Step F*#K: Part Four (Stepbrother #4) (8 page)

BOOK: Step F*#K: Part Four (Stepbrother #4)

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Olivier raises an eyebrow. “This sort of thing is allowed in America?”
“Um . . . well, I’m not sure. I mean, yes, I think so. Our parents haven’t even been married for six months yet, and we met before we even knew. So it’s kind of a complicated situation.”

“Love can be a very complicated thing. I had a girlfriend for many years and then one day she just decided she didn’t want to have a boyfriend anymore. Or that is at least what she told me.”

“I had a boyfriend who cheated on me for most of the time we were together,” I say, thinking of Tom. I actually can’t remember the last time I thought about Tom, but I’m instantly reminded of how badly I just wanted him back, even after I knew that he’d been cheating on me. I sigh. “It doesn’t seem like relationships should be this complicated. I mean, why can’t two people just decide they like each other and want to be together?”

“Because everything is complicated. Is this stepbrother of yours thinking about you, too?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked in a while. Probably not, though. We didn’t end things very well; he stormed out then I left, and now . . . I’m not even entirely sure what I would say if I saw him again.”

Olivier looks thoughtful. “Well, I’d imagine you’re going to have to think of something, if he’s your family now. You’re not going home for Christmas?”
“No. Mainly because I don’t want to have to think of something to say to him.”

“So you’ll be here all alone?”
“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “You should come with me. My mother lives just outside the city in Rambouillet. She’d love it if I brought someone home for Christmas.”

“That’s awfully sweet of you, but I think it’d be better if I just spent the day by myself. I don’t have high expectations for it, so I’m not going to be too disappointed or anything. I’ll probably just sleep in, do some painting. It’ll be like any other day.”

“Except it’s not,” he says. “It’s a special day.”

“I know.” Really, there’s only one thing that would make the day truly special, but I know it’s not going to happen. I don’t know where Jai is going to be for Christmas, but I do know that it’s not going to be out here with me.

I wake up the next morning and Christmas Eve itself feels like any other regular day—people are still out, shops are still open, the roads are clogged with traffic. I spend the morning painting, and then I go out to get something to eat and stretch my legs. The atmosphere is festive, and though I don’t know any of the people I pass by on the streets, I feel as though I am part of something. But then, as the sun begins to set and evening takes hold, something in the atmosphere seems to change. I do my best to ignore this, this feeling that something is special is happening that I don’t get to be a part of.

Don’t be silly
, I tell myself.
It’s a day like any other
.
You’ll go to bed tonight, you’ll wake up tomorrow, and you’ll paint, drink coffee, call Mom. Then that day will be over and everyone will carry on like normal.

But it’s a little sad to think of spending Christmas morning by myself, despite what I told Olivier. I had thought about buying one of those little tabletop Christmas trees and decorating it with tinsel and strands of popcorn, but then I changed my mind. Seemed like it would be more sad than festive. Now, however, I sort of wish I did, because then I’d have somewhere to put the presents Mom and Jessica sent, and I could at least tell myself that I might not be celebrating Christmas in a big way, with lots of family and friends, but that at least I was doing something.

So I decide I’ll do the next best thing, which will be enjoy a few hours with my Kindle, and then enjoy a little time with my vibrator. And I’ve got a bottle of cheap wine with my name on it, so perhaps this evening won’t be too bad after all.

I read in bed until my eyelids start to feel heavy. I put the Kindle on my bedside table and open the drawer, pull out my vibrator.

“Hello, friend,” I say. “At least I know
you’re
not going to come all over my tits.” I try not to think of Denis, or any of the other men that I’ve slept with since I’ve been here, as I slide it under the sheets, between my legs. I don’t even want to think about Olivier, who was so nice and sweet and who I still just didn’t feel that connection with.

Who I start to think of is Jai. Completely unintentionally, completely against my better judgment. But he’s who always comes to mind when I’m feeling turned on, and as the vibrations hum between my legs and I feel myself start to get wet, it’s his face that I see, his hands I imagine touching my body.

As I’m lying there, enjoying the sensations, I hear something, but it’s a quick, fleeting sound, so I ignore it. But then—there it is again. A tapping, or a rattling, or a cross between a tapping and rattling, something hitting the window. Snow? Sleet? I don’t actually want to be disturbed right now, but when it happens again, I sit up, pull the vibrator from between my legs. The warm, pleasant tingling sensation dissipates as I push the covers back and get up. As I’m walking toward the window, the sound happens again, and yes, it would seem that someone is throwing something up at the glass.

