Inevitable: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Stonewood Billionaire Brothers Series)

For a month after the fire, I woke up in that sleepy fog, the one in the valley between unconscious dreaming and reality. The mind can’t be bothered with pain or traumatic events in those few moments. For just seconds, I didn’t remember the loss, the fear, the loneliness. But like a hurricane, reality would roll in and push the fog out. It invaded and emptied my soul at the same time.

I willed myself to sit up and look around. I took in the soft sheets and the sun shining. Beautiful, expensive trim lined the walls and door to the bedroom. I felt like an outsider in a perfect home with a perfect family. None of it was mine. Even if they kept saying it was. And yet, everything I used to wish for when I came to visit, now seemed to be mine.

No more screaming or fighting. No more hiding or lock-ins.

No more mother. No more father.

I breathed in, hoping to suck in some energy to get through the morning, but nothing felt right. So, I got ready for a jog, knowing that would be the only thing to center me. Then, I went searching for the one person that made me feel like I could cope.

It should have been Jay. Or even Mrs. Stonewood. They’d both welcomed me into their home. Jay had always been the friend who’d known what to say to make me laugh or knew when to shut up when I cried. He knew how to handle everything—except this summer, except me and Jax, except the fire. Over the past month, Jax and I had formed an inseparable bond that no one really understood.

That morning, I didn’t admire how the hall opened up to the second-floor view of the entryway. I wasn’t focused on the marble staircase, the sleek banister, the dome-shaped ceiling, or the humming outside the two oak front doors.

I just looked for him.

Except instead of Jax, I saw a newspaper lying on the table near the front doors.

The Stonewoods had been very quiet about the scandal my family made. They’d kept the TV off and told me not to go on the internet. I’d listened for practically the whole summer.

That day, with the start of school nearing and knowing I would have to face the world soon, something in me couldn’t stay away from it. I needed to know what people were saying. I was pulled to that newspaper so quickly I didn’t even remember running down the stairs.

I remembered the headlines though.

I remembered the picture of my father, my mother, and me, posing so elegantly in all white, imitating the picture-perfect family. What a contrast that picture made to the charcoaled, burnt frame of our house next to it. What a contrast to the headline that read, “Whitfield Husband Charged with Attempted Double Homicide.” Under the headline, in smaller lettering it read, “Wealthy Stonewood Family Fights for Custody of Whitfield Daughter.”

I stared at it as if I could make my mother real again. Her long black hair, her wide smile, and the way she leaned into my father and me like we were her world, she looked like the happiest wife. Her sweetness permeated onto that paper. Her love for us was a reminder of what had made her so blind to him. My father’s head was turned toward us, as if not even a professional photographer could sway his love for us toward the camera.

Little did that photographer know my mother was bruised underneath her white dress and I smiled as wide as she did for the picture so my father wouldn’t lose his temper when we got home.

The start to the article had me holding my breath as I read:

The Whitfield family home, owned by Frank Whitfield, CEO of Whitfield Candy Company, was set ablaze by Whitfield himself two months ago. Authorities confirmed that Tala Whitfield, wife of Whitfield, suffered fatal injuries. Frank Whitfield suffered minor burns. Aubrey Whitfield, their daughter, was rescued by neighbor, eighteen-year-old Jax Stonewood, before emergency responders arrived on the scene.

Today, forty-five-year-old Frank Whitfield has been charged with murder, attempted murder, conduct endangering life, and arson. His trial is to take place in the following months.

These charges are being made by the state and have the Tribal Nation’s full support. Tala Whitfield was a Native American tribe member when she married Whitfield. She held charity events for multiple causes within her reservation. “She was always quiet and humble with him. I only met her once in passing because she never came to the charity events. Now we know why,” a source …

That page had me shaking, wanting to rip everything to shreds, to scream. My emotions were overloaded and I didn’t think through my actions, I just went to open the door when the bell rang. Opening the door to a ringing doorbell had been automatic as I took in my whole life written objectively in just black and white.

I realized my mistake with the screaming of questions and the flashes of light that went off.

Before, coming from the Whitfield family, I would have smiled and answered every question. I was properly trained in handling this type of attention. That day, each camera flash shined light on my terrifying reality.

Newspaper reporters were camped outside a home that wasn’t mine, waiting for me.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

All I could do was wonder if their camera lenses picked up the text from the newspaper article I was holding.

Each flash turned into another headline later that week. I knew because, after that day, the Stonewoods figured they couldn’t hide it from me anymore.

What got the most attention was my “rescuer” rushing in again. Each news outlet caught the look of determination on Jax’s face when he yanked me back into the house before slamming the door.

They didn’t catch the rage in his blue eyes when he spun me around and gripped my upper arms though.

“What the fuck, Whitfield?” he yelled in my face.

I closed my eyes, trying to get rid of the bright flashing dots in my vision. “I didn’t realize—”

“You didn’t realize there would be cameras outside?” He shook me a little, gripping me a little tighter. “I told you not to open the door. I told you to get me if you wanted to go out. You haven’t wanted to go out the front door this whole summer. We always go out the back and—”

He stopped abruptly, looking down at where I gripped the newspaper to my chest.

