For My Stepbrother Billionaire: A Steamy BBW Stepbrother Romance (Billionaire Stepbrother Book 2) (5 page)

“Sure,” I said and tried to sound upbeat. Failed. But tried.

I turned to my bedroom, and paused.

“I was thinking about dinner,” I said. “I heard about an amazing falafel place in Le Marais. I think we should check it out.”

“Whatever you want,” he said.

Whatever I wanted? I wanted more than I should. I knew that. And I still couldn’t not want it.

“I love you, Jake,” I said.

Oh shit.

It slipped out. Stupid.

He bit his lip and looked out of the huge living room windows. At the Eiffel Tower where this began. Well, not began exactly. But started in earnest, that’s for sure.

“You too, Jules,” he said and left me in silence.

I made it to my room without shrieking with glee or wailing with grief. My brain teetered on the edge of both. So not falling down either way was a big plus.

You too? Was that like a “I love you too”, just faster? Or was it a “I heard you, but I’m not saying it back”?

Why was he so confusing? So hard to read?

I slipped out of my baby blue, knee-length dress. It was a wreck of wrinkles and mascara smears. Jake was taking a toll on my clothing. So what. I’d happily sacrifice my entire wardrobe on his altar.

Not the scarves though. I was growing attached to those. Paris was leaving a mark on me. I stepped into the bathroom and examined my bottom. Jake was leaving a mark too. My skin was still pink from where he had warmed me with spankings.
 

I cranked on the hot water in the shower and waited for it to heat up. The mottled white and black marble tile cooled the soles of my feet. Steam billowed out and filled the large space. Larger than my bathroom at home. Larger than any bathroom had any need to be.
 
The moist air warmed my lungs. Tiny droplets clung to the fine hairs on my arms.

I stepped in and the water melted the worry away. Mostly. Blistering hot water pelted my skin and washed away the dried black streaks of mascara and the dried hazy streaks of spit and cum. My bottom burned fire that soon turned to coals.

The water pounded my shoulders better than a masseuse. I rubbed my neck, at the sore muscles that Jake had stretched when he climaxed. My pussy tingled at the thought.

It wanted more. I wanted more.

I rubbed my belly. Circles of intention and longing. My young body was ready to procreate. Ready to join our genes and grow the next generation. Ready to carry his strength into the future.

It was crazy. And perfect.

It was human. It didn’t have to make sense.

We just needed our chance to make it work. And that meant getting rid of Annika once and for all. Seriously, why didn’t she just move on? Apparently, she needed a little push. A little shove to get the journey started.

I lathered my hair up with some shampoo. The sharp scent of tea tree filled my lungs. I wished we had this at home.

I thought of a million ways to get rid of her. While I loved Jake, I would never hurt another person intentionally. Definitely not throw her off the Eiffel Tower like my overeager imagination kept suggesting.

The phone call this morning.
 
That was the key.

It sounded totally suspicious. Was Annika fucking someone on the side? If so, Jake would be furious. More set on dumping her than ever.

The hot water burned the tension from my shoulders. I soaped up and scrubbed my pussy. I was, how to put it, well used down there. An aching, satisfied feeling. I wanted to be clean and ready if I got another chance with Jake this evening.

Scratch that. I wasn’t going to wait for the chance to come knocking. I was going to kick the door down and give him what he needed. Take what I needed.

I needed his hard cock. Needed it more every time I got it.

It took forever to decide what to wear. It had to be perfect. Tonight was huge. I went back and forth, back and forth, finally deciding on a breezy, sunshine yellow dress. It was strapless and flared loose below the waist. I slipped it on and checked myself out in the mirror.

I spun in a circle and the cloth arced out flat at the tight fit around my belly. My pussy peeked out as I spun.
 

Should I skip panties?

No. Too desperate. Too slutty.

I pulled on a tiny pair of bright yellow panties. The sheer, cotton fabric offered just a hint of the groove between my legs. Sexy but sweet.

