Raging Hard: A Stepbrother SEAL Romance (With bonus novel Based!) (34 page)

“I’ll see what Jess says.”

She turned and began to walk out. I stared at her perfect ass. “Back to work for Jules now. Don’t hurt yourself limping back downstairs.”

I laughed. “Don’t let her work you too hard.”

I’d rather be the one working you,
I thought, but left that unsaid.

She waved and was gone.

I stared at the door for another second before glancing down at my watch. Twenty minutes had passed since I was supposedly taking a shower, and I was sure Jess would be storming up the stairs any minute to yank me out.

Better get in there before she caught on to my dirty little piano secret.

In pain, but still half hard from being so close to Aubrie, I limped down the hall and started the shower. Two minutes later, as if on cue, Jess began banging on the door and demanding that I come out and get ready for the next shoot.

It never ended. But at least Aubrie seemed like she was coming around.

I grinned into the shower water and willed my hard-on away.

T
he ceiling fan in my room was busted, which meant I kept tossing and turning in bed, trying to get to sleep despite the heat. I was practically drenched in sweat, which was pretty gross, but it would have been fine if I could at least pass out and deal with it in the morning.

Instead, I kept thinking about Lincoln. I kept thinking about my stepbrother’s smile, his body, and the weird darkness that was behind everything he did. On the surface, he was cocky and carefree and happy, but I was beginning to sense something else lurking below everything he said and did. Worst of all, I kept obsessing about the way he made me feel when I was around him, the tightness in my chest, the excitement running up along my spine.

And when he began to play that song, singing it sad and loud and slow, it felt like he was singing right to me. That was stupid, I knew, since it was a love song, and who sang a love song like that to their stepsister?

Still, there was something . . .

I rolled over with a huff, frustrated. I grabbed my phone: two in the morning.

“Fuck,” I said out loud to nobody and sat up. I was already going to be a mess. Might as well get some water and maybe do some reading until I finally passed out.

I climbed out of bed and pulled some light cotton shorts over my panties and pulled a black T-shirt on over my head. I liked to sleep naked, or mostly naked, and was so used to walking around my apartment back at school without getting dressed. I was going to have to be careful of that.

Out in the hall, I headed down toward the kitchen and stopped suddenly. I stood deadly still in the middle of the pitch-black hallway and strained my ears, struggling to catch the noise in the distance. For a second, I thought I might be going insane, but suddenly it started up again.

There was no doubt about it. Someone was playing the piano again.

What the hell is Lincoln doing up right now?
I thought to myself as I crept toward the music room. I stood outside the slightly ajar door and listened as he played softly. I gently pushed it open a bit wider and caught sight of him sitting at the bench, shirtless, his hands roaming along the keys, illuminated by a single weak desk lamp.

I was totally entranced. How often did he get up in the middle of the night to play? I figured the piano thing was a rare occurrence, but maybe he was more into music than he was letting on. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his muscular torso, the tattoos running down along his skin, and the skill with which he moved his hands. It was almost unreal, Lincoln alone in the room practically glowing in the soft light, and I suddenly felt bad for staring at him. It was clearly something private he did, and there I was barging in on him again.

As I went to move away from the door, the playing stopped.

“You might as well come in.”

I froze, a tingle running up my spine. He turned around and grinned at me. Sheepishly, I took a step inside.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought it was you.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m playing. Couldn’t sleep either.”

I took another step closer. “Too hot in your room?”

He shook his head. “No, not really. I’ve just . . .” he trailed off for a second and seemed to consider me. “I’ve just been having some shitty dreams, ever since the accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He laughed. “You going to come in or just stand there like a creep?”

For a second I was torn. Being alone with Lincoln in the middle of the night, especially when he was shirtless and I was wearing minimum clothing, was probably pretty dangerous. As it was, I had a hard time not staring at his muscular chest and perfect lips. But something about his look compelled me, and I took a few more steps inside, shutting the door behind me, and sat down next to him on the bench.