His hands dropped and eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”

“They’re writing about us,” I whispered.

“I know, Peaches.” His eyes softened. He tried to take the newspaper away.

I stepped back, holding it tighter. “They say my family is prominent and yours is wealthy, as if it defines us. They called my mother a Native American, as if it defines her. They …”

He ran his hand through his ink black hair and stepped closer to me. “They don’t know anything. Give me the paper.”

“I think I need to read it, Jax.” I tried to stand up taller, like it would make me look less broken.

“I don’t think so.” His voice was low in warning.

“Jax.”

“Whitfield,” he mimicked.

“Don’t treat me like I’m glass. Your brother and mom are already doing that.”

“Yeah, well, my mom treats all of her kids like that and you’re one of them now. Have been ever since we moved in next door. And you’re Jay’s best friend. He thinks of you as a little sister.”

“And you?” I looked everywhere but in his eyes.

I worried he just saw me as the girl that needed saving. The whole summer had changed us. He’d ignored me until that night, treated me like his little brother’s friend, a nuisance. After the fire, after he tore through that house to find me and bring me out with nothing but a small burn, he’d become my protector but also something more. Some part of me I couldn’t comprehend but also couldn’t seem to live without.

He didn’t have me worrying long. He just stepped into my personal space and crushed his lips to mine. He slid his fingers over my neck and rubbed his thumb down the length of it as he devoured me. Hesitation and caution weren’t a part of that kiss, just domination, claiming, power pushing me to accept him and meet his passion with mine. I gripped his shirt in one hand and held on, meeting him as best I could. I forgot everything except melting into him.

When he pulled back, he had the newspaper in his hand and was smiling. “How about we make you some tea and walk down to the lake through the backyard?”

“But I need to read—”

“Down there, we’ll read it together.”

Picking my battles, I brushed past him into the kitchen to put water on the stove. Waiting for it to boil, I mixed milk, brown sugar, and vanilla creamer together while he moved around me to mix cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and sugar in a glass bowl. We operated in silence, the newspaper on the table speaking volumes for each of us.

Once the water started to boil, Jax put everything in two mugs and held them out. I poured the liquid over it. I took in the earthy, sweet scent.

Jax moved each mug over to top off with the cream I had stirred and then sprinkled a little nutmeg on top. Something so simple calmed both of us. He handed one mug over and I smiled at the steam wafting from the mugs.

As I met his eyes, he didn’t look at the mugs at all. He kept his eyes on me and smiled back. “I figure you’re only as sweet as your favorite spice and yours is cinnamon. Sweet as sin.”

When he talked like that, I didn’t care about the news, or the people outside, or what anyone thought of us. I just cared about that moment. I rubbed my lips together, trying to center myself.

“Keep looking at me like that and we won’t get down to the lake,” he practically growled and then grabbed the newspaper. He didn’t spare a backward glance, just opened the door for me, checked the gated backyard to make sure no one had gained access and tipped his head to motion me forward.

I went willingly but slowed down as I brushed up against him, hoping that maybe he’d deliver on his threat. Only weeks after the fire, we’d given into each other, but there was a restraint in him, one I was sure he didn’t have with other girlfriends. I’d heard a cheerleader once say he’d thrown her into a wall and fucked her so hard she couldn’t walk without pain for days.

With me, he took his time. There was something gentle about the way he handled me. For once, I wanted to be the temptation he couldn’t resist, for his coiled restraint to snap. I needed him to see me not just as the girl he’d saved and needed to protect, but as the one he wanted.

The only one.

When I brushed against him, his jaw ticked. I barely hid my smile, so proud of my seduction skills.

“Whitfield,” he warned, his voice low.

“Yes?” I whispered, inches from his lips.

He didn’t lean in, as if not even tempted by the bait I was trying—unsuccessfully I might add—to dangle in front of him.

“Stop toying with me.”

“What do you mean?” I tried to sound innocent.

“You know exactly what I mean. Move your ass down that path, or I’ll shred this newspaper.”

“You’re a jerk,” I blurted. Although I knew I was being childish, and my mother had always taught me never to call anyone names, I couldn’t control myself around Jax.

I stomped all the way down to the lake. He stomped his way down there too. Both of us mad for much different reasons.

Jax sat at the same rock he always did, and I sat next to him just like I always did. It was a good representation of who we were. Jax gravitating toward the most logical choice and me gravitating towards him. We stared out at the lake and sipped our tea, ignoring the newspaper at first.

The water laid our anger to rest, like always. The sun made it glitter and sparkle, almost as if putting on a show for us. The trees surrounding the small lake moved in a natural sync with the glimmer, showing off their reflections to anyone who would look.

I loved it right there, breathing in the cinnamon of my tea, the smell of Jax, and the moisture of the lake. Each scent mingled and filled me with comfort, with security, with something I could never have had before.

“You marched all the way down here on a mission to be a pain in my ass and now …” Jax leaned over to brush his thumb over my lips. “You’re smiling. What are you thinking?”

I shrugged, embarrassed that he could read me so easily. “Nothing important.”

