The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (206 page)

I lay back on the thick feather pillow. There was no way I was going to be able to fall back to sleep, because now I was thinking. Thinking of Sabine and Ariana and Thomas and Josh and Ivy. Lots and lots to think about.

Including Upton. Upton, Upton, Upton. My mind recalled the
image of Poppy koala-bearing him, and my chest constricted. About two seconds after that little display I had fled the party, come back here, and had gone directly to bed. There was no way I was messing around with a guy who had a girlfriend. I had learned that lesson with Dash.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something careening toward the window and I sat up straight, my heart in my throat. Just then a beautiful blue-and-yellow bird alighted on my windowsill and jumped from side to side, checking me out with its little black eyes.

“Hey there. You scared me,” I whispered, letting out a breath.

The bird jumped back and forth, back and forth, and then started to sing. I blinked, surprised. It was almost as if he had done his assessment and decided I was worthy of a private morning concert. I was about to lay down again and listen to his song when suddenly someone stepped up to my window, scaring the breath out of me. The bird took flight with a squawk.

“Good morning,” Upton said with a smile.

My hand was over my chest. “Upton! What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-shouted. My stomach was tied in frightened knots that relaxed only slightly now that I realized I knew my surprise visitor. I pulled up the blankets to cover my navy blue Easton Academy T-shirt and couldn’t help wondering what my hair was doing.

But wait. I didn’t care. He had a
girlfriend
.

“So this is the Langes’ new house, huh?” he said, leaning on the windowsill and looking around my room. “Nicely done.”

“How many windows did you pop into before you found the right one?” I asked, my heart still pounding.

“Only two. Someone should check on the housekeeper. I may have given her a stroke,” Upton said.

“Upton!”

“Kidding! Kidding!” he said, lifting his hands.

I took a deep breath and silently told my pulse to calm itself. “What are you doing here?’

“I had to see you,” Upton said, running his hands through his tousled hair. “You left so quickly last night that I didn’t have a chance to say good night.”

“I thought that was because your tongue was otherwise occupied,” I said sarcastically. I rolled away from him in the bed and hung over the far side to retrieve my jeans from the floor.

“I thought Poppy might have been the cause of your sudden departure,” he said with a frown. I shimmied into my jeans under the covers and swung my legs around the edge of the bed to face him. He was only about four feet away, but the wall separated us.

“Wow. You’re even smarter than I thought,” I said.

Upton’s frown deepened. “Reed, Poppy is not my girlfriend,” he said in a quiet but firm voice. “She’s simply a good friend with whom I’ve . . . for lack of a better word . . . hooked up with a few times this past year.”

“She seems to think it’s more serious than that,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and glancing at the clock on the nightstand. I needed something to look at other than those deep blue eyes. Otherwise I was in danger of blindly believing everything he said.

Upton laughed in a fond way. “Well, that’s just Poppy. She’s used
to getting what she wants—and doesn’t take no for an answer. Just one of her many endearing quirks.”

“Obsessive delusions are an endearing quirk in your world?” I asked.

Upton smirked. “When it’s Poppy Simon, yes.” He took a deep breath. “Look, she wanted something more serious and I didn’t, but she’s persistent. I think she believes that if she calls me her boyfriend over and over again, I’ll somehow start believing it’s true.”

I snorted a derisive laugh. “Whatever. I just don’t want to get involved in some twisted love triangle,” I told him. I got up and walked over to the window. Big mistake. The closer I got to him, the higher my body temperature rose. “I’d just like to pretend that last night never happened,” I lied.

Upton reached for my hand. He pressed his thumb into my palm, causing my heart to skip an alarming number of beats.

“That’s not acceptable to me,” he said. “I can’t pretend last night never happened.”

I hazarded a glance at his face.
God, those eyes. A person could die happy in those eyes.

“Upton,” I said. It came out in a sort of begging tone. I had lost all conviction.

“Just let me take you out for breakfast,” he said. “I
must
prove to you I’m not a jerk.”

I smiled inadvertently. His accent made everything sound so endearing.

Don’t do it, Reed. Don’t do it,
a little voice in my mind warned. I stared at him, trying to picture a flashing neon sign in the center of his forehead that read
CAUTION! GIRLFRIEND HAVER!

