Ice Tyrant’s Obsession

7: Lipstick Stains & Demons.

══ DANE ══

My alarm went off at exactly seven, jolting me out of a sleep that I’d barely fallen into a couple of minutes earlier.

I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned from exhaustion. This had become typical—a recurring nightmare ever since my body lost all sense of its circadian rhythm.

Running my tongue over my bottom lip, I could still taste her… and the faint smear of her strawberry-flavoured lipstick lingering on mine. She’d worn it for that soccer bastard, and I’d made sure to kiss every trace of it off until there was nothing left.

She groaned into my chest as the alarm continued to ring, her legs wrapped high around my waist like a koala clinging to a tree. Her head rested on my nearly numb arm, her hair fanned beautifully over her shoulders as I fought the urge to sink my fingers into those soft strands one more time.

When she whimpered again, I took offense on her behalf. Snapping my fingers toward the alarm, I killed the noise.

I bet this was the most peaceful sleep she’d had in days, and I wasn't about to ruin it with my f****d-up sleep schedule.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, disrupting my thoughts. Careful not to disturb her, I stretched over her sleeping form and reached for it.

There was a text. From Jose, my agent. I turned the screen face down without bothering to read it.

Whatever it was could wait.

I had a far bigger demon to wrestle with, and I already knew I was on the losing end.

From the very first second I saw her face at that physio bay, I should have known I was about to get wrecked.

The universe had dug up the face from my worst nightmare and sent it to haunt me.

I’d convinced myself she was nothing more than a stress-induced daydream, which, looking back, was absurd.

When Dad announced his remarriage, I hadn't known what woman he was marrying or if she had daughters. I also had no idea who Ryan’s girl was. He’d never introduced her to me, never told me s**t about her, and frankly, I hadn't cared enough to ask.

The pieces only began to fall into place when Margaret eventually arrived with her daughter. She had paced the living room anxiously, calling a number over and over again and trying to reach her eldest daughter…

Lola.

That same night, Ryan also looked just as restless when he dropped onto the couch.

He told me about the girl he’d been chasing after at his party that night—the one I’d caught before she hit the ground. He admitted he f****d up. Said he knew where she was but insisted that going to fetch her would have complicated things.

Yet when I offered to go instead, he wouldn't disclose where she was.

In his defense, he didn’t trust me around his girl. He didn't want me playing Prince Charming rescuing a lady in distress like it was easy.

Ryan hadn’t been my problem.

I only needed to confirm that the missing Lola wasn't the same girl I’d met in the physio bay—until the front door opened and she walked in, soaked from head to toe.

I’d seen red the second I recognized her.

The sight of her felt like a gut punch, one that hit me with that familiar guilt I always carried with me. And the look in Ryan’s eyes as he stared at her confirmed everything.

“It was Dad, I promise,” he’d whispered afterwards. “He asked me to stay when his new family arrived.”

Lifting my bruised knuckles to my face, I studied them for a second.

Ten hours ago, I’d baited Ryan into stepping into the ring with me. By the time it was over, I’d punched the living hell out of him in retaliation for every hurt Lola had endured because of his immature bullshit.

He eventually passed out.

I drove him home, dumped him in his bed and left him there, knowing he’d wake up when the haze cleared.

That was when I caught sight of Lola quietly leaving her room, dressed up too. I’d lurked in the shadows, using the darkness to my advantage. I followed her down the stairs and out of the house, where I saw her getting into a Mercedes.

It took every ounce of restraint in me not to storm after her and drag her back.

So I sat like a sulking bastard in the living room, quietly counting down the minutes till she returned while containing my rage with a bottle of one of my father’s whiskeys—not beer, as her drunken self had called it.

This was really terrifying.

She was terrifying.

I was well convinced this was my father’s twisted way of setting me up, and I’d be damned if I wasn't already taking the bait.

Now all I could think about was how she’d react once those mesmerizing silvery-green eyes landed on me.

