But it was too late. Her weight on me and her heat on my stomach already had me rolling my h*ps into hers as her moist breath sent a silver shot down to my groin.

Shit.

I was fully hard now, and I needed some damn sleep. Didn’t want sleep but needed it. Her mouth darted up to my neck, and she sunk her teeth in. I opened for her.

“Baby.” I choked out a groan. “I never want to leave this room. Take my T-shirt off your body. Now.”

Pounding on the door sounded from the other room, and we both jerked our heads toward the noise.

“Madoc Caruthers?” a stiff voice called.

Fallon turned her wide eyes to me, and I sat up, setting her to the side of the bed.

Walking toward the door, I shook my head in dawning realization. I should’ve had Jared register the room. I’d been smart enough not to use my credit card, but I never thought my father would take the time to call the hotels of Chicago looking for me.

“Yes?” I asked, opening the door and then immediately dropping my f**king jaw.

The cops? What the hell?

“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” a lean black officer said with his hand resting on his baton. I didn’t take that as a threat. Maybe I should? The other cop was a female. Middle-aged with red hair.

“What’s this about?”

The lady cop tipped her chin at me. “Is Fallon Pierce with you?”

My heart started thumping. What now?

“Yes,” I finally answered.

“Your stepsister, right?” the male cop confirmed.

I hooded my eyes and sighed. “For the moment, yes. Our parents are getting a divorce.”

“What’s going on?” Fallon asked, stepping up to my side. She was dressed in jeans and her white blouse from yesterday tucked in. All of the clothing that had been sitting in a ball on the floor for the past twenty-four hours. She also had her glasses on.

“Are you Fallon Pierce?”

Fallon crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“Your mother reported you missing yesterday morning,” Redhead explained. “She says she was threatened by Mr. Caruthers, claiming he said he was going to . . .” She looked at her notes and continued. “‘Put her through a wall.’ And then you were taken.”

Both cops looked at me, and I wanted to laugh. Fallon turned to me with a smirk on her face, and as serious as cops visiting your door is, we started laughing.

The officers exchanged a look as my chest shook and Fallon covered her smile with her hand.

“Did you threaten Mrs. Caruthers, sir?”

Which Mrs. Caruthers? I felt like asking, but I resisted. No one would know about our marriage yet, and our parents had to find out from us and no one else if we were going to be taken seriously.

“Officers,” I assured, “these are family issues. I would never have touched my stepmother. Fallon is here of her own free will, and there is no problem.”

“Mr. Caruthers,” the male cop started. “We know who your father is—”

But then all hell broke loose. A woman and her cameraman rushed up behind the police officers and stuck a microphone between them in my direction. I reared back, and Fallon grabbed my hand.

“Madoc Caruthers?” the woman shouted, stumbling into the cops. “Son of Jason Caruthers? Are you having an affair with your stepsister? Her mother claims you kidnapped her?”

My f**king heart lodged like a baseball in my throat, and I couldn’t breathe.

Motherfucker! Shit!

I swallowed, looking down at Fallon.

“Now, that’s enough!” one of the officers growled, both turning around and holding up their hands to shield us from the intrusion.

What the hell? My dad was a big deal, but not that big of a deal. Someone had to have tipped these people off.

The female cop kept her voice calm. “Let’s get this under control. You’re interfering with police business.”

“Is he holding you against your will?” The reporter shook her brown bangs out of her eyes, looking intense and determined.

I leaned over to grab the door to close it, but Fallon barked.

“Stop,” she ordered. “He’s not Mr. Caruthers. And he’s not holding me against my will, for Christ’s sake! And we’re not having some sordid relationship. He’s my . . .”

Oh, no.

“. . . husband!” she finished.

I closed my eyes, wincing, and let out a low groan.

Shit. Fuck. Son of a bitch.

I shoved Fallon back, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut, hearing the cops ordering the reporter and her cameraman away.

Locking the door, I slid down the wall next to it and crashed to my ass.

Knees bent, I rested my forearms on them and banged my head against the wall once.

“Awesome.” I breathed in and out, barely noticing that Fallon stayed where I’d pushed her out of the way.

My fists clenched, and I was sure my face was beet red. I felt stupid. Why did I always underestimate Patricia?

“Oh, my God,” she finally said, looking dazed. “That was creepy. My mother’s insane.”

“No, she’s smart,” I said flatly. “We just made the news and embarrassed my father.”

Her head fell, and she walked over and sat down next to me.

“Madoc, I’m sorry. I panicked.”

I put my arms around her. “It’s okay. I guess we don’t have to worry about making the rounds to the parents anymore.”

Everyone—and I mean everyone—was going to know I was married by the time they went to sleep tonight. There would be no end to the texts and calls for a while as my family and friends would all want to know what was going on.

“How did they know we were here?” she asked.

“I registered under my name.” I sounded less embarrassed than I actually was. “Your mom wouldn’t have had to work too hard to find us if she found out we weren’t at school.”

