Hard: A Step-Brother Romance (5 page)

“
Until
…?”

I
flashed the dimples. “…Until I was balls deep in you. But who in their right
mind would stop then?”

She
didn’t implode on the spot. A good sign.

“That
is exactly my point.” Shay poked at my chest. I was sure she imagined the abs
she accidentally stroked beneath. “Who in their right mind would…would…” Her
hands covered her face again. “Oh my god, I had sex with my brother.”

“Step-brother.”

“I’ll
let you do the talking when we’re crashing outside the pearly gates.”

I
sighed. “Come on, Shay. Harmless mistake.”

“Which
time?”

Uh-oh.
“Which time what?”

“You
and Sergeant Hard were
balls deep
plenty of times that night.
When
did you realize who I was?”

Once,
I navigated through hostile territory with no radio communication, ammunition,
or GPS while under heavy fire. That was less dangerous than her question. I
rubbed my head.

“Uh.”
No sense lying. “The first time.”

“The
first—
the first time
?” Shay fell silent. Her eyes—the most perfect mocha
darkness—stared at me, wide-eyed. “You…we…spent
all night
together! And
you didn’t tell me! You didn’t even
try
. God, you’re a pig! I can’t
believe I
ever
let you touch me.”

She
moved to escape. I made the reckless decision to grab her hand. She spun to
slap, but I took that hand too, pulling her close.

Today,
she smelled of lilacs. Another lock of ebony hair slipped from her pony tail
and caressed her soft cheek. She fumed, practically shaking from anger, but the
heat pooling in me transferred to her. I leaned in and lowered my lips to hers
so that I might have whispered an apology or stolen another sin.

“A
piece of paper says we’re family,” I said. “Just a stupid marriage license.
You’re still you, I’m still me. We had a good time. Don’t ruin it with guilt.”

“I’m
not guilty, I’m pissed.”

“Don’t
be pissed either. We had fun.”

She
didn’t believe me, but, Christ, did I want to prove it to her. It’d be too easy
for me to haul her up, wrap her legs around my waist, and slam her against the
wall.

And
she’d love it. Beneath the anger? I recognized a girl more ashamed of her
sexual inhibition than anything a marriage certificate dictated about our
formal relationship. Her hint of shame—the embarrassment of a good girl who never
went home with strangers, never let them kiss and lick and fuck her, never
believed she’d have the night of her life grinding against a cock harder than
steel—that drove me fucking wild.

I
wanted that Shay back. I wanted the voracious, passionate,
beautiful
woman
who wasn’t afraid to tell me where to touch, how hard to thrust, and how deep
to push.

But
she wasn’t playing.

“Let
go of me.” Shay shook free of my grasp. “You can’t call it
fun
anymore. You
can’t call it
anything
. What we did was wrong.” She shoved away before
she leaned any closer to my lips. “What
you
did was wrong. You should
have told me who you were.”

“It
wouldn’t have mattered.”

“You
stand to inherit
half
of my father’s fortune. Half, and I don’t even know
you. You are a complete and total stranger to me, and, somehow, you managed to
steal from me, from my family, and from the memory of my father. You’re a
monster.”

“Not
fair.”

“You’re
right. It isn’t fair.” Shay returned to William’s desk and grabbed both sets of
keys. She pocketed them both and scowled. “If you think you’re getting anything
from me, you’re wrong. Enjoy the memory of that night, Zach, because the next
time I fuck you over? You won’t like it so much.”

“At
least there’ll be a next time,” I grinned.

“Not
going to happen, Zach. This is the last time you ever see me.”

I wasn’t
a betting man, but I’d stake all my newly inherited fortune on her being wrong.
I’d give her the money, park the cars, and never set foot in the estate if it
meant I’d have another shot to get back with her.

One
night wasn’t enough. Sex with Shay was a religious conversion, and I was a
zealot without a temple.

No
need pissing her off. I surrendered, my hands in the air.

“You
stay,” I said. “You and William probably have a lot to discuss.”

I
winked at her, heading to the door. The attorney could email me whatever papers
I had to initial. For a chance at Shay, I was prepared to sign my life, soul,
and cock away.

Shay
fumed, but I laughed, imagining those pouty lips used for something so much
better than a frown.

“I’ll
see you around, sis.”

Thirty-five
thousand square feet.

What
in the
hell
was my father going to do with thirty-five
thousand
square
feet of space in his house?

Two
wings from the
main house.
Nine
bedrooms.

Eleven
freaking bathrooms.

I couldn’t
begin to process how ridiculous it was to have
eleven
bathrooms. He had
each room finished with a different imported Italian tile, showcasing bathtubs
large enough for Olympic training. I half expected a synchronized swimming team
to pop out of the Jacuzzi bubbles and start scrubbing the vanities.

