No Strings Attached

Chapter Ten

Jayden’s ice blue eyes were filled with a pity she couldn’t bear to turn towards, and he carefully picked up a small snow globe from the bedside table, turning it over and over in his hands before he spoke quietly, “Nate would throttle you with his bare hands if he heard you say that.”

“I can’t be seventeen again,” she shrugged sadly, “Sometimes I desperately wish I could be, but I can’t.”

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Rory arrived fifteen minutes late, with bright red lipstick smeared over the dark tattoos that reached around the thick column of his throat, and she chuckled when she saw him, licking her thumb before wiping it away and calling him a whore.

“If there is a God,” he drawled cheekily, his trademark dimple creasing at the corner of his mouth as he smiled, “He didn’t give me this beautiful package so that I’d be selfish and keep it to myself, and if there isn’t a God, then I guess nobody really gives a shit anyway.”

She couldn’t disagree with him, Rory really was a fine specimen of maleness even if she had only ever – and would only ever see him as a best friend, and a brother. He was just as screwed up – if not more so than she was.

He had that perfect edge of bad boy, everything about him screamed “boy next door turned filthy playboy” which made him the ideal predator for females and males alike - they either wanted to change him or exhaust him, but either way, he never failed. The dirty blonde hair was styled with a stiff wax to look like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the frosted white tips brought out the almost turquoise tint in his green eyes. He had lean muscles – perfectly sculpted and toned, but nowhere near as powerful and intimidating as Nate’s body appeared. Although Rory was a good five inches shorter than Nate as well, at only five foot eleven.

But what was most deadly about her beloved friend was his charm – his ability to say anything you wanted to hear – just to get the conquest and move on to the next. His stepbrother’s mental and sexual cruelty had brought out a deadly streak in his sexuality – and it would be deadly she knew, if not to some poor girl or guy’s broken heart then to Rory himself, and his physical health, because he damn sure had that self destruction bullshit down to a fine art.

He craved the control of the chase, she’d surmised once during a particularly lucid conversation in the early hours of the morning when he’d been staying with her in London – after he’d disappeared for five days on some sex and drugs binge. He desired the power over his partners more than the people themselves, so that once he’d felt that he was over it instantly.

Throwing his rucksack into the boot, he climbed into the passenger seat, shifting to get comfortable with his lean, tall frame in the close confines of her TT.

“How long are we driving for again?” he asked lazily, looking around himself dubiously, “Like four hours? God this’ll be grim! You couldn’t have bought a bigger car, no?”

Her head shot round as she fired up the ignition, fiddling with the music settings, “Do not diss my new baby.”

“I’m not dissing her sweetie, she’s sexy as sin, but there won’t ever be any action in that back seat ... unless you get real flexible real quickly, and find a midget that’s not worried about close confined spaces!”