The Other Brother Part 2: Taboo: Stepbrother Billionaire Romance (2 page)

Theo rocks back on his heels, still with that damn smug smile on his lips, and my temper snaps. I’ve had a really crappy day, and I’m not going to be afraid in my own home.

“Yeah, I do. Close the door when you’re in the shower.” Scowling, I shove the sheets into his arms. “Here. Make your own bed. I have to change.”

“You
have
changed, haven’t you?” His lips twitch upward as he looks me over. He’s deliberately trying to intimidate me. He’d been a bit of a bully before he left, but now there’s an edge of cruelty to it—a ruthlessness.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shouldn’t take the bait, but the fact that he deliberately misinterprets my words is so incredibly frustrating. Is this how it’s going to be now?

“You used to be sweet.” Again he looks me up and down, and my fingers tighten on the belt of my robe. I suppose it’s not so different from how I looked at him, assessing the changes that two years have brought to each other. And I have changed—I’m not a wild child anymore. I’m not the sweet teenager I once was, either.

I’m strong, and I’m not going to put up with this shit.

“Whatever, Theo.” Spinning on my heel, I hurry to my bedroom. Slamming the door behind me, I lean back against the worn wood, bravado fading and defeat moving in.

Perfect end to a perfect fucking day, sarcasm intended.

After changing into loose sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, I return to the kitchen. There’s a plate of sandwiches on the kitchen table, and I smile when I see that they’re peanut butter and banana, comfort food from my childhood. Dad’s even poured three tall glasses of milk.

Grabbing a sandwich half, I slump into my spot at the table, biting in, savoring the combination of salty and sweet.

Maybe this will put Theo in a better mood. It could hardly make him any worse.

“So, where were you tonight?” Dad rips open a bag of kettle chips and pours them into a bowl. “I texted you a few times.”

My mouth goes dry and it’s suddenly very hard to swallow the mouthful of peanut butter.

“Sorry. I… I was busy.” I lift my glass of milk to hide my face, my cheeks flushing scarlet.

“Too busy to answer your old man?” Dad arches an eyebrow as he seats himself across the table from me.

I drop my gaze to my lap. My cheeks warm. I shiver remembering the feeling of being draped over Seth’s lap, the sensation of his open hand landing on my backside.

I might have gone to The Velvet Underground because of Dr. Gill’s suggestion, but once I get some alone time tonight…

I’m going to have to do some serious thinking about how much I liked what happened there. If I can separate that out from Seth.

I’m not sure that I can, which makes me very glad that the lighting in our kitchen isn’t the greatest—I don’t want Dad to zero in on my blush.

I don’t count on the parental radar, though. I manage to maintain a poker face as I set my milk down, but I can feel Dad’s stare on me, assessing.

“You weren’t out drinking, were you?” His voice is gruff, and my mouth falls open a bit.

Really? After all this time, he still thinks I’d do that to him?

“Dad. Come on. You know I don’t do that anymore.” I shove the rest of the sandwich in my mouth so I don’t have to talk. I’m a shitty liar, and the last thing I’m about to do is tell him the truth.

No, Dad, I wasn’t out drinking. My therapist recommended I try out this local BDSM club, and guess what? While I was there I almost fucked Seth. You remember Seth, right? My former stepbrother?

Of course, Theo chooses that moment to come in. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that I recognize as Dad’s. He eyes the table, a slight scowl around the corners of his mouth, and I realize belatedly that the chair I’m sitting in—the one I’ve sat in for the last two years—used to be his.

I’m still pissed at him, but… maybe I can cut him some slack. I’m about to stand up to let him have his old seat back, because really, what does it matter to me? But before I can, he sits down in the empty chair, his knee bumping mine, knocking it into the table leg hard enough to make me wince.

“Don’t do what?” He grabs a sandwich, peeling back the top slice of bread and cramming potato chips into the space between.

“Drink.” I watch as Theo takes a massive bite of his concoction.

“So you’re not fun anymore.” Shards of potato chips fall as he smirks at me.