Her chest fell hard. “That’s going to be on the eleven o’clock news.”

“And it’ll be on the Internet in about five minutes. Media outlets have to compete with the speed of Facebook, after all. They’ll have that loaded up in no time.”

I sat there, quiet and stunned, trying to figure out what to do next.

“Look at me,” she urged.

I did and fell back into the comfort of her green eyes.

“We can’t stay here,” she stated. “Where should we go?”

Leaning my head back, I licked my lips, thinking.

Fallon and I did nothing wrong. We weren’t running away just so we could have a mini-honeymoon. And we weren’t starting our marriage fearing our parents’ wrath. If we wanted to be respected as adults, then we had to face the music.

I stood up, pulling her after me. “Home,” I said. “We’re going home.”

• • •

It was about ten o’clock by the time we rolled into the driveway at my house. The pitch-black sky exploded with stars, and the conifer trees Addie had had planted so that we could have green all year bent with the light wind.

The cops had come back to our room for a few remaining questions.

Yes, Fallon and I are married. Here’s the signed license.

No, I did not kidnap her, of course. See? No bruises, and she’s smiling.

Yes, I threatened my stepmom, and I’m using the “daddy” card on this one. You can’t touch me, because I’m Madoc Caruthers.

Now, please go. We’re honeymooning.

They left, we showered and got presentable, and we drove the hour it took to get to Shelburne Falls.

“Wait,” I ordered when Fallon started to open her door.

Getting out and rounding the front, I let her out of the car, took her hand, and walked side by side with her to the front step.

I took her chilled face in my hands. “We’re not raising our voices, and we’re not apologizing.”

She nodded and together we entered the house.

The foyer and all of the rooms off it were dark, and the house hummed with only the sounds of clocks ticking and heat pouring out of the vents. The smell of grilled steaks and leather hit me, and I immediately felt at home. It’s what my house always smelled like.

I remembered that Tate once said she loved the smell of tires. It brought back memories for her, and it was familiar. When I smelled grilled meat, I always thought of summers out by the pool. My mom asking me if I wanted another Crush. My dad—on the occasions he was home—working the grill and talking to his friends. And me seeing the fireworks light up in the star-filled sky.

Despite the issues my family had—all families have issues—I was a happy kid. Things could’ve been better, but they were good enough, and I never wanted for anything. There was never a shortage of people to dote on me.

This house was my home, and with it came all of my good memories. Whenever I escaped, this is where I wanted to run first. Patricia Caruthers could take our name, take the money, but I’d be dead before she took this house. I had to find some way to beat her.

I didn’t know if my dad was in bed, but I knew he was here. His Audi was in the driveway.

Hand in hand, Fallon and I walked down the hall and veered to the left, coming up to his office.

“Do you think our children hate us?” a woman’s voice asked, and I halted.

I motioned for Fallon to stay quiet by putting my finger over my lips, and we both leaned into the cracked door, listening.

“I don’t know,” my father answered, sounding resigned. “I guess I wouldn’t blame Madoc if he did. Does Jared love you?”

Katherine Trent. That’s who he was talking to.

“I think so,” she said softly. “And if he got married tomorrow, I’d be worried as hell, but I’d know he was following his heart. I mean, look at us, Jason. Who’s to say they can’t make it at eighteen when we failed long after that age? Are we experts?”

Damn. Invisible hands wrung out my stomach like a washcloth. My dad knew I was married.

I heard hard footsteps. “It’s not about that. It’s about priorities, Katherine. My son needs to finish college. He needs to experience life. He’s been given the gifts of privilege and opportunity. Now he has a distraction.”

I took Fallon’s hand and held her eyes with mine.

There was some shuffling around the office, and then I heard the wheels of my father’s desk chair shift as he let out a huge breath. He must’ve sat down. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to figure out if he was angry or upset. I couldn’t tell. I heard a grunt and some more heavy breathing. It sounded like hyperventilating. But not.

“I messed up.” His voice caught, and I heard the tears.

“Shh, Jason. Don’t.” Katherine started to cry as well.

My father, I thought. My dad is crying. My chest got heavy, and I looked down to see Fallon’s thumb rubbing back and forth on my hand. When I looked up, her chin was quivering.

“My house is empty, Katherine.” His voice was so sad. “I want him home.”

“We weren’t good parents,” she choked out. “Our kids have paid for our lifestyle, and now it’s our turn to pay for theirs. He’s got a girl that he can’t stay away from. They’re not doing this to hurt you, Jason. They’re in love.” And I smiled at her words. “If you want your son back,” she continued, “you need to open your arms wider.”

I clasped Fallon’s hand tighter and whispered, “I need a few minutes alone.”

Her watery eyes sparkled, and she nodded her understanding. Walking past me, she headed for the kitchen.

Pushing the door open, I saw my father in his desk chair, leaning on his knees with his head in his hands. Katherine was kneeling in front of him, comforting him, I assumed.

“Ms. Trent?” I called, slipping my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “Can I talk to my dad alone, please?”