Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

We don't talk on the way back to the house. I just curl my
body up to his and wrap my arm around his shoulders. The cab drops us off in
front of the main house, but I guide Carter around the side to the boat house.
We silently walk up the stairs and I lead him to the sliding doors to the right
of my bed.

"This is where I go when I need to relax," I tell
him, sitting him down on the couch on the back balcony. I cover his legs with
the throw blanket I left draped over the back.

"Yeah? What else do you do?" he asks, rubbing the
bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Well, I—" I begin with a smile. "Actually,
wait a second..." I open my clutch root around in the bottom of it.
"Oh my god," I say as my fingers close around an old joint. "Do
you know what this means?"

"You have more than one vice?"

"No, it means I'm a felon. I forgot this was in my
purse and brought it back on the plane from France. Sorry, sorry, don't think
about that." I dig around in my purse again and take out a lighter.
"Here, just take a small hit."

"This will help?"

"It's very soothing, trust me." I light it up pass
it to him. He takes a short drag and breathes the smoke in before releasing it
and passing the joint back to me.

"My hands feel funny," he says, flexing them.

"That's from the panic attack, not the pot. Weed
doesn't work that fast."

"You know a lot about panic attacks?"

I nod. "Used to get them in eighth grade. Had to see a
psychologist for like a year. When you hyperventilate, your extremities stop
getting enough oxygen and they start buzzing or going numb and stuff. Just keep
breathing deeply and it will go away."

"I don't panic."

"OK," I reply, handing him the joint again. He
takes another small hit.

"I'm trained not to."

"Great."

"Stop doing that."

"What do you want me to say? I know what I saw."

"You going to tell your dad?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't think he's going to want to employ someone who
can't handle being in a fucking club," he says.

"You kidding? I love keeping secrets from my father, or
trying to, anyway." I pause. "I owe you an apology."

He frowns. "What for?"

"Insisting on going there, and then insisting on
staying. I thought you were just trying to control me...I didn't realize you
wanted to leave for
you
."

"Well, I didn't realize that either, so it's
fine." There's a long silence, and I stare at him. "What?"

"You don't have anything to say to me?" I ask,
stubbing out the end of the joint. "Why'd you accept this stupid
job?"

"You don't think it's weird? The new security center?
The license scanner at the front gate? I mean, this place is
locked down
."

"My dad's nuts. I thought you knew."

"Maybe...or maybe there's something he knows that he's
not sharing."

"That does sound like him. He loves knowing things that
other people don't know. And using it against them. So you're saying you took
the job because you think I might actually be in danger?"

"Maybe."

"But..." I trail off and clear my throat,
wondering how to put this delicately. "You were also convinced I was in
danger tonight."

He flinches, and runs his hands through his hair. "So
you don't trust my instincts," he says quietly.

"Carter...it's just, whatever you've been through, it's
got your mind playing tricks on you. I'm just saying, maybe you're seeing
danger where there isn't any."

"I used to be one of the best..." he murmurs,
staring out at the water.

"I am touched, though. That you'd care if I were in
danger," I say, nudging him with my foot.

His head snaps in my direction and he frowns. "Of
course I would. Why would you say that?"

"Seriously?" I roll my eyes. "Just forget it."

He frowns, but lets it go. "How old is Nikki's husband,
anyway?"

"Like, forty-five, I think." He laughs and leans
back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. One of his fingertips
gently rests on my bare shoulder, and he begins to mindlessly flick it back and
forth. "Feeling better?"

"Mm," he murmurs, and takes a deep breath. I watch
his chest expand and admire his profile in the gray light reflecting off the
water. "You're a felon," he says, looking at me, and begins to laugh.
It's catching, and I begin to giggle. "Your skin is so soft," he says
suddenly, leaning forward to examine my shoulder. "Do you rub something on
it?"

"Like lotion? Not really. I guess I should," I
reply, staring at him in amusement.

"No, it's good the way it is. Feel my palm," he
says, extending an open hand to me.

"Rough," I observe, trailing my fingers across the
huge callouses.

"I was so excited when I first saw them, when I first
started working out."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen, maybe fifteen. I was tall, but bony, and
everyone was teasing me about not inheriting my father's muscles."

"He's strong?"

"Well, he was a professional football player."

"Shit, really? Does Jack know him?"

"No one does, anymore. I think you should go back to
school," he says. I'm not sure if he's changing the subject or if he's
just speaking in a stream of consciousness.