“What are we playing tonight?” I asked him.

“Any requests?”

“
Piano Man
.”

He laughed. “No way. Too cliché.”

“You don’t know it, do you?”

“Yeah, there’s that too.”

I laughed. “Okay then. Surprise me.”

“How about this, you probably know it.”

He began to play something upbeat that I didn’t recognize immediately, until it turned and began the chorus. I had no clue what it was called, but it was a classic, old-timey show tunes type song, something I had heard a million times. I couldn’t help but laugh at him playing it. There was a huge disconnect between the badass, muscular based guy covered in tattoos and the corny piano music he was playing. Finally, after about a minute, the song ended.

He laughed along with me. “I love that one. Always a crowd pleaser.”

“What’s it called? I’ve heard it a million times.”

“‘The Entertainer’ by some guy named Joplin. I forget the first name.”

“What else can you play?”

He began to play again. Immediately I recognized the song: ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven.

“I love this one,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s great,” he replied, still playing. “It’s so easy but it sounds so impressive. I read somewhere that Beethoven probably wrote it to pick up chicks back in the day. Probably named it ‘Für Linda’ or ‘Für Tammy’ or whatever the girl’s name was at the time. He could play with one hand while drinking with the other.”

“No way that’s true,” I said, laughing.

“I don’t know.” He leaned closer to me, still playing, and gave me this cocky smile. “I call this ‘Für Brie baby.’ How wet are you right now?”

I made a face and laughed. “Totally soaking. You’re amazing.”

“It’s all Beethoven. He knew his shit.”

I laughed again as he finished the song and stretched. As he did it, I couldn’t help but look at his body again, and I felt a thrill run through me. I caught every detail of his tattoos and the muscles beneath them, but I also noticed a few scars. He may have been funny and talented, but he was still dangerous and gorgeous.

I would never tell him, but I was beginning to get soaked thinking about what he could do with those nimble fingers on my body.

“What’s with the scars?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could distract myself more with thoughts of Lincoln’s body covering mine.

He looked down at himself. “I forgot about them.”

“They look like surgery scars.”

He pointed at one near his ribs. “Yeah, this one is surgery.” He pointed at another, near his abs. His ripped abs. I glanced away. “This one is from the car’s windshield. Actually, most of them are from the glass.”

“That most have been horrible,” I said, looking back.

“I blacked out pretty fast, honestly. The worst part was the uncertainty.”

“What do you mean?”

“With the doctors.” He began to play again, but softly. “They kept saying one thing and then contradicting it. At first, I was never going to walk again.”

“I can’t imagine hearing that.”

“You’d be surprised at what you can handle, if you have to.”

I blinked at him, surprised by the serious expression on his face, but it didn’t last long. He was back to his cocky grin seconds later.

“Having a hot nurse helped the recovery,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “I was waiting for something like that.”

“I figured. Can’t keep the fans waiting.”

I paused a beat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been wondering. Why are you doing this documentary and recovery here, in this house?”

“Seems weird, right?”

“Yeah, it does. I mean, not that I mind you being here and all. Or well, I mean I hate the cameras, but you know what I mean.” I shut my mouth, realizing I was babbling.

He grinned. “Right. I know you love having me around. The truth is actually pretty shitty, though.”

“What, my dad blackmail you or something?” I asked jokingly.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Are you kidding?”

“It’s complicated, Brie. Why do you even care?”

“I’m just curious. What did my dad do?”

“Nothing really. The building I jumped from, it wasn’t exactly legal. We had to break in to get to the top. I was arrested and almost went to jail again, but your dad showed up at my trial and begged for leniency. Said he’d take me into custody, watch over me personally. The judge ended up giving me probation under the condition that I live here for the duration of it.”

“I had no idea.”

I couldn’t believe my dad would do that and not even mention it to me. Bringing my injured stepbrother home to serve his probation was a huge deal, and yet my dad hadn’t even considered telling me. That was typical of our family. If it didn’t need to be said, then it would never get mentioned, no matter how important it might end up being.