This
mansion was nothing like where we lived growing up. When company came over to
Momma’s two bedroom apartment, we could only set out the
good
soap. The
kind that smelled like mint-raspberry and was carved into ocean animals even
though Momma never saw a starfish in her life.

Sure
it was humble, but it was our life. While Momma was proud to provide premium toilet
paper—triple ply
with
decals—for our visiting friends, my father painted
the walls of his
guest bathroom
with flecks of real gold.

Even
the camel trying to fit through the needle in Jerusalem would have taken a
detour through the sauna attached to the master bath.

I
toured through the house on tippy-toes, as if the real owner would follow me to
the conservatory and knock me out for trespassing. They’d find me dead in the library,
a candelabra to the head Professor Plum style. But no one murdered me while I explored
the dining room behind the second sitting parlor. At least, it
looked
like a dining room—the kind from fancy story books and European castles and
movies with Anne Hathaway.

This
wasn’t a home. It was a maze. My father stuffed it full of relics and statues
and overstuffed, Victorian furniture. It wasn’t me. Then again, college was
more bean bags and body pillows, not wingbacks and pedestals.

What
was he planning on doing with all of this?

I
snuck into the grand foyer, his museum of marble staircases and crystal
chandeliers. The house had a hundred places to sit in every material and comfort
level imaginable—including a chair that looked too much like real zebra. I
plunked down on the stairs instead.

This
was ridiculous.

The
house. The funeral. The almost-wedding. The secret marriage.

Zach.

I was
used to being abandoned, but I was never used before. Did he have sex with me
to get lucky, or had he deliberately indulged in something perverted to steal
his inheritance?

Whatever
his game, it wasn’t sexy. It was sad. Disturbing.

And
it had felt so
real
.

Our
night was passionate. It forged a solid, absolute connection that made the
other two lovers I experienced seem like little more than a flick of my fingers.
I
never
came like that. I never acted like that. I never thought I’d
meet someone who made me feel so…desired.

What
an ass, both of us. It served me right. I went looking for a quick and easy
pleasure to muffle the guilt for not feeling miserable enough. What did I think
would happen when I slept with a man who called himself
Hard
?

A
clang echoed in the halls.

I
jumped up. It wasn’t the air-conditioning or a bag of money thunking against
the floor.

I
pawed through my pockets for my cellphone and readied to dial.

Another
thud. My heart stopped then tried to crack out of my ribs.

Who was
in my house? How would someone even get in? We dismissed the serving staff
while the estate settled, the community was gated, and I thought the alarm
system was set.

Or maybe
it wasn’t? The damn system went off the instant I walked inside, and the
security company calling my cellphone was not happy that I didn’t know my
paternal grandmother’s maiden name. Apparently
My Dad ran out on me turn
this freaking siren off haven’t I suffered enough!
was not in their set of
passwords.

I
needed something to defend myself. Fortunately, whoever Dad hired to decorate
the mansion loved tucking vases in arbitrary places. I snagged a crystal centerpiece
on the way to the kitchen, raised it over my head, and braced for an attack.

I
peeled the corner.

The
vase ripped from my hands.

And Zach
laughed.

Especially
as the chrysanthemums exploded in a plume of white petals and showered me with
blossoms and water.

I
shrieked, mainly from terror but also because I couldn’t think of a profanity
strong enough for my outrage.

“Easy
there, sis.” Zach pushed the vase onto the counter. “Death by peonies is not a
good obituary for a SEAL.”

I stared.

Didn’t
mean to.

Couldn’t
help it.

How
the
hell
did Zach get into my house?

And
where were his clothes
?

Zach
strutted in my kitchen wearing nothing but dripping-wet swim trunks. They clung
to his trim and deliciously toned waist by virtue of his self-declared best
feature. His body rippled hard, muscle over muscle. The scars shone over his
skin, but whatever was once injured had been stitched back together. Something
terrible happened to him. I knew better than to ask. Hell, I wasn’t even going
to
look
.

No
matter how badly I wanted to peek.

I
turned, spinning from the magnificently sculpted form flexing his way to the fridge.
He removed a Gatorade and chugged the bottle, crushing the plastic in his hand.

Why
was he drinking from
my
fridge?

Wait...who
even stocked the damn thing?

“What
the hell are you doing?” I probably shouted too loudly.

“I’m
thirsty.”

I
had no response. I sputtered over too many questions and unreasonable demands.
Zach didn’t care. I choked on my words and stewed in silence.

He tossed
the empty bottle in the recycling. I glanced over him again. Scars upon scars.
Just…everywhere. Not only that, he favored his left arm, even if he didn’t
outwardly show it. Something nearly crippled and broke him.