I chose some white sandals that wrapped up around my ankles. I left my hair loose and free. It hung around my shoulders and framed the ample glimpse of cleavage the dress afforded. I chose a cute pair of sunflower earrings and skipped a necklace.
 

Skipping the necklace felt a little naked, but that was the idea.

I never wore much makeup, so that part went fast. Just a touch of mascara and a shiny gloss of Strawberry Lip Smacker. It went with everything. One last mirror check.

Brown hair and bright yellow fabric. I resembled nothing so much as a sunflower. With a lot of curves mixed in. Just the right amount of sweet and sexy. I was ready to be pollinated.

The clock said seven in the evening.
 

I threw a black scarf around my shoulders and gave myself the final review. For real this time. This side. That side. The back side. It all worked.
 

A knock on the door.

“Julia, you ready to go,” Jake asked.

“Yep,” I said.

I threw open the door and flashed a big smile.

Jake blinked hard and coughed.

Yes!

“You look lovely,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “So do you.”

He always did.
 

He wore slim-fitted, dark blue pants that had a bit of a sparkle to them. Like a fine silver thread had been regularly woven through. He shimmered when he moved in a subtle, sexy way. A tailored jacket of the same material hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist. A pressed white shirt and a bright yellow tie. His ink black hair was parted and swept to the side. It looked slightly mussed and totally gorgeous. His sky blue eyes had cleared a little. The thunder clouds parted for the moment.

I touched his tie. We matched and we didn’t even mean to. That was a great sign.
 

He noticed the match as well.

“It appears we go well together,” he said.

Did he just say that? What did he mean by that?

“Our outfits, I mean,” he said. “Anyway, what was that restaurant you mentioned?”

I’d googled it that morning. Falafel Le Marais. One place popped up as the obvious choice. Apparently, it was pretty famous as a cozy spot for cheap, delicious falafel and fries.

On the phone this morning, Annika had said Le Marais, falafel, and a hole in the wall. I didn’t know for sure if this was where she was having a mysterious meeting with the mysterious Charles. But it seemed like the perfect candidate.

“L’As Du Fallafel,” I said, “in Le Marais. It’s supposed to have the absolute best falafel, fries and hummus. And it’s pretty cheap too.”

“Sounds great,” he said, “Ready?”

“Do I look ready?”

“Is this a trick question,” he said.

“Maybe.”

“Yes, you do. I can’t think of a thing I’d add,” he said.

“Then, yes. I’m ready,” I said.

He gestured with his arm for me to lead. He was nice, charming. But reserved somehow. He held himself back. From me. From us.

Antonio opened the limo door for us and we headed down Rivoli. Past the Louvre, and all the beautiful memories we shared there. They were beautiful to me at least. I watched Jake out of the corner of my eyes as we drove past. He didn’t react. Either he didn’t notice or he didn’t want to notice or he didn’t want me to notice him noticing.
 

Why did it have to be so confusing?

We drove on, past the street that led down to Notre-Dame and turned left at Rue du Temple. Antonio dropped us off at the end of what appeared to be a pedestrian-only street.
 

It was so perfectly Parisian. The narrow street with four story, pale stone buildings on each side. The cobblestones that meandered down the lazily weaving street. The uneven surfaces jutted into the thin soles of my sandals. The streets never went straight in the older sections of Paris. They always drifted back and forth as they went along. More like a river than a road.

That was life in Paris.
 

Le Marais was filled with a wide cross section of people. We saw the typical tourists in athletic shorts and white sneakers. The older Parisian women, strolling in long, flowing dresses and still looking sexy with grey hair hidden beneath luxurious scarves. The fashionable youth dressed in studiously unkempt attire. The kind that look like they are thrown together, but actually take loads of time to make just so. Nothing takes longer than looking perfectly imperfect.

I also noticed quite a few men holding hands. Obviously partners. I wondered if Annika had chosen this area thinking Jake and I would never end up here. I hoped I was right.

I looked at all the wonderful shops we passed.
 

Bakeries, women’s fashion stores, art galleries, an ancient looking book store, several restaurants and bars, and, of course, the cafes. The cafes were my favorite part of Paris. Well, second favorite.

