Page 29 of Whispers

“Just don’t be pregnant.”

Harley’s words still hung in the summer air as Kendall’s footsteps retreated. Paige’s buckteeth sank into her lip and she started writing, practicing Kendall’s signature in her big, loopy handwriting. In her mind’s eye she saw Kendall as a famous model, strolling gracefully down a fashion runway, her arms swinging, her eyes blue and sexy as cameras flashed to catch her come-hither smile and the play of light on her sequined designer gown.

I can’t deal with her now. What was that supposed to mean?

She’s weird. Harley didn’t know up from sideways.

All you Taggerts are weird. That’s why you’re all so adorable.

Is that what Kendall thought? What everyone thought? She peeked out the window and saw Harley, hand planted on the deck rail, shoulders hunched as he glared down at the canyon. His face was so white Paige thought he might puke.

“Scared another one off, eh?” Weston’s voice rose up to Paige’s window like oil when poured into water.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harley turned, his face set in a snarl.

“Kendall nearly ran me down when she took off.” Weston came into view. Taller than Harley, better-looking by most people’s estimations, he hoisted himself up and onto the rail. One little push and he’d fall thirty feet or so to the river. He didn’t seem to notice, and his smile was as cocky as ever. “You sure have a way with women, little brother.”

Harley didn’t respond, just glowered at Weston as he tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip. “Can’t seem to make up your mind between Kendall or that Holland girl.”

“Her name’s Claire.”

Weston’s grin twisted a bit. “I gotta tell you, I don’t know what it is you see in that one.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“She’s pretty enough, but she doesn’t have the ass or the tits of her sisters. Not worth tossing over Kendall Forsythe. Now Kendall, there’s an interesting one . . .” He leaned forward a bit. “. . . I’ve heard that her cunt is like hot honey—sticky, sweet, and moist.”

Paige gulped.

“She doesn’t let just anyone get into her pants, either, so consider yourself one of the chosen few.”

“Shut up, Wes.”

“I’d give half my trust fund just to see if it’s true. But I didn’t come looking for you to discuss your love life.”

“Good.”

“Dad’s going to the attorneys’ office in the morning and redraw his will.”

“So—?”

“He’s not happy that you’re consorting with the enemy, so to speak. It could cost you.”

“He can go to hell.”

Weston shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? You could be cut out of millions because you’re obsessed with Claire Holland.”

A muscle worked in one corner of Harley’s jaw, and he had the decency to look awash in guilt. Good. He deserved to feel lower than a slug’s belly.

“You know, I understand your fascination with becoming the rebel and dating the daughter of Dad’s enemy, but you’d better learn to play your cards right. Your timing’s all wrong. I’m telling you, Dad will cut you off.”

“So what do you care?”

“Me?” Weston’s lower lip extended thoughtfully. He shoved a hunk of shiny hair from his eyes. “I don’t really give a flying fuck what you do.”

“Then why’re you here?”

“I don’t like any of us being duped by the Hollands or anyone else for that matter.”