Prep School Experiment (12 page)

The dream was vivid. The lemon polish they used on the school’s wooden lockers made the air smell citrusy. The hallway was chilled, and her uniform skirt hit her thighs above the legal length. She swallowed and the too-tight Shay-green tie pressed against her neck. The new uniforms she’d ordered needed to get here already. She was one inch away from disciplinary action. If she didn’t have such a good ability to fly under the radar, and if Regina wasn’t one of the hall monitors, she’d be there already.

She knew she was dreaming because she was standing at her locker and Rhys was striding up to her, not walking away and pretending she didn’t exist. He got in front of her and stood silent, a brow arched, as if waiting for her to speak first. Because this was a dream, she didn’t feel compelled to spit out every thought. She tilted her chin and cocked her own eyebrow.

His hand landed on her hip and he pressed her back a few inches until she braced against the lockers. Her book bag slipped from her fingers and the noise of the students moving down the hallway faded out. Rhys leaned his weight on her, chest to knees. He unclipped her hair and the mass of lighter locks half fell in her face. He threaded his fingers into the strands and combed them behind her ears.

The tiny pulls radiated sensation through her scalp. He ran his fingers down to the ends of her hair, releasing the ends with a slow, delaying gesture and then he flattened his palms on the locker by her head. He smelled like soap and expensive cologne he hadn’t worn in Alaska. She breathed in. He smelled great both ways. Her eyelids lowered. He tilted his head and his mouth hovered over her ear as if he was going to whisper something secret. Instead, his lips moved and landed against hers, lining up perfectly.

Firm, warm, sensation.

Tingles moved from her mouth down through her body—her first kiss.

Rhys lifted away. Her eyelids popped open, and she caught his green gaze. His usual wild eyes appeared slightly shocked and a flush rode high on his cheekbones, making his few faint freckles stand out. They lined up like Orion’s belt, three in a row. It reminded her of how they’d watched the stars that night in Alaska. Both of his hands dropped to her hips and his fingers pressed. His mouth landed against her ear. “Invite me over.”

Temptation laced each syllable of the huskily drawled words.

“Yes.”

***

Rhys sank into the peach sheets. Blinking white lights cast glowing shadows on Kaitlin’s skin. He smelled her vanilla-scented body lotion and her apple shampoo. She kissed his neck and his jawline with soft, curious kisses. Her lips were like petals, and his body tightened. Her smooth legs tangled with his and his body grew harder.

“Rhys,” she murmured with longing, loneliness and something more in her voice.

He jolted upright, breaking free of the dream, his heart pounded, and his body shook.

Damn.

***

The Brentwoods’ limo dropped Rhys off in front of the school. He ignored the turned heads and envy caused by the ride the same way he’d ignored the pity and judgments back in Trallwyn. His life was one of extremes. The only way to handle that was head held high. He strode up the walk, marveling at the green lawn and serene campus smack in the middle of this island of high rises, packed streets, and noise. He moved forward, knowing his exact destination. After last night’s vivid dream, there was no way he wouldn’t go straight to Kaitlin’s locker to check her out.

Kaitlin stood there, as she had been at the start of his dream before they’d ended up in her bed. Her book bag hung on her shoulder, too heavy for her small frame. Her short pleated skirt showed off too much of her gorgeous legs. His fingers twitched to release the buttons on her white button up. Her pinned hair challenged him to let it free. He ignored a greeting from some girl in his history class and went straight to Kaitlin.

She bit her lip with her white teeth and didn’t meet his gaze. He proceeded as if the moment was predestined, following the steps from his dream. He unclipped her hair. Sunlight through the windows lit the strands turning them gold. He missed her curls, but he liked these silky, wavy, golden strands too. He waited for her to speak first. Grandmother had advised him on that power move.

Make your opponent speak first.

Kaitlin stared at him through messy strands of her loose hair. “Hi, Rhys.”

“Hi, Kaitlin.” He leaned closer, breathing in her perfume, the same as in the dream, along with apple shampoo, vanilla body lotion, and the citrus smell of the lockers. No industrial strength cleaner here at Shay Prep. The wealthy were sanitized with cleanser that smelled like fields of fruit trees.

Kaitlin shifted in her sneakers.