I walk over slowly and peek out, trying to do so in a way that will allow me to see whoever it is but not let them see me. I can just picture Denis out there, or Olivier, not wanting sex but wanting me to go with him to his mom’s so I don’t spend the day alone, or maybe even one of the other guys, although it’s not like our couplings were so great that they are worthy of standing outside throwing stones at my window.

It’s dark, and it’s hard to make out the person’s face, but I know the second I see the way he moves his body as he throws another pebble at the window. I know exactly who it is. My breath catches in my throat.

I stand there frozen for a second before I turn and bolt out of my studio and run down the two flights of stairs. Jai turns when he hears the door to the building open. He’s got an armful of flowers.

“What are you doing here?” I say.

“Emma,” he says. He looks down at my bare feet. “I . . . you should go back inside—it’s freezing out here.”

Indeed, it is. My nipples are sharp points against the thin fabric of my t-shirt; goosebumps run up and down my arms. But I shake my head. “What are you doing here, Jai?” Snow is falling lightly, dusting the tips of his hair. Standing there in his wool overcoat, with the flowers, he looks as though he could be posing for magazine photo shoot.

“I heard you might be spending Christmas alone,” he says. “And I didn’t want that to be the case.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “So you flew all the way from London to Paris to spend Christmas with your sister?”

“No,” he says. “With the girl that I’m in love with.”

“Jai—”

“And don’t ever call yourself my sister again.”

He smiles, and I can feel a smile spreading across my own face, too. “It’s funny you should say that,” I tell him, taking a step closer. “Because I’ve decided that brothers are overrated.”

“They’re good at making you come, though.”

“Jai!”

“Sorry. That was the last time I’ll make any sibling references, okay? I mean, really, the whole thing’s pretty funny, if you ask me, but if the only thing that is keeping us apart is the fact that our parents got married, well . . . we just don’t ever have to think of each other as brother and sister, okay? Step brother and sister, really. And that’s nothing but a label. The thing is, Emma, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve
missed
you. It’s been really fucking hard not knowing where you’ve been all this time, not getting to talk to you, not getting to hear what you’ve been up to. Not seeing you, not touching you. I just haven’t been able to get you out of my mind, and honestly, it’s been driving me a little crazy.” He takes a deep breath. “No, it’s been driving me a
lot
crazy. So much so that I’ve been harassing your poor friend Megan, trying to get her to tell me where you were. She finally did. But she held out for quite some time.”

I smile. “Megan’s a big girl; I’m sure she can handle it. Though I know she feels partially responsible. As she should, for setting me up on that stupid online dating site in the first place.”

“It seems like all that happened a really long time ago. That I was standing there at the door, listening to the two of you argue about whether you should knock or not—”

“Wait—you heard that?”

“I did. And that was my first clue that you weren’t just going to be some random hookup, that there was something different about you. I don’t know; it was just a feeling.”

It does seem like such a long time ago, even though it really wasn’t—going to the hotel, seeing him for the first time, having all those drinks at the bar. The sex we had back in his room . . .

The wind blows a gust of cold air across my face and I shiver. He takes a few steps closer, closing the distance between us. His face is serious, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes, a tenderness that makes my heart swell. “Emma,” he says. “I love you.
I love you
. You are the person I want to be with. I don’t care about labels, I don’t care what anyone else is going to think or say about it. I know how I feel.”

And that’s it. That’s all I need to hear from him, and I know he means every word of it. I fling my arms around him, and he drops the flowers and his arms are around me, and he’s carrying me inside, whispering in my ear that it’s too cold to be out here when I’m dressed the way I am.

He carries me upstairs.

“Home sweet home,” I say.

But I don’t think he even sees any of it—he brings me over to the bed and then sets me down, pulling his overcoat off, then the sweater underneath. He strips down and then gets onto the bed with me. We lie there next to each other for a few moments, our limbs entwined, our faces so close that the tips of our noses are touching.

And then we begin to kiss. Slowly at first, our lips just brushing, then with more urgency, mouths opening, tongues making contact, his hands running through my hair, the sides of my face, my throat.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice little more than a growl.

I touch his shoulders, his torso, the smooth, taut skin of his abdomen. There’s an enthusiasm to what we’re doing, but it’s different from before. It’s less frenzied but still passionate. It’s really
making love,
as opposed to sex or fucking.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I whisper.

He moves slowly, gently, and even though it’s not the frenzied passion of some of our previous encounters, it is perfect. Just what I need. I am exactly where I want to be, with exactly who I want to be with.

It doesn’t matter to me anymore. It never should have. Other people can think whatever they choose, and I won’t waste another second caring. All I care about is Jai. All that matters is the way he looks into my eyes, with such love and tenderness, as our bodies join. The emotion that I see there matches my own, and I can already see the life we’re about to build for ourselves taking shape.

It’s going to be fucking beautiful.