STEPBROTHERS (3 Book Stepbrother Romance Collection) (31 page)

I was rock-fucking-hard and I hadn’t even seen her face!

O
nce at my
apartment I needed to change, and not just my clothes; I needed to discard the personality I’d worn to the dinner that evening.

As I shrugged out of the wholesome summer dress I’d been wearing, stripping down to my underwear that was white as snow, it felt like I wasn’t just shedding clothes but a costume. The little cardigan I’d worn to cover my bare arms with its pearlescent round buttons was the quintessential attire of a good little rich girl, a Daddy’s girl not yet grown up. But once those clothes were off, and my chaste persona along with them, the real me stretched and yawned from beneath my skin, glad to be free once again.

I grabbed a quick shower, careful not to get my hair wet, then started on my usual routine. Smoothing luxurious creams over every inch of my naked body. In my profession you have to take good care of your skin, making sure it glows and entices wandering eyes and feels delicious under fingertips, so it made me more than a little bit furious when I saw the beginnings of a bruise on my wrist. Luckily it was on the underside, and with a smattering of concealer it would be gone. But I would still know it was there.

Using a large wand with a feathery puff at the end I dusted myself all over with an iridescent powder, paying close attention to my legs, cleavage, and lower back.

The new golden dress that I had in mind for tonight’s last-minute encounter would drape my body, leaving little to the imagination, showing off my curves and skin; every woman who’d see me that night would mostly likely want either to be me, or to kill me. And, of course, every man would want to fuck me.

That was the whole idea, of course.

I padded naked to my wardrobe and reached for the dress—undergarments could not be worn with this. On the hanger it was really nothing more than a flowing piece of golden satin fabric, but when I put it on it transformed into one of my favourites; a deep rippling neckline, matched with an even more plunging back which left my whole spine exposed and revealed the rounding top of my pert ass. The hemline was tasteful, for a change; a few inches above my knees, and combined with some killer heels I felt ready for anything.

I was me again.

This was what I lived for. I couldn’t be tamed or reined in when I was the real me. The naughtiness inside me clawed its way out as I regarded myself in the full-length mirror. I felt deliciously wicked; the subtle breeze coming from the cracked open bedroom window swirled between and up my legs, reminding me ever so gently of my almost nakedness.

Smiling at the thought, and with only a few moments to spare, I made sure to shut the window and descended the stairs, ready for another night of sinful and sensual pleasure.

A
rriving fashionably late
at the new, swanky Regal Hotel, I quieted down the butterflies that always came before meeting a new client, and walked towards the entrance. The man in an old-fashioned doorman’s uniform pulled it open for me but not before he got his eyeful for the evening. His eyes wandered over my body as I walked towards him, my strides confident but slow. His gaze moved from the tips of my toes, peeking out of my peep-toe shoes, up my toned legs, stopping for a moment to drool over wide curvy hips, then moving swiftly on to my cleavage. He was taller than me by at least a foot, and his height gave him a lucky advantage to see a little bit more than the average guy would’ve.

I loved the way men looked at me, didn’t mind it one bit. And in fact I revelled in it, longed for it. If that made me a slut or an attention whore, then so be it. But I wasn’t going to apologise for feeling good in my own skin. I was unashamed of my body; of course it wasn’t perfect, but I made the most of it, and men didn’t seem to care about the flaws that I could reel off in my head.

“Evening, Miss,” he said in a deep husky voice as he held the door open for me.

“Thank you,” I replied and rewarded him with a playful smile. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t my type. I didn’t date the guys who held open the doors of hotels; I dated the guys who owned the hotels. Shallow, perhaps. But there was a big distinction; it was a whole different kind of rush when you had a millionaire on your client list in contrast to a Joe Bloggs type who could barely scrape two coins together.

And if you hadn’t already realised, I wasn’t the good girl wanting to settle down with the handyman next door… I wanted to be fucked on silk sheets, with as many men as I could possibly get my greedy little hands on. That’s what turned me on and got me going—rich men who could have anyone they desired but who chose me instead.