“I’m not surprised he never mentioned it. When we left the courthouse, your dad told me that he was going to film my recovery.” He paused for a second and stopped playing. “I said no, but he reminded me that my probation was contingent on my being able to stay at his house.”

I stared at him, shocked at what he was saying. “So my dad really did blackmail you?”

He looked at me. “No, not really. It’s complicated.”

“Sounds simple to me.”

“It’s not. This entire PT thing is expensive, and yeah, I could afford it, but the documentary budget is helping out with that, too. And it’s keeping me out of jail.” He started playing again. “Plus, I’ve fucked up enough. I can at least do this for your family.”

“Still, Lincoln. If you don’t want to do this thing, just don’t. I can talk to my dad.”

“No. I don’t need that.” He gave me a look that nearly took my breath away. It was intense, ferocious, and sexy all at once. “Don’t say a word to him about this. It’s my problem to deal with. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I can help. I mean, I can try to help.”

“You don’t need to. I’m fine, Brie.”

I lapsed into silence and watched him play, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions. I didn’t know much about my father; he had always been a distant person, always so wrapped up in business when I was younger and then his films as I got older. But I never thought that he was a bad person or was remotely capable of forcing someone to do something they didn’t want to do.

“I just can’t imagine my dad doing that.”

“There’s more to it. I owe your dad a lot.”

I shook my head. “What could justify this?”

“Back when I first left, your dad supported me. He used his industry contacts to help make some of my early videos. Basically, I wouldn’t have a career without him.”

I let that sink in. “I had no clue.”

“He didn’t want to bother you.”

“Telling me about my family is bothering me?”

“You know how he is.”

“Yeah, I do. Distant.”

“Must suck.”

“It really does.”

He stopped playing and looked at me. I blinked as he put his hand on my leg, and shivers ran down along my spine. I found myself staring at his body again, imagining his tongue along my skin.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “The film isn’t that bad. Sorry to unload on you.”

“It’s okay. I just want to help.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a moment where neither of us spoke, and his hand lingered on my skin, only inches away from my soaking underwear. I wanted him to cover that space and play my pussy like he played the piano keys, but I knew it was wrong. Or maybe not wrong, but people would talk.

He wasn’t really my brother. But he was my stepbrother. It was really hard to think straight with that strong hand on my skin and that gorgeous face looking at me intently.

And then he pulled his hand away. It shook me out of whatever fantasy I was having, and I quickly stood up, awkwardly stumbling away from the bench.

“What, did I scare you away?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m just tired.”

“Look, keep this shit between us, okay? I must be fucking crazy from exhaustion for telling you all that.”

“Okay. I promise. And the offer to talk to my dad still stands.”

He grinned. “Thanks, Brie baby.”

I turned to walk away, my heart hammering in my chest. As I got to the door, he spoke up.

“By the way”—I turned and looked at him—“your ass looks fucking fantastic in those shorts.”

I blushed and looked away. “Keep that to yourself next time, dick.”

“Nah. Close the door on your way out.”

I huffed and walked out, shutting the door softly. My breath came heavily and tingles were running along my skin where his hand had touched my skin. I leaned my back against the door for a second, gathering myself, as the music started up again. I knew on the other side of the door, Lincoln’s shirtless, perfect body was swaying softly as he played, and I wanted nothing more than to go in there, slam the piano’s lid shut, and let him fuck me until I screamed.

Instead, I went back to my room and tried not to dream about him.

T
hin cotton T-shirt and loose short cotton shorts, her hair messed up from sleep, her confused expression when she saw that I was awake.

I couldn’t get her out of my head, even as the usual sweat-inducing nightmare began to fade and the pain in my legs began to climb. She was still there, lodged in my skull. She was so fucking sexy, and she seemed to have no clue what she did to me. I’d had to constantly shift on the bench while she was next to me to hide the raging hard-on threatening to give me completely away.