Sweet Billionaire Stepbrother ~ Part 1 (6 page)

All I wanted was to just listen to meditative music while someone else pampered my face and body. Mum had booked me in for the whole enchilada: body scrub, facial and waxing. I'd never been prodded, poked and pummeled as much in my life.

It was more exhausting than any assignment I’d ever worked on.

“I'm having French polish on my nails please.” I said to the technician who was giving me a manicure and pedicure. How Mum did all of this on a regular basis was beyond me.

In my next life I wanted to be a man—all they needed to do to get ready was to have a shave, shower and get dressed. Nobody frowned if they wore comfy shoes with their tuxedos.

“A
h, Bella, today I turn you into a princess.” Mario said with a wink as I planted my ass in his chair. “Just leave it up to me. You will see.”

I’d survived the dress shopping and beauty therapist the day before, so how bad could hair and makeup be. Mostly I was looking forward to the massage chair that would knead the tight knots out of my back and shoulders. And the complimentary glass of sparkles.

The big night was only hours away. Mostly I couldn’t wait for it to all be over.

“Nothing radical, Mario,” I warned, scrunching my nose as the bubbles hit my nostrils. “I still want to recognize myself when I walk out of here, okay.”

Mario looked at me with a wounded look on his round face. “What . . . you don’t trust me, Bella? That hurts my feelings, you know. Your Mama, is she not beautiful? All my work.” He pushed his chest out, pride beaming on his face.

“Yes, she’s gorgeous and you make her look amazing. But I don’t want that kind of look. I don’t want—”

“To look beautiful? You don’t want every man in the room wishing you were his?”

“Oh God, no!” I said, horror lacing my voice. “I don’t want anyone looking at me.”

That’s a lie. Only one man. He can look all he wants
.

Only thing was, he’d look, but he wouldn’t see
me
. He’d see his best friend, his confidant. A girl, not a woman.

“There is a man you want to notice you?” Mario asked, his brown eyes soft and warm.

“No . . . um, y . . . yes.” Mario could see I was lying, I saw it in his eyes. I lowered my gaze to the floor. “But he won’t see me like I want him too.”

Mario placed his finger under my chin and raised my face. “Bella, every woman is beautiful. And through the eyes of love, you will be the most beautiful woman on the planet to some lucky bastard. Let me show you how to make the best of what nature gave you. Nothing crazy, okay? I want you to feel confident in your own skin.” He smiled at me. “Trust me, okay?” He squeezed my chin like one would that of a child, imploring me to take his word. His smile was so genuine, so caring, that I couldn’t help myself.

I nodded as a small smile crept over my face.

“Okay.” I took in a big gulp of air. “I trust you.”

Holy hell. What was I doing?

“You won’t be sorry. And your man—he won’t be able to take his eyes off you. I promise.”

That was a big promise to make. I wasn’t sure he could keep his end of the bargain, but what the hell . . . I had nothing to lose really.

“Can you trust me enough to not look in the mirror until we are finished with you?” Mario coaxed.

My eyes widened. He was kidding, right? Was I on some kind of TV show I didn’t know about? Was he hiding cameras behind those thick glass windows? My suspicions rose when out of the blue a very gay and gorgeous young man walked up to me with various makeup brushes in his hands. Mario introduced him as Nico. He was from Italy and had worked in all kinds of fashion shows. I actually felt sorry for the man—my face was a far cry from the models he was used to working with.

“Oh darling, you have cheekbones to die for and flawless skin. Your mother was right. You are a blank canvas and I can’t wait for my turn to work on you after Mario finishes with your hair.”

This is some kind of conspiracy
. I narrowed my eyes at Nico, noticing his slender hands fly around as he gestured wildly.  Blank canvas indeed. He was acting as if he were damn Picasso, measuring my face with the sides of his long make-up brushes.

“Perfect proportions,” he gasped. “Oh honey, this is the highlight of my damn week.”

Great. Now I was certain I was on a make-over show. The salon was beautifully decorated with huge chandeliers and gilded mirrors. The perfect backdrop for glamorous people—or turning ugly ducklings into swans.