They all probably thought they were using me, getting what
they
needed. Oh, how little did they know…

For example, take the gentleman I had an appointment with tonight. He believed he was buying my time, paying me to keep him company, to be draped over his arm like a prize he’d won in a fair for all the other wealthy men to see. And in the end, the grand finale of the night would be him handing over a tidy sum in exchange for me parting my legs for him. And to an extent it was all true—but what no one realised, I would’ve done it anyway, without the money.

I whispered my name to the hostess. She stood in the shadows off to one side of the entrance to the hotel bar, and after checking her notes discreetly, she pointed the way to my date.

Surprised by who she pointed to, I slinked my way through the crowd. I’d been expecting someone shorter, rounder, balder. Those were my typical types of clients, but he was a refreshing change. But looks can be deceiving.

Sitting on a bar stool, dressed in a suit that showed off his broad, streamlined back, Donte confidently nursed a no doubt expensive drop of exquisite alcohol. He looked like he belonged, was meant to be there, and I supposed he should’ve; Roísín had mentioned in the bio she’d sent over that Donte was a hotel owner, and I assumed that perhaps the Regal was one of his. It wasn’t unusual for me to get a few titbits of information about my clients that they’d been willing share, and it was always useful to get the small-talk ball rolling.

“Donte?” I said in my most seductive voice.

“You must be Beatrice?” He stood, taking my hand lightly within his firm grip, his eyes bulging from their sockets. Beatrice was my middle name, the one I went by on occasions such as this, mostly for my own protection and anonymity, but predominantly because the use of my given name, Dorothy or Thea, was far too intimate and unsettling.

I nodded, my eyes lowering a tiny amount, a submissive gesture to let him know he was in control. “Pleased to meet you, Donte.”

“Oh, Beatrice, I think the pleasure is all mine,” he said. He squinted for a moment as if he’d forgotten something important, then added, “Have we met before?”

I played it cool. “I’m hurt,” I replied mockingly. “Surely, you’d remember little ol’ me if you’d laid eyes upon me before.”

“You’re right, of course. Let me have a proper look at you then.” Donte, still holding my hand, pulled it out to the side to allow him a full, unobtrusive look at my body; his plaything for the evening.

“See something you like?” I teased.

“Oh, you know I do.”

I bit my lip and managed a convincing blush. The wolf-like grin he gave me in return made my pussy twitch in excitement. It had been quite a long time since I’d had a client who was this good looking—I was in for a treat. Donte offered me his stool in the packed bar and I took it gladly, demonstrating my eagerness to follow orders.

He rested his weight on the edge of the bar, his upper body leaning towards me. “I thought when they told me my regular girl had to cancel that I’d be stuck with someone less than satisfactory. But my dear, I think you’ve just been promoted. Should the night go well, that is, of course.”

“Of course.” I nodded in agreement.

Donte raised a finger to the busy barman who came instantly; he took charge and ordered for both of us without asking what I wanted. As he relayed the information to the barman I studied him. There was an edge to him. It was subtle, but there—the need to make all the decisions, to be in charge. And if that’s what he wanted, it would please me to no end to give that to him.

A bottle of Dom appeared, the glasses were filled, and Donte handed me one. “Hope you like champagne,” he said, his tone indicating that anything other than a positive answer would put a sour note on the evening.

“Who doesn’t?” I replied, we clinked glasses and I took a sip.

“So, what did you have in mind for tonight?” I asked as innocently as I could.

He placed a cool hand upon my thigh, his fingers upon the fabric of the dress while the bottom half of his palm rested upon my bare skin. “Well, the plan was to make an appearance at a charity event tonight, to show you off, to not let that exquisite dress go to waste, except…” His hand rolled over the side of my thigh, his fingers caressing as they went.

“Except what?”