But I couldn’t do it. Another look in those eyes and I was a goner.

“Fine,” I said finally, “breakfast.”

An hour later I met Upton on the beach, about a ten-minute walk from Noelle’s house. As he saw me approach, he got on his knees and pushed up the sleeves of his navy-blue cotton sweater, exposing his perfect forearms.

“I’ve brought you three types of croissants,” he announced. “That has to earn me some points.”

He pronounced “croissants” with a flawless French accent. Could this guy be any sexier?

Do not get sucked in,
I told myself, tucking my hands under my arms as I sat down on the gray flannel blanket. There was a stiff wind coming off the water, and my green hoodie was zipped up all the way to my chin, which had the added benefit of sending a clear message—not here to flirt.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” I said, checking out the rest of the spread. Laid out on the blanket were four separate platters heaped with fruit,
croissants (butter, chocolate, and strawberry), eggs Benedict, and all manner of breads and cheeses.

“Are you a tea person or a coffee person?” he asked, holding up two silver thermoses.

“Coffee, definitely,” I said, pulling my knees up under my chin.

“All Americans are,” he joked, pouring some into an actual ceramic mug. I noticed that he also had somehow managed to transport a glass carafe of grapefruit juice without breaking it. As picnics went, this was pretty gourmet. Back in Croton the word “picnic” conjured images of soggy PB&Js and Minute Maid fruit punch juice boxes.

“Okay. I’ll admit I’m impressed,” I teased, tying back my hair in a ponytail. A few clouds had rolled in off the island side, encroaching on the sun. I hugged my sweatshirt closer to me, wondering if Upton felt the same way as Kiran did about Old Navy. I took a sip of my coffee and resolved not to care.

“Thank you,” Upton said, settling in next to me with his tea. His thigh grazed mine and, even through my jeans, I felt the heat. Damn. Being near this guy was definitely dangerous. “I’m glad Noelle brought you here,” he said.

“Why? Need some new meat?” I blurted.

“What does that mean?” he asked, pulling back slightly.

“Nothing. Sorry,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee. “It’s just . . . I like you.”

Didn’t get much more transparent than that.

Upton grinned. “I like you, too.”

“But you’re a player,” I said, my heart slamming against my breastbone.

His brow knit as he considered this. “I don’t have to be.”

I laughed. “Yes, you do. People don’t change.”

“That is such a load of bollocks. People change all the time,” he protested, setting down his tea and turning toward me. “Look at Madonna. She loves the U.S., then she loves England, then she loves the U.S. again. Or politicians. They flip-flop all the time. And look at Brad Pitt. You cannot tell me that man was not a player before he met Angelina.”

I laughed loudly and raised my hands. “Okay, okay! You made your point.”

“Good,” Upton said, settling in again. He reached for the platter of fruit and popped a grape in his mouth. “I thought I was going to have to whip out my BlackBerry and start searching Wikipedia for more examples. The point is, right here, right now, I want to be with you. No one else. Okay?”

I took a deep breath and audibly let it out. “Okay.” I couldn’t help but smile. He’d had me at “load of bollocks.” I tore off the end of a croissant and nibbled on it. It was clearly time to move on from the player conversation.

“So what’s your deal, Upton Giles?” I asked. “Where’re you from? What do you do? What do you like?”

“My deal?” he said with a laugh. He propped his hands behind him and gazed out at the ocean. “Well, let’s see, I grew up in Essex,
where my family owns quite a bit of land. My grandfather did well with some technology investments and used his earnings to snatch up every foreclosed estate he could get his hands on, so we’re new money pretending to be old.” He lowered his voice as if sharing a dark family secret. “So because of this grand charade, I am supposed to make something of myself, which basically means that when I was five I knew I was going to have to graduate from Oxford and become a medic or a lawyer or a businessman of some kind. Whatever would get me quoted in the London
Times
at least once a month, which is how my father measures a person’s success.”

I laughed, pushing away a stray lock of hair from my face. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

Upton grabbed a plain croissant and covered it with some sort of greenish-white cheese. “You’d think it would be, but you’re missing one important detail.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Expectations mean bugger all to me,” he said with a grin.