“I dreamed about you last night,” he said, watching her reaction.

Her head jerked back, hitting her locker, and fiery color bloomed across her cheeks. “You did?” Her voice came out strangled. She dropped her book bag and Rhys bent to pick it up. Her fingertips, light and soft, glanced across his hand as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

He wanted to feel more of her hands on more of him. How to make that happen?

Overhead, a piece by Shubert played, drawing to a crescendo.

“Come to dinner tonight?” he said.

Her gaze flew to his. Silver-blue flashed through the brown irises, like it had at the boarding school.

Fascinating.

No.

Rhys stiffened his shoulders and pulled back. He wouldn’t let her try to ensnare him. He wasn’t falling for her again. He’d make that clear. This wasn’t a date. “Your parents too. My family wants to know more about the experimental drug.”

Her mouth made an O. “Okay,” she whispered, “I’ll ask.”

“Email me your address. I’ll send the car at six.” Rhys walked off. Grandfather had taught him that one.

Proceed like your plans would go as you wanted them to, and for the most part they would.

The Brentwood mansion was huge by anyone’s standards, overwhelming by a New Yorker’s standards. Kaitlin and her parents followed Rhys and his family into the dining room. She’d hoped to have a moment alone with Rhys, but he didn’t catch her eye and her parents kept her with them while they made small talk with the Brentwoods. Maybe after dinner.

The dining room’s arched windows displayed an incredible view of the sunset that turned the autumn trees a stunning array of late fall colors. The staff served pre-dinner drinks, and after the sun went all the way down, a maid drew the pale-blue silk curtains over blackout shades to block the city lights. That left the room lit by only two sources: golden candlelight and light from a sixty-inch screen at the end of the table—Versailles meets Silicon Valley.

Rhys fit in here. It should have been crazy with his Texas accent and wild eyes, but he did. In Alaska, he’d seemed ready to blow out a wall to leave. Not here.

And his grandparents put everyone at ease. She’d always thought it was funny how TV got that wrong. Most old money families, at least the ones she’d met in New York, didn’t turn up their noses at people. You either got nowhere near their noses or they were so confident in their own place in the world that they were polite to you, at least to your face.

The first course was gazpacho; nothing better than red soup and a sage green dress. Kaitlin took small bites of the cold soup and wished they were having Waldorf salad like the Wentworths: Michelle, the senator, and Christian.

From West Texas, the senator’s father had bacon-wrapped cream-cheese stuffed jalapenos for a starter. The dish looked bad to her. But, Rhys had stared fixedly at the screen. Maybe it was a Texas delicacy.

No one explained exactly where Rhys fit in on the family tree. And while her parents had used their best doctor-questioning look, they were too polite to ask point blank “Who’s your dad?” No one volunteered the information. The only hint to Rhys’ identity was the fact that he called the Brentwoods “Grandmother” and “Grandfather.”

Kaitlin’s hand tightened on her napkin as she glanced at Rhys, who’d dressed for dinner in a navy suit. The coat fit his broad shoulders and tapered across his flat stomach and lean hips.

Nice. Had he worn a suit because she was here?

She tried to catch his eye, but Rhys was staring at the video screen. A server put down a rack of ribs in front of his West Texas grandfather. Reddish-orange sauce dripped over the side.

Rhys’ Grandmother motioned for the next course too, using a subtle gesture that made her diamond bracelet sparkle against the candlelight.

His family probably always dressed for dinner. They looked like those kind of people.

She wished she and Rhys were close enough that he could talk to her about his family and why he was in New York.

Hmm. He did kind of resemble the senior Mr. Brentwood. Maybe the kids were right when they’d called him the Billionaire’s Bastard.

Her gaze dropped to a floating bit of green bell pepper in the soup as the server took away her bowl.

Why didn’t he call him Dad? Why Grandfather?

She didn’t know Rhys half as well as she’d thought.

“No beating around the bush here.” The senior Mr. Wentworth ladled more barbeque sauce across the rib he’d started on. “We’re hoping to compile some information on the kids. Get a handle on that experimental drug they took.”

“We’re sure the kids exaggerated the side effects,” Mom said. “Sure, Kaitlin’s taller, But, that happens. Sometimes, kids shoot up over the summer.”