"So you were listening in on my phone call," I
say, pulling my hand back, but he latches onto it with his.

"I have excellent hearing. I can hear your heartbeat
right now."

"You cannot."

"Yes," he replies, pulling me closer and wrapping
his hand around my wrist. I feel his thumb move over the artery on the
underside of my wrist.

"You are impossible," I sigh in frustration as his
scent overwhelms me. "You said very specifically that we were never doing
this again."

"So did you. On the plane."

"Yeah, well, you said it more recently."

"I felt jealous tonight. Of the man touching you. I
want to be the only one who's allowed to touch you."

"Carter, you can't say things like—" Abruptly, he
leans forward and kisses me. I gasp and pull back, fighting the desire that's
coursing through my veins. "You're just—"

But he pulls me in again, now wrapping his arms around my
waist and pressing himself down on top of me. Oh, fuck. My willpower dissolves
as his tongue slips into my mouth. Any thought of turning back is wiped from my
mind as I wrap my arms around his neck.

I moan as he pulls my strapless dress down and takes my
breast in his calloused palm. His mouth leaves mine and I arch my back as he
sucks my nipple into his mouth. He flicks it back and forth with his tongue and
grazes it gently with his teeth. His hands push up my dress as his mouth moves
to my left nipple, whirling it around inside his warm mouth.

He takes my waist and turns me so that my back is leaning up
against the armrest of the couch, then brings both of my feet onto the couch
and pulls my legs apart, kneeling between them. I hear fabric tear and the cool
breeze against me and look down to see him dropping my cotton thong on the
ground in tatters. I shake my head at him and he gives me a wolfish grin before
bending his head forward and taking a long lick of my clit.

"Oh, Carter," I groan, as my eyes roll back in my
head. I didn't think sex with this man could get any better, but I had no idea
what he could do with his tongue. As he works my clit over, I feel him slip one
long finger inside me and circle it around, coming back over and over again
across my g-spot. My fingers search the rattan side of the couch for a grip as
I feel an orgasm begin to build inside me. My legs shake and my breathing is
ragged, but he keeps going. His tongue circles faster and faster and my back
arches and I come with a barely muffled cry.

I hear him stand up and open my eyes in confusion as I feel
him lifting me. "Where are you taking me?" I ask, trying to get my
bearings.

"To bed, of course."

Chapter Seventeen

He stands me up next to the bed, then reaches forward and
takes my dress in his hands. It's bunched around my waist, and he carefully
works it down over my hips until it falls to the floor. I watch as he takes his
own clothes off, the effect of my high now really hitting me since I'm not so
worried about him.

Naked, he walks to my nightstand and takes out a condom.
When he returns to stand in front of me, I bring my hands up to his chest and
then up to his clavicle, then across his shoulders and down his arms. His body
feels like strength itself to me.

"Lie down," he tells me quietly. I let myself fall
backward onto the bed, and then scooch back until my feet aren't hanging off
the end. He brings the condom to his mouth and rips it open, then unrolls it on
his long, thick cock. I'm not sure how long it takes him...time seems funny and
it could be ten seconds or an hour.

He leans forward, and with his weight on his elbows on
either side of me, he crawls up the bed, then gently lowers himself on top of
me. I wrap my legs around the back of his thighs as he softly kisses me. I can
taste myself on my lips and open my mouth wider, curious about my own taste on
his tongue. His cock presses against me and I adjust the angle of my hips
slightly to accommodate him.

He thrusts slowly inside me, his tip spreading me open until
he is fully sheathed inside me. He rocks his hips slightly back and forth, and
then pulls out again. I close my eyes, losing myself to the sensation, but I
feel his hand on my chin. When I open my eyes, I see him staring down at me
with his hand gently holding my face in place. I can feel his cock sliding back
inside me as his eyes lock with mine. He's studying me, absorbing my every
micro-expression as I take him in. He lowers his head an inch, brushing my lips
with a kiss, and then pulls back out again.

He moves painstakingly slowly, never allowing me to look
away, until a throbbing ache of desire has built up in my groin. I
need
him to move faster so that I can find release.

"Please," I gasp, pressing my hips up against him
so that he gets the idea. He nods, and with another soft kiss, he begins to
thrust forward faster. The sudden movement almost pushes me over the edge, but
I hold back. I arch my back and dig my hands into his ass. I want to feel him
deep, deep inside me. One more thrust, and my pleasure crests. My body shakes
with spasms until I have nothing left.