My mouth falls open slightly at the completely inappropriate comment. Has he forgotten all those nights that I was too wasted to even speak, all those times Dad had to come pick me up from some random parking lot or alley, because I’d crawled out of a random guy’s car after blowing him in an attempt to fill that hole inside of me?

He
had
to remember. He’d stumbled onto me in action once, that unfortunately memorable time in which I’d been with three of his football-team buddies. I’d been high and halfway to tipsy, never mind that it was a lunch hour, but I’ll never forget the pure rage on his face.

“Theo.” Dad’s voice is sharp, but I notice that his eyes are still focused on me. He’s always been wary about me relapsing, and right now I can see that he doesn’t entirely believe that I wasn’t out partying.

It seems that Theo isn’t done with his trip down memory lane.

“Do you remember that one night when you crashed the car into Mrs. Diaz’s mailbox?” He almost chokes on his sandwich as he starts to laugh. “You tore up half of her lawn. It was awesome.”

“It wasn’t awesome at all. I was sick, Theo. I needed help.” I’m absolutely stunned by this point. It wasn’t hard for me to believe that Theo had a cruel streak in there, but this… this was over the top. These were horrible memories, fuckups that had taken me a lot of time and immeasurable pain to come back from.

“And then Mrs. Diaz came out of the house and tried to hit you with her broom. And you were so out of it you just stood there, looking at her like…
whaaaat
?” He laughs harder now, grabbing a second sandwich. “What a cunt.”

“Theo!” Dad barks, slamming his hand down on the table. “I realize that you’ve been through a rough time. But this is not appropriate. Apologize to your sister right now.”

Theo stares back at Dad insolently, but I can see the anger underneath. It’s… kind of chilling.

Does he truly no longer understand that what he just said was horrible?

I don’t like to retreat, but after today, I’m just completely drained. I’m not that person anymore, and I’m not going to sit here and take this. “Thanks for dinner, Dad.”

Theo grabs my arm before I can leave the kitchen and when I try to yank away, his fingers press into my flesh, the nails biting. “I don’t want you to go yet. I just got home.”

I eye him warily, not sure what to make of his suddenly sweet tone.

“I’m sorry about my language. It’s the rather unfortunate result of being around thugs and criminals for so long.” Here, finally—this sounds like the Theo I know.

Instead of being relieved though, this makes me even more wary. Is the asshole act real, or a front?

Right now, I just don’t fucking care.

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I will see you tomorrow.” Pointedly I look down at Theo’s hand, which is still clasped around my upper arm.

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause. He removes it, but I get a sense that he doesn’t want to. That he would’ve been perfectly happy to squeeze the blood out of my arm. There are marks on my skin from where his fingers pressed in.

And I’m being ridiculous. He might be a jerk, but he’s my
brother
.

Still, I’m close to tears when I reach my room, and I hate to cry. This has probably been the worst night of my life… and I’ve had a few. A night that was supposed to be therapeutic has turned into an utter disaster, bringing those feelings that I’ve struggled to eradicate back to the fore… back to when I ache for a man I shouldn’t, and have doubts about one who I thought I could trust.

SETH

S
weat drips in my eyes as I jog down the street. It’s five a.m. and no one is out except for a paper delivery van. I run past a long row of darkened houses, houses that are both familiar and foreign to me now. Kind of like I once dreamt them.

How many times did I walk these streets during those months I lived in Galveston? Especially in the dark, like it is now. Probably a hundred, often with Tristan and Gavin at my side.

The burn in my lungs tells me I’m about to hit the wall, that one where the legs feel like lead and it’s almost impossible to keep going. Bearing down, I pump my arms and legs as fast as they will go. My muscles quiver from the exertion, but I’m hoping this run will clear my head.

I like control. I try to maintain it in all areas of my life—work, diet, physical activity. Sex.

Last night, though? For the first time ever, I couldn’t control my submissive, and it haunted me. At least, that’s what I told myself—that the reason I couldn’t sleep was because last night went spinning out of my grasp.

I know that’s not true. The way I’m feeling is one hundred percent from seeing Allegra again. Actually, I think I could have handled just seeing her—I’d known it was a possibility, coming back to Galveston.