Rhys dropped his spoon, and it clinked against the china. A frown centered between his eyebrows as the server took his dish too. “How do you explain her dancing ability?”

Kaitlin felt her face flush at her parents’ confused gazes. “Kaitlin hasn’t danced since last year. There’s no time for that in her schedule,” Dad said.

Rhys’ green gaze burned her. “Kaitlin loves to dance. She should be dancing.”

“That’s exercise.” Mom shook her head. “Kaitlin’s focused on school work. The right college will lead to the right medical school. She doesn’t have time to add a dance class.” Mom sounded slightly condescending; making it clear Rhys didn’t know Kaitlin or her schedule. But, she kept a smile pasted on her lips for the sake of his grandparents.

Kaitlin would love to dance again, but as the performance-enhancing drugs had left her system, she was losing her ability to leap as high or spin as fast as she had in Alaska. Was it worth fighting her parents over taking a class when she’d end up in the back row? Her head ached at the thought.

Maybe.

The senior Mr. Wentworth scooped up a spoonful of potato salad. “Well, what I’m thinking is, y’all need to send me some blood samples. I’ve contacted Capable Tech to get a hold of some product, but so far they’re stalling.” The old man’s eyes gleamed at the challenge.

Senator Wentworth speared a forkful of his salad. “Their NIH funding will stall if they don’t get you the answers you need.”

“If you don’t have an assay to test the amount of drug in their system, a blood sample will be useless,” Dad said.

“I’m sure it’s mostly out,” Mom said.

Despite Mom’s being a medical doctor, she had a distinct sense of denial when it came to her own kid. Or maybe Kaitlin had been too imaginative a child and they thought she was still exaggerating like she had when she was ten. She wasn’t ten anymore. Kaitlin didn’t feel free of the drug, unless the changes to her hair and eyes were permanent. She twisted the napkin in her lap.

“I already got a little information through a back door channel.” The old man dunked one end of a rib into a side dish of barbeque sauce, coating it burnt orange. “I’ll get a sample of that drug.”

“They’ll have destroyed it,” Mr. Brentwood said, “to cover up. They’re probably shredding emails right now.”

The server placed a heated plate warmer in front of Rhys and then put his entrée plate on top of that. Rhys thanked her, and said, “Kaitlin’s roommate, Elena, will have a sample of the drug.”

“How’s that?” Mr. Brentwood asked, shifting to allow the server to set up his own plate.

“She’s a sneak. A bit paranoid. And a bit of a thief.”

Kaitlin shook her head at him. “Rhys.”

“Not in a bad way. I know her too, Kaitlin. She’s from Trallwyn.”

Kaitlin opened her eyes wide at him, telling him silently to shut up about her friend.

When Kaitlin didn’t relent, Rhys said, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She squirmed against the silk padding on the chair. “Elena
may
have some hiding spots we don’t know about.” Her voice came out slow, almost as if she were a Texan like Elena and Rhys. “But only to protect us.” The last came out fast.

“We have to get back in so she can hand it over,” Rhys said.

Mr. Brentwood shook his head. “You two go back to Alaska, and whoever’s there who’s still being paid by Capable Tech gets tipped off.”

Kaitlin rubbed her arms, not sure she wanted to draw Elena into this any deeper. But her friends
were
in it: Elena, Thane, and Geneva. They’d all eaten the cupcakes she’d inadvertently laced with the experimental drug. “In Alaska, we had competitions for prizes. If we had won our last event, we’d have gotten a trip home.” She swallowed. “If you think they’ll be safe, maybe you could arrange a trip home for Elena and Thane anyway.”

The senator nodded. “Election’s on the eighth. My whole family will be in Texas, along with lots of security.” He took a drink of his water. “I’m thinking, the boarding school representatives from Texas should come and enjoy the election. You too, Kaitlin. You can come as our guest.”

Mom and Dad appeared torn—guest of a senator versus the uncertainty of Kaitlin’s safety and putting her within range of Rhys. Mom dabbed her lips with the white cloth napkin and shook her head. “We don’t let Kaitlin go out of town with boys. Even though I’m sure you’d arrange a chaperon.”

The senator smiled one of his easy, reassuring smiles. “Michelle volunteers at the library. Librarians make great chaperones.”