Hard: A Step-Brother Romance (6 page)

I
didn’t let him get to me. “What happened, happened. It was a mistake, and you
should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I’m
not,” he said.

“I’m
not surprised.”

“You’re
gonna tell me you didn’t have fun?”

It wasn’t
like I could lie. He had been there. He personally witnessed how many times I
humiliated myself. I begged for him to debase me, and he did it
perfectly
.

“This
isn’t about that night,” I said. “This is about here and now. You’re the least
trustworthy man I know. I am
not
sharing a house with you. I want you
gone.”

“You’re
right. I didn’t tell you that we were step-siblings.” He leaned closer. My
heart and stomach duked it out between flitters and flops and every
inappropriate butterfly that grew to the size of a hawk. “But everything else
that night? That was totally honest. We had an un-fucking-believable night of
sex. You can’t bluff that.”

I could
and I would. He didn’t buy it.

“Admit
it, Shay. We aren’t strangers, and you’re kidding yourself if you think I’m
gonna walk out that door and forget all about you. Ain’t happening. You’re in
my blood now, and I’m in yours.”

“I’m
not falling for it.”

“I’ll
keep the addiction hidden if you can.”

He smirked.
I sunk back against the fridge though I’d only find relief if I ducked inside
of it.

His
eyes. The dimples. That unbelievable body still shining with the occasional
drip-drop of water. I followed a single sparkling bead as it crossed over the
shadow of his pecs, along the ridged six-pack of his tongue-tempting abs, and
lower. It crested in the V which peeked from the waistband of his shorts.

The
man was perfection.

And
what waited beneath the shorts? The source of his pride. The one delight I had
yet to forget from the biggest mistake of my life.

He
caught me staring at it. Thinking about it.

Wanting
it
.

Holy
Christ, I was as big a perv as him. Crushing on my step-brother was bad enough.
He was nothing but a no-good con-artist who got his money and his rocks off all
in the same night.

This
was a nightmare and a half. I’d abandon the house myself if it meant I could
piece together some shreds of my dignity. All I wanted was to slip into a warm bath
where only the removable showerhead knew where I touched.

“Get
out.” Venom strengthened my words. It tasted an awful lot like desire. “Or get
an attorney.”

“Christ,
I’ve had insurgents crack easier than you.”

I
quieted. He pulled away from me, chuckling as he crossed the kitchen. His
trunks didn’t fall low enough, and his perfectly muscular ass hid from me. I
wondered if he still had marks from where my fingernails dug in, trying to fit
him deeper inside me.

I
took my first deep breath. Mistake. The air filled with
him
. Sweat,
salt, and dust. It certainly wasn’t what Atlanta’s
Old Money
smelled
like.

“I
have a proposition for you,” he said.

“You’ve
propositioned me enough, thank you.”

Zach
winked. “We can keep our clothes on for this.”

Then
why wasn’t he wearing any yet? I couldn’t think of any insults to lob at him
while his pecs
twitched
as he inadvertently flexed.

“I understand
this was a big shock,” he said. “It was for me too. But we’re both adults.”

“What’s
your point?”

He
leaned against the counter as if he belonged in the house. As if he already knew
the name of the spikey fruit loaded in the baskets by the window or if the
pizza oven was wood or charcoal.

If Zach
could tell me where the nearest bathroom was, we’d be set.

“My
point is, we can settle this in a minute flat,” he said.

“Well,
this I gotta hear.”

“I
propose we share the house.”

“
And
you’re done.”

Zach
prevented me from storming out. “Shay, listen. Let’s temporarily share the
house. I’m only on leave for a few more weeks. Let me crash in the lap of
luxury before I get shipped back to some desert where there’s more explosives
and camels than…” He patted the granite countertop, though his eyes lingered on
me. “Simple delights.”

“That
doesn’t solve our problem. It just moves it to a different continent.”

Zach’s
smirk faded, and he turned serious. An odd sincerity, but one I completely believed.

“I’m
not looking for the easy way out or a get rich quick scheme. Never was. I’m a SEAL.
That’s my job. That’s my life. I live to serve, and this…” He gestured around the
mansion. “Is nothing but a fairy-tale while I wait for my next deployment.
That’s all.”

