Eric

When the Kingston family decides to throw a party, it means no less than two hundred people at their twenty—thousand—foot Aspen estate, valets at the door, an abundance of Kingston Motors luxury cars in the drive, and money. Lots of money, because Jeff Kingston has nothing to do with anyone who doesn't have money, aside from me, his bastard son, otherwise known as the backup heir just in case my half—brother kicks the bucket.

I walk to one of the few dozen standing tables covered in white tablecloths, down my drink and accept another when my gaze catches on a woman, on her and just her.

She's standing on the other side of the pool, a princess in a strappy black dress, with flawless skin and long brown hair, surrounded by her subjects. At least, that's how she reads to me, no doubt like every other socialite I've ever met in this godforsaken world, and yet I'm watching her when I never watch them. My princess must feel my attention because she tunes out the conversation she's having with several other people, her chin lifting, her gaze sweeping wide and then catching mine. I don't even think about looking away. I don't care that she knows that I'm watching her. The man next to her touches her elbow, his gaze shooting in my direction, his jaw setting hard with anger. Priceless and so typical of my father's class of people. He's pissed at me for getting his woman's attention. He should have fucked her better. My cellphone buzzes with a text message and I cut my stare, downing my champagne and then reaching for my phone to find a message from Grayson Bennett, a close friend from my first go at Harvard right before I left and went into the Navy. He's not a bastard, but rather the true heir to the Bennett empire.

Call me, his message says, which is typical Grayson. He wants something, he asks, and usually with actual words. And since we have unfinished business I don't want overheard, I walk toward the house where I know I can find that whiskey. I'll likely find the rightful heir to the throne, right along with our father as well, but at least I'll make my showing and get the hell out of here.

"There he is. My brother."

My jaw clenches at the sound of Isaac's voice even before he steps into my path, and as if for the first time ever he knows what I want, and cares, he offers me one of the two whiskey glasses in hand. "The good stuff. The kind we drink around these parts."

He doesn't mean we, as in me and him, he means we as in the Kingston family, which I've never been a part of. Our eyes lock and hold, the drama of the past, the hatred between us, and I have no doubt the crackle of energy around us is the attention of the room. We are after all the heir and would—be heir who hate each other.I accept the glass and his gaze goes to the ink peeking from beneath my white shirt, and lingers on the Rolex on my wrist, before lifting. "Looks like someone got all inked up."

"The bastard brother might as well look the role, right?"

"You're never going to let me live down calling you that, now are you?"

"You don't need to live it down, Isaac, but you will have to face me every day if I decide to join the company, and we both know that didn't go well for you at Harvard."

His eyes spark with a familiar anger I don't have to intentionally stir. He hates me for being the bastard child of his father's mistress, the brother thrust on him only months after his mother died. An ironic turn of events considering my mother's cancer. He steps closer, toe to toe, all up close and friendly. "If you think that because you're some sort of SEAL Team Six hero or something, that I won't buckle you right at the knees, you're wrong. You will not take what is mine."

"I see you two got right back into the brotherly love."

At the sound of my father's voice, Isaac grimaces and my lips quirk. "Seems we have," I say, as Isaac rotates and we both face my father, who looks fit and younger than his fifty—four years in his tuxedo with his dark hair. "I have someone I want you to meet," he says, and The Princess steps to his side, her crystal blue eyes meeting mine as my father says, "Eric. Meet your stepsister, Harper."

"Nice to meet you, Harper," I say, and when our eyes meet at this close proximity, the spark between us is so damn combustible there's no way it goes unnoticed.

"Nice to finally meet you," she says, and fuck, the raspy quality to her voice makes my cock twitch.

"Finally?" I ask, arching a brow and forcing myself to release her.

"Harper's become quite the protégé the past year," my father says. "You'd think she was blood like you two, but then, her father owned a competing business we've now absorbed."

"I was with him night and day," Harper says. "I learned a lot from him at a young age."

She's my father's protégé and if she didn't want to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck her, she'd probably want to fuck me right out of town. Yet another priceless moment. "I need to make a phone call," I say, and I don't wait for anyone's permission.