He collapses on top of me and I feel his breath against my
neck. He raises himself on his elbows again, and with one finger, pushes a
sweaty strand of hair off of my forehead. Slowly, he pulls out and stands back
up. I watch him walk to the bathroom, admiring the high curve of his ass. I
move up to my pillow, and pull the sheets over myself. He reemerges from the
bathroom and I wonder for a second if he's going to leave, but he walks back over
to my bed and slips under the sheets from the other side.

He lays back on the pillow and reaches one arm out, pulling
me against his shoulder. I tense for a moment, and then relax against him,
letting my hand fall against his chest. His breathing slows down, and I trace
the tattoo on his chest with my finger.

"Carter?" I whisper.

"Mm?"

"What did you mean on the plane when you said that it
had been a while since you met someone like me? What is someone like me?"

"Someone so full of life," he explains without
pause.

"Oh." I lapse into silence, mulling over this
explanation. "Carter?"

But he's already asleep.

* * *

I wake up in the morning with a smile on my face. I'm not
even sure why...ah yes, Carter. The night started out shaky, but boy did it end
well. I turn onto my side and reach out my arm for him. He's gone.

I sit straight up in bed, listening. Is it possible that
he's just in the bathroom? Nope. All silent in here. I spot a little slip of
paper on his pillow.

Sorry
, he scrawled on it.

That fucker.

A deep rage begins to surface inside me, but just as quickly
as it appeared, it's gone. My mind feels clear for a moment.

I told myself that I was going to give up men for a while,
and then I went straight into another one's arms. It's not like it's a new
pattern. I chose him. The only person I can blame for making another shitty
choice is myself.

With a surprising amount of energy, I bound out of bed. I
let myself get sidetracked, but now I know what I have to do. I head for the
shower and after a quick rinse, I pick out a pair of jeans and a blouse and
head over to the main house for breakfast.

Just as I take the last bite of my cereal and walk over to
the sink to rinse out my bowl, I hear movement at the door to the hallway. I
turn to see Carter staring at me. He looks uncomfortable, nervous even.

"I wanted to—"

"You don't have to," I cut him off, raising my
hand. "It's good that you left. I fell right back into old patterns, and
now I'm snapped out of it. I mean, I couldn't even abide by my own no men rule
for a couple weeks. Pathetic, really. But when I drink I always make bad
choices, which is why I promised myself I'd cut that out, too. Sorry, I'm
rambling," I say with a shake of my head, and put my bowl into the
dishwasher. "Maybe we could be friends? It would make our security guard
and protectee relationship a little easier."

"Yeah, friends," he says with a nod, a ripple
going across his face that changes his expression into one of blank
indifference.

"Good. Because I need to go somewhere, and I'm guessing
you're going to insist on driving me."

"You guess right."

I smile and after a stop at the boat house, we walk next to
each other toward the garage. I can't deny that I still feel a shiver go down
my spine when I'm close to him, but I'm sure that will go away eventually. The
important part is not to act so impulsively on my feelings. Maybe my will power
is a muscle, and it will get stronger with time.

"Where to?" he asks as he pulls the Audi out of
the garage.

"University of South Florida," I say, pulling out
my phone to look up directions. Even with my eyes down, I can see him glance at
me in surprise. "Don't make a big thing of it, OK? I don't know how long
it would take me to graduate, or even what I'd want to study."

"Really?" he asks, and I narrow my eyes at him.
"I thought it was pretty obvious."

"Feeling a little smug, are we?" I tease him.
"Well?"

"Well...it seems like you should do the thing you were
pretending you were doing."

"English, please."

"In Paris, when you were working at the bakery, you
told your family you were working at a startup, helping displaced women or
something, right?"

"Right..."

"So I think that wasn't just for them. I think that's
what you really want to be doing."

"Business? I don't know."

"You chose that story pretty specifically. You could
have made up anything, why'd you choose that one?"

I chew my lip while I think for a moment. "I like the
idea of helping people, especially women who haven't had opportunities like I
have. And I just thought I could see myself doing that—oh, I see what you
mean."

"Right?"

"My father is a businessman," I say with a frown.

"There are lots of different kinds of people in
business. You don't have to be anything like him," he says softly.

"If I end up doing this, are you going to rub my face
in the fact that it was your idea?"

He laughs. "No. Only when I need something."