I
hesitated. “So…you want to live here for a few months. Then what?”

“Then
you can buy out my share.”

“
Buy
?”

“That’s
how these inheritance things work. You buy me out for a price that won’t look
like we’re evading taxes, and we’ll be done. Then you can have this big
beautiful house all to yourself.”

I
crossed my arms. “And you want to live here while we figure all the details
out.”

“Yep.”

“You
don’t see how crazy that is. I’m not sharing anything with you. I don’t even know
you! And this isn’t your house!”

Zach’s
smile returned. He grabbed an apple from a basket and pointed over his
shoulder.

“I’ll
be downstairs in the gym working out. Then I’ll test the theater system with a
movie. You’re welcome to join me. Take some time to mull it over. Let me know
what you think.”

Easy.
“I’m not sharing this house with you!”

He
sunk his teeth into the apple and waved as he headed downstairs.

To
the gym.

And
then to the theater.

We had
a
theater
?

No.
I
had a theater. And
he
thought he could steal it away until I
paid him
off
to return what was rightfully mine?

Hell
no.

Zach
Harden wasn’t getting away with this.

He wasn’t
getting a dime of my money, a single restful night’s sleep in my house, or
another side-long glance from me.

From
that moment on, I declared war.

Except
it wasn’t a good idea to fight dirty with a SEAL. And I didn’t trust myself to
confront Zach again, not when everything inside me clenched hard and tight when
I imagined him straining those muscles while lifting the weights.

Nope.

We
couldn’t live together.

I
refused to bunk with the most desirable, infuriating, and despicable man I had
ever met. My apartment near campus would be
fine
until we sorted the
mess out. I’d go there, call William, and straighten the whole thing out.

Immediately.

Well,
maybe tomorrow.

My
apartment didn’t have air-conditioning.

…And
this mansion had a theater system.

Maybe
it wouldn’t hurt to spend one night here even if Zach were around. Besides, how
else would I keep track of the devil if he loitered under my roof?

I
headed outside to explore the grounds, though I took a detour through one of
the two wine cellars and grabbed something white, bubbly, and fruity. Dad had taste
at least, but I’d need something much stronger to combat Zach Harden.

That
fiend was never taking advantage of me again. And he’d be lucky if I let him
camp in the corner of the property with a hole to sleep in, a can of soup to
eat, and only the memory of me and what he lost to keep him warm.

No
one made me a fool.

And Zach
would learn that lesson.

My
father had more assets than I thought.

I knew
he was wealthy, but now I saw the bank statements and investment reports and
property listings. Dad was lucky the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and
future hadn’t paid him a visit.

While
Momma stewed in her declared independence and clipped coupons, Dad sailed away
from his responsibilities on a yacht.

A
yacht that also belonged to Zach.

He could
take the part under the water.

My
phone buzzed. Azariah was the last one I wanted to talk to. She expected a play-by-play
of the
magic
night I told her about. My father’s funeral wasn’t the
place or time to discuss my sex life, especially around family who might be
less than enthusiastic with my wild oats being of the…paler variety.

But
at
lot
changed between my night with Zach and now. Azariah was the type
to lend a sympathetic ear only until she thought she could live your life
better.

At
this point, she probably could. I answered the call anyway.

“How’s
my favorite millionaire?” Azariah tapped on her keyboard. Calling from work. Always
the multi-tasker. “Hanging in there?”

“You
wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said. “There’s more money than we thought.”

“
More
?”
She screeched and tisked her tongue at someone who must have passed her desk.
She scolded him and then returned to me. “You, mind your business. Shay, I’m
listening. How many more zeros are we talking?”

“Three?”

“
Damn
.”

“Look,
it’s really complicated. I’m kinda in the middle of a giant freaking mess, and
it’s only getting worse because I can’t fix much of it until I get the trust
fund.”

“That
sucks. You have all the money in the world, and you can’t touch it.”

“Momma
fought tooth, nail, and weave to make sure of it.”

“I
loved Kaydon to death, but I never understood her.”