“Mario—” I pulled at the black gown he’d placed around my neck earlier, ready to get up from the chair.

“Hush, Bella. Trust, yes? Nico is the most talented makeup artist I’ve ever worked with. He does stage makeup for famous actors and he’s done all the fashion models too . . . you are in good hands.”

Of all things, trusting anyone was probably the thing I found the hardest to do. Not that I was a control freak, I’d just seen too many people physically and emotionally broken in my line of work, sometimes by the very people they were meant to trust the most.

Like my father
. Injured in the line of duty, he’d suffered greatly before he died. His legs had been torn off by a hand grenade that had been planted by a terrorist in a shopping center. He’d gone through months and months of rehab, only to lose the battle to pneumonia because he’d contracted an illness that made him vulnerable while he was in hospital.

Groaning, I slumped back into the chair and closed my eyes. Let the torture begin. Why was it that women had to go through all this crap to be acceptable?

But a small part of me was excited to see what they could do with my blank canvas. I’d seen before and after pictures of famous people and it was truly amazing what could be done to enhance a person’s features.

––––––––

L
ifting the weights above my head, I worked my muscles until I felt the burn. I groaned on a heavy exhale and slowly lowered the bar, exerting as much control as I could on my fatigued muscles. Working out always helped when I was frustrated or annoyed or simply needed time to figure things out. I preferred to take my pent up emotions out on dumbbells and punch bags.

It was one of the things Dad had taught me from an early age. Building his empire had brought enormous stress along with huge success and he swore by a fit body and an agile mind. It was a philosophy that served me well and I’d put extra effort into this session. Sweat trickled down my spine and caused a shiver to run through my body.

Ever since Layla had mentioned Seth Matthews I’d had an uneasy knot sitting in the bottom of my stomach. His older brother, Hawke, had been my nemesis throughout school and we’d always been in competition for everything. Highest grades. Girls. Captain of the team.

I hadn’t paid all that much attention to his little brother because I’d never really considered him to be a threat and now the little prick was intruding into my life in a way I didn’t appreciate. Layla was special. I didn’t want some upstart jock wooing her simply for the sake of adding another notch on his belt like his damn brother had done throughout high school and university. Bile rose to my throat as I thought of Seth laying his paws on Layla.

“What’s eating you, Grayson?” Dad asked as he emerged from the sauna wrapped in a towel, his face red and shiny. His body muscular and fit, he was my idol. Not only did I want to look as good as he did when I got to forty-nine, I wanted my mind to be as sharp too. Everything about him shouted success and power. He knew how to make things happen that other people only dreamed about. The man had it all.

Prominent. Important.
Winner
.

Even the greying on the sides of his dark hair suited him, made him look more distinguished.

There were very few people who dared cross Milton Forbes. He could ruin a man’s career with a phone call or catapult a fledgling business into the stratosphere just by their association with his company.
Our company.
The one that gave me all the privileges I could possibly want in life, including a fully kitted home gym that rivaled the best out there. It was also my future prison if my father got his way.

“Nothing. Why?” I raised an eyebrow as I peered at him. The man missed nothing.

“The way you’ve been groaning. You’ve been taking your frustration out on everything in here this morning.” he said dryly as he dropped the towel, turned the taps on and stepped into the shower. The women of the house never came down to the gym this early, so it was usually just the two of us at the crack of dawn.

“Just some stuff on my mind.” I said, avoiding his curious gaze.

“A problem shared—” He stopped talking as he soaped up his body.

I wiped the sweat from my face with a small towel and walked out of the small changing room and back into the gym to the treadmill. I gulped down half a bottle of water and set the machine to a killer pace. My footsteps thudded loudly in the silence until I plugged in my iPod to drown everything out . . . including Dad.

Twenty minutes later, Dad stepped out from the dressing room dressed in a suit pants and crisp ironed shirt, the seams pressed flat just the way he liked it. Impressed that he’d recovered so fast, after his grueling workout and sauna I noticed that he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Was the man superhuman?