But because I’d asked for that damn room at that damn club to be set up in a way that ensured I couldn’t identify my partner—it had been a way to keep my distance, and it had also been my downfall. I pride myself on my self-control, and I know that I would never have touched Allegra otherwise.
Never.

But now I’ve tasted the forbidden fruit, to use the most horrible of clichés. And there’s no going back.

I dreamed of her last night. Her eyes, her breasts, her glorious ass, all different shades of pink and red from my hands.

It serves me right. I’d been furious that she’d been in that club at all, that she’d put herself at the sexual mercy of a stranger—a
stranger
—for her first time. And more than that, I’d been absolutely incensed at the notion of another man with his hands on her.

And I’d acted like an ass. No—I
was
an ass.

But I shouldn’t have tried to put the blame on her. If any of the girl I once knew is still in there, she’ll use my fuckup as a weapon the next time I see her. And I
will
see her again.

Like I said, I never would have touched her without the setup being what it was. But now that that barrier has been crossed?

I want her. I’m used to getting what I want. And maybe, just maybe, in the process I can make some kind of amends for what I’ve done.

I know I should just jump on the next flight back to New York. Forget about my stupid plan. Forget about Theo. Forget about her.

But last night in my inbox there was a very interesting piece of information from my assistant—Theo had been released ahead of schedule.

So even if I wanted to leave, I just can’t.

I’m through the wall of pain now, my breath coming a bit easier, endorphins easing the pain in my muscles. It’s been a good run, and once I round the next corner, I slow my pace.

The two-story house across the road looks pretty much the same. There is a new coat of paint on the door and trim—a sunny yellow instead of the rusty orange that used to be there. I remember standing on that stoop for the first time, thinking about how incredibly ugly that paint was—anything to dissipate the nerves I’d had about being accepted into my mom’s new family.

At the end of the long driveway I can see the garage, the windows above it that belong to my old room. No lights are on in there, or in the house at all, at least that I can see.

Allegra’s room is in the back. Well, it was—I wonder if she’s still in the same one. I wonder a lot of things about her, actually.

I know how her wet heat feels clenching around my fingers, but I no longer know exactly where she sleeps. For someone who thrives on control, it’s infuriating.

I have on black sweatpants and a dark zip-up sweatshirt, the hood up just in case anyone looks out the window. All anyone will see if they happen to look is some random guy jogging at five in the morning. Still, there’s only so long that I can linger in front of the house before a neighbor sees me loitering and calls the police.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, anyway. It’s not as if I’m going to go ring the bell and have a nice chat with Sam or Allegra or, Christ, with Theo, who I bet is now cozily ensconced in this suburban dream.

I’d had no intention of visiting the house at all, but seeing Allegra seems to have shattered all my original plans to pieces.

I’d consider myself far more of a sadist than a masochist, but sometime during the night I’d decided that I needed to see the old house. To see the setting for where my life spiraled so spectacularly into disaster.

You’ve had your look, Thorne.
Shaking my head at my uncharacteristic melancholy, I pick up my pace, trying to find my stride again. I glance at the house one last time as I round the corner to the next block. It’s barely dawn, the light dim, and I don’t see my fellow jogger until I collide with him. We literally clunk heads and I stumble backwards.

“Jesus Christ, watch where you’re going.”

I know that voice. I know that
scent
—sugary sweet, even mingled as it is with healthy exertion.

I look up to see—yep, there she is. Allegra glaring at me, which I’m starting to understand is going to be a pretty familiar sight.

I scowl at the notion. She rubs at her forehead and growls.

Growling?

That’s when I notice the leash in her hand and the big-ass pit bull by her side.

“Seth?” Incredulity paints her face, and I wince inwardly. Damn it. The one person I really didn’t want to know about my little run by the house is now in my face, and I can see in her eyes that she’s not going to let it go.

“I suppose I’ll let you call me that instead of Sir. Since we’re not in a… more
intimate
setting.” I don’t know why I say it—well, yes I do. Sexual domination allows me to be in control. And if we assume the same dynamics we did last night, it will force Allegra to relinquish that same thing.