I
scattered the investment reports on my desk. “She wanted me to learn
independence. At least I had my car and school paid for.”

“Lucky.”

I knew
it too. That didn’t help the guilt. Because of Dad’s money, I could do whatever
I wanted in life. Which was good. I studied to be a teacher, and they weren’t necessarily
known for their stellar paychecks. But the salary hadn’t mattered. My goal was
to find a job somewhere, anywhere, and I’d teach kids more than letters and
numbers. I’d make sure they never felt
alone
.

Ever.

But
my textbooks were pushed onto the floor to make room for more boxes, and my student
teaching schedule pinned over my desk. Moving to the mansion meant a
long
commute. Could I give that up just to stay close to my school? Hard choice.
Until I made it, the books remained on the floor, and my apartment existed in a
state of mess, half-way packed.

“So…?”
Azariah clicked a pen. She’d probably draw some fantastic picture by the end of
her shift. She hated the gig at the sales office, but it gave her time to
sketch. I planned to buy her first piece of art for a ridiculous price to generate
buzz for her name. It’d work, if she’d find the courage to push it into the world.
“Tell me about the guy you met.”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Is there
anything about you that isn’t complicated anymore?” She snorted. “You have all
the money in the world. Cars, houses, mansions,
and
you got laid. You’re
living the dream.”

Not quite.
I sucked in a breath. “My father married Emily before they died.”

“Who?
His girlfriend?” Azariah breathed into the phone. “
No
.”

“She
had a son. And he…” I banished the memory of his lips pressing into my neck.
“Made it into the will.”

“
No
way!”
Azariah whooped. “Girl, this is some Lifetime movie shit.”

“It
gets worse.”

Azariah
hushed me for a second before muffling the phone and announcing to anyone
listening in the office. “I’m going on break, ya’ll! Keep talking, girl. Who is
this son?”

“I
already met him.”

Silence.
She waited, not making it easy on me.

“He and
I…
met
.”

“Oh.”
She figured it out. “Oh,
Shit
.”

“Yeah.”

“You…and
your
step-brother
?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,
honey. This is beyond Lifetime. This belongs on Maury Povich.”

“It’s
horrible,” I said.

“Did
you know it was him?”

“Of
course
not!” Give me some credit. “But I have a lot to figure out.”

“But…”
Azariah hummed. “Was he any good?”

I
tossed a suitcase onto the bed, but nothing from my drawers made it in. “He’s
my step-brother!”

“Well…I
mean…he’s not blood.”

“What’s
wrong with you?”

“People
do fucked up shit all the time. You’re rich. You can get away with it.”

I
sighed. “Not this.”

“All
those kings and queens in Europe used to do it.”

“I’m
not a queen!”

“Didn’t
Woody Allen marry his adopted daughter?”

“Gross.”

She
snickered. “Maybe you’ve been watching too much Game of Thrones.”

“It’s
not funny! This is a problem! I have to deal with this guy, okay?”

“It’s
a little funny.”

I
didn’t need her attitude. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Sorry.”
She let it pass, but I knew her too well. She wasn’t done. She circled the
pack, looking for somewhere weak to sink her teeth. “But you
know
this
wouldn’t have happened if you had just talked with your dad.”

I
packed all of my underwear into the suitcase. I had more than I thought. Now the
latches wouldn’t close. Fantastic.

“He left
us,” I said. “We had nothing to discuss. Don’t make me feel guilty. I’m on a
hair trigger.”

“He was
trying to start a relationship. The car and school and gifts. He extended an
olive branch.”

And
I broke that twig over my knee and cast it into a fire. “I
know
. But it
doesn’t change anything. He made his choice. Hell, he even started a new
family.”

“It
really is sad.”

And
now I had more guilt. “I gotta get packing. I’m heading up to the—” I didn’t
want to say mansion. “—House.”

“When
can I see it?”

It was
probably visible if she squinted and looked at the horizon. “Whenever you like.”

“You’ll
need to have a big graduation party there, Shay. Something to celebrate your
trust.”

“I
guess.”

“You
leave that to me. I’ll plan you something worthy of an MTV special.”