I smiled and took a sip of my coffee. “What’s Oxford like?”

“Why? Thinking of matriculating?” he asked, leaning on his side now. He gave me a leading look that made me shiver “We’d love to have you,” he said in a jokingly husky voice.

“I think Oxford’s a little out of my reach,” I said, putting down the coffee and dusting some stray sand from my hands. “I’m kind of starting to stress about college. Everyone I know
has
to get into an Ivy League school, like it’s going to make or break the rest of our lives. I never even thought about the Ivies until I got to Easton, and now it’s,
like, ‘Omigod! What if I don’t get in?’” I said, raising my shoulders and spreading my fingers wide.

Upton laughed and took another bite of croissant. “You don’t have to go to an Ivy to have a life.”

I rolled my eyes. “Said the guy who goes to Oxford.”

“I’m serious,” he told me. “You can get a proper education almost anywhere. It’s just up to you how much work
you
want to put into it. The important thing is to go somewhere that you feel comfortable. Other-wise you’ll spend all your time trying to fit in instead of trying to learn.”

I stared out at the ocean. The waves were larger now, starting to splash their way up the beach toward our picnic spot. “Huh. No one’s ever put it that way before.”

“Not only am I not an ass, I’m also quite wise,” Upton joked, spearing a piece of melon with his fork.

I sighed and pulled my knees up under my chin, hugging my shins as I looked out at the choppy water. This was an interesting concept—figure out where I’d feel comfortable. After the insane experiences I’d had at Easton, maybe I should look for a big school. Big and southern and warm. With lots and lots of sunshine, modern buildings, and no tradition at all. I laughed to myself and tightened my sweatshirt around my torso. University of Miami, here I come.

“Is it just me, or is it getting cold out here?” I asked.

My words were still hanging in the air when I felt the first raindrop.

“That’s our cue,” Upton said. He sat up straight and opened the picnic basket. Already a steady drizzle was starting to fall. “Leave the trays. Save as much of the food as you can.”

“Just
leave
the silver trays?” I asked. Did his family sweat money or something?

“There’s no time. These things come on fast,” he said.

He was right. The rain was starting to fall harder, soaking through my skirt and sweatshirt. We dumped the bread, cheese, and croissants into the basket, grabbed the thermoses, and left the rest on the blanket. Upton grabbed my hand and squinted up the beach.

“We can duck under the roof at Shutters,” he said, pointing at a covered deck that was mostly obscured by dozens of blossoming bushes.

Upton jogged up the beach, no easy feat in the downy sand when toting a few pounds of food in one hand and clinging to me with the other. Before I knew it, we were climbing a set of stone steps and ducking under the wooden overhang that covered an outdoor restaurant. Several of the tables were occupied, and the diners were visibly startled at our sudden arrival. The maître d’ stepped forward and greeted us. He was a handsome, dark-skinned man with a huge smile and four hoop earrings in his left ear.

“Good morning, Mr. Giles,” he said, placing his hands together. “Caught in the storm?”

It seemed as if everyone relaxed when they realized one of the vagabonds off the street was actually Upton Giles. I was reminded that this was a small island and that Upton’s circle was even smaller.

“Afraid so, Marquis,” Upton said, running his hand over his hair a few times to shed some of the rain. “Mind if we wait it out here for a bit?”

Marquis gestured with an open hand toward the front of the restaurant. “Feel free to sit in the lounge until it passes.”

Upton tugged on my hand, leading me toward the lounge. But two steps later, we nearly bumped into the Ryan family, who were walking out to the patio. Paige, dressed in a white fleece warm-up suit, took one look at my hand in Upton’s and glanced away, irritated. Man, this girl took the Upton Game seriously. Too bad I was winning.

“Upton! Reed!” Daniel greeted us with a warm smile. “What did you do, go for a walk in the rain?”

“We attempted a picnic,” Upton said, glancing past Daniel at his parents. “But the weather didn’t cooperate.”

He dropped my hand to adjust the basket, and then left my fingers hanging there. Paige noticed this and smirked. I tucked both hands under my arms to feel less conspicuous.