One side of his mouth kicked up. He set his tea down, turned toward me and cocked his foot up on the boulder. “Humor me.”

Those words, his lopsided smirk, and that gravelly voice could have made me do anything for him. I wanted to humor him, rub against him, kiss him, and look at him for eternity. With the perfect backdrop, he wasn’t just dangerous, he was devastating. His blue eyes sparkled just like the water, and his jet-black hair looked like it was begging to be tousled again. I wanted him more than I wanted my next breath and he had to know it.

That made me snap back away from him and answer as neutrally as I could. “I just like this spot on the lake.”

“Why?” he asked, digging further.

I shrugged. I couldn’t keep making a fool of myself with him. It’d been more than a month since the fire, and we’d shared a lot of secrets. I shared every thought I had and had opened up my soul to him. There were times I thought he could see right through me, to even the parts of me I didn’t know.

I couldn’t tell him I was consumed by him, that I loved everything about him.

That I loved him. Period.

I wasn’t stupid. I saw the way every girl looked at him, knew that most had probably shared they loved him at some point. I wanted to think he’d stick around longer if he couldn’t figure me out completely. I wanted to be the equation he couldn’t calculate, the problem he couldn’t answer.

I wanted him to stay interested.

I wanted him to just. Stay.

I leaned around him to grab the paper. “Shall we?”

He groaned. “Can’t we finish our chai first?”

“No. Your family won’t tell me anything. Jax, something is happening if the cameramen are back at your front door.”

“Our front door. You live there now too. And my family won’t tell you anything because they don’t want you to worry,” he grumbled back.

I ignored him and took in the article again. Skimming through it, I shot off the one question that scared me the most. “You think your mom will get custody?”

He sighed into his cup and the steam curled around him, accentuating his strong bone structure. “It’s mostly already done, Peaches. It might not be right, but my family has a lot more pull with the system than anyone else. Money talks.”

The breath I’d been holding whooshed out. I couldn’t shake the sense of guilt that came with knowing I would get out of the system so quickly. So quick, I would never have to see it. And that I would never have to go live on the reservation even if my mother had such a strong bond with it.

At this point, everyone was aware that my father didn’t want her associating with the reservation. Growing up, I never bothered to think about it. Now, it overwhelmed me.

“She gave them so much. Her charities raised millions, Jax.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously.

“People probably think I should want to get to know them or live with them. They could fight to have me stay on the reservation,” I whispered.

He didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” I hurried to apologize. “I shouldn’t burden you with—”

“Don’t apologize for letting me see you.” He sounded offended and took a breath before he leaned toward me. “I want to see every part of you, even the parts you hide from everyone else.”

The way he looked at me when he said those words made my heart race.

I looked down at my hands. “No one wants to see those parts. They’re uncomfortable and ugly, Jax.”

He pushed my chin up with his fingers. “Sexiest parts about you, I promise.”

I pulled away and licked my lips, trying to get a grip. “It’s just that people think I should act a certain way with all this, or want to—”

“You shouldn’t worry about what they think. You want what you want and do what you do. Who gives a fuck what other people think?”

I looked over at him and his hardened gaze told me I shouldn’t argue.

I continued on anyway. “Dr. Pope says it could help to meet them.” Dr. Pope was the therapist Jax’s mother had forced upon both of us, saying we needed someone to talk to.

Jax rolled his eyes and shoved off the boulder. His muscles were coiled tight as he walked to the water’s edge. “Dr. Pope says a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Aubrey.” That low warning always sent shivers down my back, like him saying my name commanded my body to do whatever he wanted. My body belonged to him, the traitor.

“I know we aren’t supposed to talk about our sessions,” I admitted.

The truth was that formalities and following the rules were dying a quick death in me. I wanted to know if our therapist was telling Jax the same things she was telling me. I wanted to know if he confided in her like I did.

Was he scared in the fire? Did he blame my parents? Was he mad about being in the spotlight all summer? Was that why he stuck around? To be the hero?

I took the last sip of my tea and placed the mug next to Jax’s empty one along with the newspaper. Then, I met him up at the water’s edge.

When I turned to look at him instead of the water, his stormy expression made me want to step back. I stepped out of my sandals and into the water instead. I let the coldness of it wash over me and moved directly into his line of sight. He towered over me, fierce and magnetic. I set my hand on his chest and knew that spark that I felt every time I touched him wasn’t going to subside.

“I told her I’m not sure what you think about us. She asked me if I thought things were going too fast.”

He grunted, not saying a thing, just reading my eyes.

I continued. “I know that can’t be right. I know how fast you can work.”

He started to say something, but I cut him off. “Do you think we’re enabling each other like she says we are?”

It was that question that snapped his control, unbound the knot that coiled all his muscles together, because he lunged for me then. I gasped and he didn’t hesitate, just took it as an opportunity to kiss me hard. I gripped his shirt as he enveloped me, not worrying that his clothes were getting wet. I jumped up and wrapped my legs around him, holding nothing back. I wanted him so badly, and because I could feel every hard inch of him, I knew he wanted me too.

Later on, I realized he never answered the question.