janine scraped the bottom of her bowl, then licked the spoon clean. “Yeah, well, he’s been moping around for weeks. You should see him. It’s so obvious he’s jealous.”

Kate rejected the idea immediately. She didn’t mean that much to him. If she did, he wouldn’t have been encouraging her relationship with Ambrose every time she called or dropped by. He always seemed so happy for them. Maybe she’d been exaggerating about how well things were going because she wanted to show she’d moved on and that they could still be friends. But really, she was lying to herself. According to her fantasies, she hadn’t moved on. And staying friends was killing her. With Ambrose not putting out, and her constantly comparing him to Banner, her sex drive was through the roof. It was a good thing they hadn’t seen each other in a while or she’d have trouble not jumping him.

“No.” She shook her head. “There must be another reason.”

Janine grinned. “It’s all about you, baby.”

If that were true—and that was a big “if”—if she told him she was ready for more, maybe not twenty-four-seven, but more dominance, would he consider taking her back?

But they were never really together to begin with. She was supposed to be learning from him, not falling in love with him.

Shit. Did she love him? Her emotions were too fucked up to say for sure. Right now, she just wanted to feel his arms around her, to breathe in his scent of soap, to know that there was someone in the world who would protect her at any cost. She fought back the urge to drive to his house just to see his face and hear his voice. Sexual frustration mixed with self-doubt and too much chocolate was a recipe for bad decisions.

“Keep resisting if you want to,” Janine said. “But it’s only hurting you both.”

Chapter 16

Around them the hum of the crowd faded, leaving Banner and the artwork on the wall in a swathe of silence. At his shoulder, Rook stood, and Banner could feel his brother become similarly mesmerized.

The subject of the piece knelt, androgynous in its suffering, a supplicant to a higher power. A sliver of hope lay behind the figure, a subtle beam of sunlight filtering through heavy cloud. Banner wanted the subject to turn and look, but s/he was too immersed in what was being experienced to see anything external. Or was the ray of light actually the subject? He could almost feel its frustration at being ignored.

Life, pain, suffering, hope—the concepts turned and mixed. The canvas reflected the human condition, taking his small problems and showing him what they meant in comparison to what other people were going through. It was easy to wallow in self-pity, but the painting showed him how shallow and pathetic he’d become.

So she didn’t love him. So what?

His world had narrowed to the point where he sat in the dark in his house, moping over a girl not liking him. Was he twelve? Hell, Rook had bigger issues than he did, and he didn’t mope around whining about them. He hadn’t even said anything about the idiots at school for a couple of weeks now. Maybe things were improving.

Suddenly self-conscious, Banner wiped eyes that were about to overflow. His throat was tight. He glanced at Rook, but the kid was keeping it together better than he was.

“How did we not know about Archange Lapierre before now?” His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears, but Rook wasn’t judgmental about things like that.

“He’s new.”

They both stared at the canvas again, and Banner lost track of time.

Life was too short to love people who didn’t love you back. Maybe Kate was out of reach, but part of his problem lately was that he’d been avoiding Ambrose to avoid her. He had to stop being stupid and immature about it. Ambrose and Konstantin were too important to him to let a girl come between them. Hadn’t they promised not to be “those guys” since high school?

Ambrose was throwing a welcome home party for Konstantin the next night. He’d seriously thought about coming up with a work excuse, but he’d been avoiding Ambrose so much lately, he knew the lie would be obvious. Time to bite the bullet and reclaim his best friends. And if Kate was there being . . . Kate, he’d just have to learn to ignore that. Maybe exposure to her and Ambrose together was the key to desensitizing himself to her charms.

He was going to go. He was going to hook up with some random sub. He was going to have fun, even if it killed him.

“I’m going to look at his sculptures upstairs. Are you staying?”

Banner’s attention focused back on Rook, who was staring at him. People around them were drinking champagne and eating hors d’oeuvres, their voices a cacophony compared to the stillness the painting had spread through him. He wasn’t ready to part with the artwork yet.

“Maybe for a few more minutes. What time is it?”

Rook pulled their father’s beaten old pocket watch out of his pocket and handed it over.

“It’s almost eight. Here.” Rook pressed the archaic timepiece into Banner’s hand. “You should keep this.”

“What? No. You love this thing.” Banner frowned at him.

Rook laughed airily. “I have no idea why Mom gave it to me in the first place. You’re the businessman. Artists don’t need to know the time.”

“I can’t keep this, Rook. Dad would have wanted you to have this.”

His brother shrugged. “Just keep it for now, then. It’s safer with you anyway.” Rook gave him the finger guns and strolled off. What was getting into him? Maybe things were going even better with Dylan? He was almost afraid to ask. He watched Rook’s retreating back, wondering if the boy had gotten taller.

Archange Lapierre’s work was calling to him, so he turned his attention back to the series of brushstrokes that conveyed so much meaning. He’d have to find someone later and ask if the piece was for sale.

***

The woman at the boutique had called him “sex on a stick”—whatever that meant—but as he walked into Ambrose’s party he felt like an aristodouche. Leather pants? How had he ever let the saleswoman talk him into leather pants?

The guys would mock him, and he’d pick up some poser sub, and he’d burn the pants when he got home. Whatever.

He walked in the door without bothering to ring the bell. The driveway was already full of cars, so he knew that if he was interrupting anything, it was meant to be seen anyway.

Konstantin, looking like his casual yet evil self, was standing in the foyer talking to two women in short latex costumes. He caught sight of Banner almost immediately, dropped the conversation, and came to him. They hugged hard and thumped each other’s backs.

“Banner, you ugly fucking bastard! I got into town last night, and there wasn’t even one message from you. Why do you hate me?” Even though he was ignoring them now, the women lingered nearby. His rough good looks attracted them more than his money. Something about Konstantin whispered about danger and perversion, and women were always trailing in his wake. That and his accent, which was always heavier when he came home from seeing his babushka.

“Because you don’t make me feel pretty anymore.” He headbutted him with moderate force, and seconds later they were wrestling each other on the floor. The women gasped and got out of their way.