Would she scream? That would force me to kiss her again.

Heat flooded my veins. I ground my teeth to shove the thought aside.

Get a grip, Vaughn.

Two hours later, at exactly nine-thirty her brows twitched. Her body stirred beneath the duvet and I braced myself for whatever came next.

First, she stretched as her hand shot up and smacked me square in the face— I frowned.

Then she settled again for a couple more seconds before her eyelids slowly fluttered open, her gaze drifting lazily around the room until it landed on me.

Time stopped and when her eyes began widening by the second, I knew exactly what was coming.

I was instantly on her, clamping a hand over her mouth before a scream could leave.

“Hey…hey,” I murmured, keeping my voice low.

The haze gradually left her eyes as she blinked at me several times, like she was trying to decide whether i was another hallucination.

Unfortunately for her—I was very real.

She pried my hand off and kicked the duvet aside before scrambling backwards, putting a good distance between us.

“Oh my God!” Her voice was on the verge of exploding into a scream.

“Don’t—”

She wasn't listening, goddammit.

I closed the distance to her and covered her mouth again.

The force of it sent us both tumbling back onto the bed as I loomed above her.

Our gaze locked on each other in a stifling silence.

“You don't want the whole family sprinting in here, do you?” I rasped.

Her neckline dipped in a swallow as she shook her head.

“Good.” I breathed. “I’m going to take my hand off now. No screaming, I mean it.”

I lifted a finger, testing the waters. The only sound that escaped was a soft whimper, the kind that did nothing to help the fire burning in my chest.

Slowly I peeled the rest of my hand away, my fingers grazing the softness of her skin.

Without thinking, I found myself leaning into her, towards her lips.

The moment she realized what I was doing she didn't push me away or scream— she simply closed her eyes.

I stared at the quiet rise and fall of her chest, her fingers fisting into a ball at her sides.

That alone quietly unraveled every ounce of restraint that I had left. I immediately pulled back and away from her.

Last night had already crossed enough lines.

And she looked vulnerable, the last thing I wanted was for her to think I was taking advantage of the situation.

Her eyes flashed open to find me already getting out of the bed and on cue her face turned a bright shade of red.

“Uh… sorry.”

She hurried out of the bed, her fingers smoothing down the rumpled fabric of her skirt.

I watched her, a subtle smirk grazing my lips. “You want me to kiss you?”

Her eyes flashed at me with annoyance. “What? No…Never!”

I grinned, turning towards my wardrobe to pull out a fresh shirt.

Then a quiet knock came on the door, followed by a voice I immediately recognized.

“Dane?”

Fuck.

“I will leave now.” Lola’s voice followed almost in unison.

I slipped into the shirt and buttoned it up. When I turned around, Lola had already reached for the doorknob.

She pulled it open and a figure dashed in past her, jumping on me. I caught her quickly before she met the ground.

Her hands curled around my neck as her familiar scent surrounded me.

“Mon amour!”

Lola stood frozen, her eyes glazing into something distant.

I clenched my jaw.

“Oh, what are these stains on your mouth?” Camille frowned and looked over her shoulder at Lola. “Qui est-elle ?” Who is she?

I searched for words, already irritated that I had to explain this. “That’s Lola.”

“Oh!” Camille’s face lit up instantly. “You told me that your father remarried!”

Yeah, right.

“Is she your stepsister?” Camille asked, turning back to me. Her smile remained perfectly in place, but her eyes searched mine.

“She is.” I gritted out.

“Oh, hi.” Camille looked back at her again.

“Hi,” Lola waved, forcing a smile.

“I’m Camille Griffith, Dane’s girlfriend.” Camille introduced herself.

Her gaze lingered on Lola before she continued.

“Nice to meet you. It feels surreal that Dane suddenly has a sister. I hope we get along.”

“Yeah…” Lola muttered. “Nice to meet you too.”