God help
us all. Azariah was eager to keep talking, but she miraculously had to go when
I asked if she’d help me pack. I was on my own to box up my things and
transform myself into someone completely different.

A mansion
awaited me, just a little ways north of the city.

A
whole mansion.

Pools
and hot tubs, patios and gardens, fountains and statues. Downton Abbey was my
new reality, except I didn’t have a lick of English inside me…not without
Zach’s persistence.

Except,
it didn’t feel right. None of it.

So
why did I want to live there so badly?

I knew
it was more than money and security and luxury. The estate was the only bit of
family I had left.

How was
I supposed to know Dad would die?

I
sighed. No sense dwelling on the past. Momma always said we’d have more than
enough time at Judgement for that.

First
thing was first. I needed to buy luggage. I wasn’t moving into a beautiful new
mansion hauling garbage bags full of clothing into my room.

The
knocking rattled my door just as I finished folding my last pair of socks. I
grinned—who thought Azariah would actually help me move?

I
bounded to the door, swinging it open without bothering to greet her. I grabbed
an armful of dirty laundry from the living room. No more quarters for the machines
downstairs. Hell, I could buy new outfits whenever mine needed to be washed.

“Azariah,
Grab whatever looks like clothes and follow me.” The laundry smothered me as I
gave the order. “We have to figure out how to stuff everything I own into one
suitcase.”

I
hobbled to the bedroom and dropped the armful of clothes onto the already
bigger pile cluttering the floor. Maybe Dad did help more than I thought.
Without worrying about car payments or school, I had much more disposable
income to spend on my wardrobe.

I
examined the mess. Where did I get a Taylor Swift shirt? That was Azariah’s
doing. I kicked the shirt over to her and finally looked up.

I
hadn’t welcomed Azariah into my apartment.

It was
Zach.

And
he picked up the laciest, pinkest pair of panties I owned. He stretched them
between his fingers.

“Packing
the necessities?” He asked.

Oh,
sweet Jesus.

I
leapt over the bed and slammed shut the suitcase brimming with panties. The bed
frame was a piece of junk. The slats holding the box-spring slipped, and
everything tumbled, including the suitcase. Zach laughed as a wave of panties
cascaded over his legs.

“What
the hell are you doing in my room?” I shrieked.

He
jerked a thumb to the door. His t-shirt tightened over his biceps. Didn’t he
have
any
clothes that fit?

“You
let me in.”

“Well,
get out!”

“Why?”

“Because
this
place only has me on the lease. You don’t live here!”

Dimples,
a flash of teeth, and a quirked eyebrow. He disarmed me without even trying.

“Relax.
I wanted to see if you needed help moving.” He wagged a folder in his hand. “William
called me. Said he had some paperwork for us. I volunteered to bring it.”

I
took the folder. “Thanks. Get out.”

He
declined with a smile. “So, you’re packing? Decided to come stay with me after
all?”

“I’ve
decided to live in the house that my father passed to
me
.”

“I haven’t
had a roommate for a while. Hopefully it’s better than the barracks.”

“We
are not roommates.”

“Not
yet. Look at all this packing you have to do.” His grin would suffocate me.
“Seriously, need any help getting this to the car?”

“Not
from you.”

Zach
motioned to sit on my bed. I chased him away.

“Shay,
come on. There’s no sense being angry.”

I
had every right to be angry. I fluttered around his feet, collecting stray bits
of the sluttiest and most embarrassing underwear I had. I didn’t know what was
worse—the granny panties or the slinky silk ones.

I
poked his chest as he dared to get in my way, but brandishing a thong at him wasn’t
threatening.

“You
tricked
me,” I said. “You had sex with me without saying you were my step-brother.
You lied about who you were, why you found me, and what you were doing. It was
cruel, and I want nothing to do with you now. No help. No moving. No nothing.”

“How
am I supposed to make it better if you won’t even listen to me?”

“There’s
nothing to
make-better
. You are beyond apologies at this point.”

“Give
me a chance?

Was
he kidding? I threw the laundry onto the bed. “Zach, you
hurt
me.”