I hit the stop button on the machine. My knees were shaking and I was breathing hard. I got off the treadmill and doubled over trying to catch my breath.

“Whatever it is must be big. Talk to me, son.”

Damn. I hated when he did that. Ever since my mother left, whenever he thought I was upset he’d persistently question me until I spilled my guts.

“It’s Layla.  She’s going to the ball with Seth Matthews.”

Dad raised an eyebrow with a slightly puzzled look on his face. “You have a problem with that?” He knew about the strong competitiveness between Hawke and me. I guess he didn’t understand my problem with his younger brother.

“He’s a jerk. Just like his older brother.”

“Ahhh. You don’t want Layla to become his next victim?” Dad caught on fast. “I know you feel protective over both your sisters, but it’s not your call, Grayson. Layla is old enough to make her own decisions.”

He was right. And that was exactly why it bothered me. Obviously she’d have boyfriends and all that shit, but of all the guys in the universe did it have to be a fucking Matthews? I’d heard talk about what a hard nut Layla was to crack and that every guy had her on his to-fuck-list simply because she was truly not interested. What was it with men and their dicks? We may look different but we really haven’t evolved all that much since our caveman days. We hated when we couldn’t make a woman succumb to our charms.

Seth had better watch out. I’d be watching his every move.

Yeah, Maybe I was being over protective, but that’s the way I was with people I cared for. Anyone hurt them, they got to deal with me.

I
f only her lips weren’t so fucking inviting.

My gaze traveled slowly from her feet to her chest, up along the smooth skin of her slender neckline and to her luscious mouth. Layla didn’t realize just how kissable she looked at that moment. I was having a hard time remembering that she was my sweet stepsister and that I had no place feeling heat rise up under my skin . . . or my fucking dick harden. Jesus Christ. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I watched her walk down the stairs, her beauty taking my breath away with each step. I closed my mouth and forced my brain to function. Why was making a coherent sentence so fucking hard?

“Lala,” I breathed on an exhale. “You look . . . wow, you’re gorgeous.” I blurted out like an imbecile.

“Yeah? You think I look . . . okay?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat as she waited for my answer. Didn’t she know she was absolutely stunning?

“More than okay. You look exquisite.” Exquisite?
Who the fuck uses words like exquisite? Note to brain: Start talking like a normal man.

Yet I meant every word. I had never seen a woman look more radiant and still vulnerable because of her innocence. It was that indescribable mix of shyness and subtle self-confidence that made her captivating beyond words. I couldn’t tear my fucking eyes away.

Her smile widened until it took over her whole face. “Thank you, Gray. It means a lot to me.” She only called me Gray when she was really excited. As if using my whole name was too cumbersome to say in her moment of enthusiasm.

I held my hand out to help her down the last two steps.

“Where is everybody?” She looked around the empty hallway with a puzzled look on her face before returning her gaze to me. Our eyes locked for a moment. I sucked in a breath as I drowned in the shimmering pools of bright green.

For an instant the whole world disappeared. Nothing or no-one existed except us.

On the last step, she tripped over her dress and was flung straight into my arms. Luckily my reflexes were sharp and I caught her around the waist, holding onto her tightly. I could feel her heart beat wildly against my chest.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” she gasped, trembling.
I’m not.

Her perfume snaked its way to my nostrils and I inhaled a deep breath just to get more of it. Intoxicating.

Jesus, I’m losing my fucking mind here.

Her hands pushed against my chest. “Thanks for catching me before I made a complete fool out of myself.” I watched as a deep pink glow spread over her cheeks, not realizing that I still hadn’t let her go. “You can let me go now. I’m fine.” She laughed out loud and her voice was shaky as she pushed against me again.

“Um, lucky I was standing here.” I mumbled, my voice hoarse. Her closeness affected me in ways I’d never experienced before. I’d hugged Layla and even kissed her many times over the years but it was always purely platonic. Although we weren’t related by blood, I had treated her like my little sister. Now my heart was thumping against my ribs and I didn’t want to ever let her go.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

No. Not at all. I’ve turned into a blubbering idiot and I don’t even know why. Fucking pull yourself together man!