First favorite walked next to me.

The pain au chocolat was up there too. Paris had a lot going for it.

I loved how people lounged in the cafes. Drinking coffee or wine, nibbling bread and cheese. Like they had nothing better to do in the world. It was the river of life.

Each small storefront had its own unique character. Some looked like they’d crawled out of a dragon’s belly hundreds of years ago while others looked like they came straight off the pages of a high design magazine. It was an eclectic and intoxicating mix.

One place in particular had a big line out front. Of course, it was our destination. A vivid green facade with bright yellow and red pictures of different meal options splashed across the front. A deep fried, spicy scent wafted out the open door.

“This is it,” I said. “Supposed to be the best falafel in town.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said.

It smelled wonderful. My stomach grumbled in protest.
 
A woman in the window poked at a pile of golden, crispy french fries. My mouth watered. They looked so yummy. I could demolish a mountain of fries.

Jake took my elbow and guided me past the line and through the door. The inside was small. Not cramped because that would make it sound unappealing. It was cozy. No more than ten tables, all filling in where there wasn’t a standing body. A few tables had their own little nooks created by the jagged footprint of the space and the people standing around.

“Wait here a second,” Jake said.

While he carved through the mass of people, I scanned the room for Annika and the mysterious Charles. Nobody I recognized by the front window. Of course, they wouldn’t sit there. Nobody at the tables in the middle. I scanned the back wall and didn’t see anything.

Wait.

There in the far back corner.

I recognized that hand, wrapped delicately around a wine glass, with the pinkie just lifted off the surface. She laughed and then took a sip of wine. She reached across and wove her fingers into the hand of the man seated across from her.

So that was Charles, huh?

He was pretty hot. I had to give Annika that much. She was a hottie collector. A stupid, bitch too. But still.
 

Charles and Jake could have almost been brothers, as much as Callum and he actually were. Charles looked like a long, lost third. He was a little thinner. A more slender nose and face. But the same shiny black hair and piercing blue eyes. They same height and athletic tone. Annika certainly had a type.

He leaned in and they kissed. Long and deep like they weren’t surrounded by a throng of people chowing on falafel and fries. He reached up and fondled her breast. She didn’t pull away. Nobody else seemed to notice or care. They were just another couple in love in the city of love.

But they weren’t just another couple. That was Annika and she was most definitely having an affair with the Jake look-a-like across the table.

That was another thing I loved about Paris. PDA, public display of affection, was totally normal. Nobody got worked up or bothered by couples showing their love for each other.

But Jake wasn’t a nobody.

Jake wound his way back through the crowd.

“There’s an hour wait,” he said. He looked perturbed. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

I got it. Billionaires weren’t used to waiting. I sure as hell didn’t want to wait an hour. My stomach cramped as it heard the news. But we couldn’t leave. Falafels were only part of the point of our visit.
 

An important point. Don’t get me wrong. My mouth watered and wondered when food would arrive.

“Please can we wait,” I said. “I don’t want to miss out on the hottest falafel spot on the planet.”

“I’ll take you anywhere,” he said. “I know a michelin-starred French bistro—“

He didn’t sound agreeable. I had to think of something. I couldn’t let him drag us away.

“I’m not waiting an hour to eat,” he said. It was a statement of fact. “Come on.”

He took my hand and started for the door. While I loved holding his hand. Something we hadn’t done yet this evening. It was leading in the wrong direction. My mind raced, screamed to stop him, make him turn around. But that would be too obvious.
 

If he thought I manipulated him, he’d be just as pissed at me as Annika for being a lying whore. We were just about out the door when I thought of it.

I yanked against his weight to bring us to a halt.

“I have to pee,” I said.
 

“Can it wait five minutes,” he said. “You know Antonio can have us at another restaurant in no time.”

“Sorry, can’t wait,” I said. “My bladder is about to pop.”

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll be outside.”

That wasn’t going to achieve anything.

“Can you carve a path through this chaos for me?”