Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

This would be the perfect time for me to stuff myself with some vanilla ice cream or a milkshake while I hide in the closet.

“Happy birthday, Gwyneth.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a small blue box and tosses it my way.

I let the phone fall to my lap so I can catch it. Receiving a gift from him is almost enough to make me forget about his words. About the apathy everyone in the media talks about.

Almost.

“Can I open it?”

“Sure.”

I didn’t even open my other presents, but the ones that I have from Nate are always first on my list. In the past, he’s always gotten me toys and books. This isn’t the packaging of either of those.

Inside, I find a gold link bracelet with a scale charm hanging from the chain. I let it dangle between my fingers and smile. “It’s so beautiful.”

“My assistant picked it out.”

I drag my gaze from the bracelet to him.

He’s letting me know that he would never pick something like this for me, but whatever, he’s the one who bought it and that’s all that matters.

“It’s still beautiful. Thank you.”

“King said you want to study law.”

“Yeah. He’s my role model.” And you.

I don’t say that, though, because in some way, it feels like he’s put up walls in the span of seconds. The tightening in his jaw and face scare me.

But apparently, they don’t scare me enough, because I blurt out, “Can you help me put it on?”

“No.”

It’s a point-blank refusal that makes me wince. Usually, he doesn’t refuse my requests, not that I make them often. Even though I’ve known Nate all my life, I was always intimidated by him one way or another.

Like people are intimidated by my dad, I guess.

“Why not?”

“You can do it on your own.” His expression closes and I know he’s done with any type of conversation and will leave, shutting all the doors in my face.

And if he goes, my plan for today will be an epic failure.

If he goes, I will have nothing.

He still doesn’t see me as an adult. He still thinks I’m a kid, and if I don’t do something about it, that will never change.

If I don’t do something about it, I know, I just know that I will regret it for the rest of my life.

So I gather the remnants of my courage and let my phone and the box fall to the swing as I stand up.

Thanks to Dad’s genes, I’m not short by any means, but I still barely reach Nate’s shoulders, even with heels on. Oh, and I’m so tiny compared to his broad build and mass of toned muscles.

But I don’t let that stop me and I step closer until my heaving breasts nearly graze his chest. Until the fabric of my dress is mere inches away from his tailored jacket.

It’s not the first time I’ve been this close to him, but it is the first time under these new circumstances and in the midst of all the zaps and jolts and dreams that he’s always the main character of.

Dreams that leave me soaked and aching for a single touch.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice is as stiff as his body, but he doesn’t step back or push me away.

He remains there like a sturdy wall that I always want to climb.

“Can’t you help me put the bracelet on?”

“I said no.”

“What’s wrong with doing it?”

I pause at my own words.

Doing it.

Me and Nate.

Nate and me doing it.

Shit. I need to rinse my mind with bleach and hope all the dirty thoughts disappear.

“Go back to your party, Gwyneth.”

I twist my lips in disapproval. He never calls me by the nickname everyone uses for me, and I hate it.

Gwyneth sounds impersonal and detached.

Putting distance between us is the last thing I want, so I push my body forward, toying with an invisible line where his world is separated from mine.

I’m crushing that line, decimating it, burning it to ashes.

Because I’m an adult now and I can do that.

“I want to be right here, Nate.”

His thick brows dip in the middle. “What did you just call me?”

“Nate,” I say, lower this time, a little bit uncertain, a little bit scared. Because, holy shit, his deep, rough voice and the tightness in his body can be terrifying.

My thoughts are confirmed when he says firmly, with an authoritativeness that strikes me straight in my bones, “It’s Uncle Nate.”

“I don’t want to call you that anymore.”

“It’s not up to you to decide. It’s Uncle Nate, got it?”

I swallow at his non-negotiable tone and the firm edge to it. No wonder he’s a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom. If I were a criminal, I’d be on my knees right now.

Hell, I’d be on my knees even without the criminal part.

“Answer me, Gwyneth.”

“Yeah. Okay. Got it.”

He narrows his eyes at that and I know he hates it, my using two or three different terms for the same thing. He told me so once, to measure my words before letting them loose, but I’m not as disciplined or as assertive as he is. Never was and probably never will be.

But a part of me longs to be, because if I am, he’ll see me as a woman, not a kid.

A woman.