“Except I’m selfish. I think I want to keep you all to myself tonight.” He glanced around the room. “Every single man in this room wants you; they can’t keep their eyes off you.” Donte moved closer, his hands slipping under the hem of my dress cupping the uppermost part of my thigh—marking his territory in front of roaming eyes. The side of his face pressed lightly against mine as he whispered into my ear. My nipples beaded to attention waiting for his reaction when he found out I was completely bare down there, but his hand stopped and his attention wavered, his train of thought obliterated. “I—”

He stood up straight and removed his hand, his gaze firmly fixed upon an unknown person who was over my left shoulder. A trickle of pleasure ran down the full length of my spine, but Donte wasn’t the source of it. Something else in the room had caused this reaction… someone else.

I resisted the urge to turn around, to glance over my shoulder; Donte was supposed to be my main interest, he was the client and deserved my attention. But it felt like a thousand suns were burning into my skin. I’d had people look at me before, it came with the territory of wearing low cut tops and short skirts, but nothing like this.

I felt exposed…
seen.

The feeling in my stomach; hot and uneasy, was nothing I’d ever experienced before. His presence, for surely it was a guy, was making me lose my composure.

Donte was talking angrily to the barman when I came out of my little trance. There was no other word for it; it felt like I’d lost time. It was the same sensation that wracked your body when you knew you were in danger, and your fight or flight mode was activated… yet instead I sat there, not daring to move.

“Just get rid of him! Tell him Rene ain’t here anymore, and if he has a problem then he can… Fuck, I don’t know, he can come talk to me,” Donte said, trying his best to sound menacing.

Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, giving him away. His thoughts were no longer on me that was for sure.

“Everything OK?” I asked.

Startled, he glanced at me as if I hadn’t even been there and accidentally spilled the champagne flute, sending it crashing onto the bar’s hard surface.

Before he could answer, the rapid tingling sensation was back, prickling at my bare skin, as a shadow loomed to my left. I kept my head straight, my focus on Donte, my breath shallow and erratic. Somehow I instinctively knew if I looked at the man standing beside me, I’d be a goner.

But I couldn’t help it. I kept catching my head moving to the side, my eyes flickering up in attempt to catch a glimpse.

“Apparently you’re the man I need to speak to?” Deep, luscious golden tones like honey emanated from the man. Hearing one sentence from this guy was all I needed to know that I would gladly listen to him on repeat, like a favourite song that you had to play over and over again, almost to the point of consuming it.

“That’s right,” Donte replied, his chest puffing out almost comically as he stood rigid in this man’s presence. “Your little agreement with Rene is at an end.”

I let myself slip—I couldn’t not look at him anymore—and as my face angled up to witness his side profile I almost moaned out loud with pleasure.

But there was something familiar about him, too. Under the rough exterior and fading bruises he displayed, almost with pride on his face, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d met before.

But surely I would’ve remembered if I’d laid eyes on him. Yet like a fading dream I couldn’t quite catch or hold onto the image, and the more I tried the more it eluded my efforts.

He was unmistakeable. And he definitely didn’t belong in this hotel. He wasn’t a regular, that was for certain.

Where had I seen him before? I wracked my brain trying to think of all the events I’d attended with past clients; a reel of faces, not one of them his, went by in my mind’s eye. The line of his jaw was one that belonged to a confident man. His nose had once been straight but now had a distinct kink to it.

I know this face, I thought, but kept coming up short.

He turned to me, seemingly ignoring whatever business he and Donte had together, and he looked straight at me.

A violent shudder that I had trouble controlling shook my body.

He didn’t say another word, just grinned at me, the edge of his top lip sinfully curling up and creating a contrary soft dimple in his cheek. His whole attire, from the heavy leather jacket to the dull belt buckle at his waist, right down to the dirty boots on his feet gave off a “not to be fucked with” vibe, and yet that dimple told another story—of a sweet boy hiding out beneath the armour he shielded himself with.

And then it hit me. It had been so obvious; I’d seen him almost every week for almost a year now… right under my nose at my father’s house. Little photo frames Lacy kept as keepsakes upon a table in the hallway had so been dwarfed by frames that held my own baby photos and subsequent pictures of me growing up that I almost didn’t remember them. But that innocent dimple on the face of a vulnerable and sad-looking boy was right there amongst pictures of my own childhood.

The gorgeous, rough and dirty man standing before me, the man that had caused such a primal reaction from me, was none other than my stepbrother.