He
said he was on leave. I guessed I believed him, but why would a Navy SEAL want
to live in a Versailles inspired mansion north of Atlanta when he could be out
saving the world from extremists, dictators, and the computer nerds who hosted
websites that pirated movies?

“How
did you get in here?” I demanded.

Zach
caught me looking at him. He grinned. “Through the patio.”

He
did it on purpose. “Not into the kitchen, smart-ass. Into the house!”

“The
underground garage.”

I’d
pitch the nearest mixing bowl at his head. I spun to face him, wishing he’d put
on a shirt and regretting once licking every taut muscle on his chest.

“That
isn’t what I mean…” My rage blitzed into a sharp huff. “There’s an
underground
parking garage?”

“Two
levels. Only one’s underground. But the elevator takes you to the roof where
the tennis courts are.”

I
stared at him. He arched an eyebrow.
Tennis courts?

For
as much as I wanted to squeal in delight for my newfound palace, Zach Harden was
still half-naked and
dripping
in my brand new kitchen.

Well,
one of my kitchens. But I liked this one. I’d probably use it the most. Which
meant I preferred it
puddleless
.

“Why
are you here?” I tossed a tea-towel at him. It hardly covered his palm let
alone the rest of his six-foot-four, monstrous bulk. “How’d you get in?”

“I
have a key.”

“Impossible.”

He
brushed the towel over his muscles. His tempting, sea-foam eyes studied me,
made greener only by the stacks of cash that insulated the walls of my new house.
“My name is on the deed too. I live here.”

“You
do not.”

“Just
moved in.”

I
heard a fizzle. I hoped it was the last shred of my patience burning up and not
a snap of an aneurysm.

“You
can’t move in here,” I said. “I told you. You are not welcome in my house.”

He shrugged
and foraged in my fridge. “You don’t have to invite me in if I have a key code.
I’m not a vampire.”

Not
a vampire? He’d
bit me enough during our night together. A couple discreet hickeys proved
otherwise. I slammed the refrigerator shut and leaned against the steel doors. Zach
only smiled. I began to loathe those dimples.

“This
is ridiculous,” I said. “You didn’t even know my father. You can’t live in his house.”

He
shrugged. “Actually, I did know him.”

“You…did?”

“I
met him a couple times. Nice guy. We had a bit in common. He was in the service.
Marines.”

I
didn’t know that. It didn’t matter.

“One
conversation doesn’t entitle you to half of his life. This isn’t your house.
You’re inheriting money that…that…”

“Belongs
to you?”

Oh,
Christ, he made me sound like a money-hungry gold-digger. It wasn’t like that
at all. Dad took care of me in material ways, and Momma taught me resilience
and strength. I didn’t need billions to make me happy.

I
didn’t even know what I needed.

Why
the hell didn’t Dad ever tell me he was in the service?

Why
didn’t he tell me he had a secret family with a lady he married a
month
before he died? Then again, would I have even listened to a word he said?

“Look,”
I sighed. “You know this is wrong. My dad updated his will, but he didn’t think
he’d die so soon. This is a mistake.”

“He signed
it, witnessed it by his attorney, and had it notarized. It’s hard to argue it.”

Well,
I was trying, wasn’t I? “Why are you wet?”

He liked
that I studied his muscles, glistening with water droplets. “Swimming. There’s
a great pool out back.”

A pool.
Fantastic. And he had been in it. Exercising in the clear pool. Letting the sun
warm his lightly bronzing skin. I imagined him diving through the water as it caressed
a body so powerful and fierce he’d cut through the ripples like a sword through
silk.

Momma
was too terrified of water to let me swim. Now all I could imagine was slipping
beneath the surface with a skilled military man who probably worked better under
the waves than above them.

But
those thoughts were
wrong
. A well of anger rushed over me, drowning me
in unspoken words that thickened over a tongue which could still taste every
inch of his body. I ground my teeth.

Step-brother.

He was
my
step-brother
.

And
he didn’t tell me before seducing me. He didn’t warn me before he took half of
my inheritance. And now he ate a cold pepperoni pizza from the fridge. Where
the hell did he even get a pizza?

“This
is ridiculous.” I crossed my arms. “You have ten seconds to get out of my house.”

“Our
house.”

“Ten.
Nine. Eight.”

“Shay,
I have every right to be here.”

“Seven.
Six. Five.”

“God
damn, you’re cute when you’re angry.”

Ignition.
“Fourthreetwoone.”

“Easy.”
Zach sucked a bit of pizza sauce from his finger. I stared only at his lips. “I’m
just messing with you. You’re wound pretty tight, you know?”

“I get
that way when strangers trespass in my house.”

“I’m
not really a stranger anymore, am I?”