Break Me: A Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

B
ram

O
h
, fuck. It was her.

Summer.

That long, blond hair that I'd last seen in tangles down her back. Those dark-lashed hazel eyes. Those lips, so soft and ruddy pink. That soft skin, and those round tits under her t-shirt, that world-class fucking rack that I'd last seen bouncing against my chest as I'd rammed myself into her, the top of my head nearly blowing off in pleasure. Six years in prison, and I was a piece of fucking garbage, and Summer still looked so incredibly fuckable I couldn't even think of anything to say.

I deliberately had never asked Nate about her. I never asked him how she was doing, or asked to see a picture. I imagined that she'd found some nice guy and married him, and now she had a couple of kids and a stupid husband who thought about taxes and the mortgage while the hottest girl in the world was blowing him at night. That would be pretty much my luck in life.

She leaned up on tiptoe, almost touching me, and I knew damn well her nipples were like erasers under that t-shirt. She had no idea. Lean up against a man who has spent six years in prison, dreaming of pussy, and you play with fire. Then she'd said, “Hurt him and I'll kill you.”

It was insulting, but what the fuck—I deserved it. I had to hand it to her—it's what I would have said in her place, if some piece of shit con was moving in to my dad's house. It wasn't what I expected Summer to say. But then again, Summer had always been full of surprises.

Like that afternoon on the beach.

She sashayed past me out the door, and of course I turned and watched. Yoga pants—fucking yoga pants. Not exactly sexy, but I could see every contour of her ass, even the faint line of the crack as she moved. Yes. Thank God for yoga pants.

Fuck me,
she'd said when she'd begged me to be her first, and she'd bit her lip.

I leaned against the doorframe and closed my eyes.

That memory was the one I'd used most often in prison. When things were bad, when life was hopeless, when I'd had too much of the hardness and the violence and the cold and the loneliness. I'd think about that day on the beach. How she'd lain there, trusting me, letting me see her body. How I'd pulled off her bikini and she'd spread her legs for me, and I'd just looked at her, her incredible pussy open and bared to me, as she'd relaxed and closed her eyes. How she'd made a little sound as I slid my cock into her, the first man ever to do it to her, the first man ever to get her to make that sound, the first man ever to make her come, panting my name.

I'd think of all that in prison, and then I'd jerk off. There was nothing else to do.

You had to jerk off in prison. It was the only way to get through. You had to close your eyes and think of the thing that was deep inside you, the thing that made you something more than an animal in a cage. That thing was almost always sex. You thought about it, and your cock went hard, and you jerked off quick and painful, taking a brief minute to be a human again. Me, I jerked off as often as I could.

I had a lot of memories to choose from if I wanted. I'd fucked a lot of girls before I screwed up my life and got arrested. Hell, that summer I was twenty, I'd been on a tear. I'd fucked the girl who worked in the ice cream store, bending her over in the back room after hours. A girl at a party had sucked me off in the bathroom, jerking me with her hand and swallowing my come as someone had banged on the door, asking what was taking so long. Another girl at a party had ridden me in one of the upstairs bedrooms, then told me to wait ten minutes so she could send her friend in. She was as good as her word. The friend came in and rode me, too. I was a fucking rock star that summer. I couldn't keep it in my pants, and it seemed like no one wanted me to.

I'd thought of Summer, of course. She was eighteen and ripe as a peach, all tits and ass, and she had a hell of a crush on me. I was supposed to give a fuck that she was my stepsister, but I didn't. The fact that I didn't fuck her was because I knew she wasn't ready for it. It didn't stop me from daydreaming about the things I'd do to her, but I never acted on it. I had plenty elsewhere.

That afternoon on the beach had started as a lark for me. I had nothing else to do, and I actually enjoyed Summer's company, something I couldn't say about very many people. I'd also been cocky, and I'd thought it was a little fun to tease her, to lead her on.

But something changed. It was when she'd come out of the water and I'd seen her sitting on her towel, hugging her knees. Suddenly I didn't want to play around anymore—I wanted to kiss her. Like, I really wanted to kiss her. When I did—when I opened her mouth and put my tongue inside, teaching her how to do it and feeling her catch on right away—I'd felt something really strange. Different. Like maybe I wanted her to have a good memory of her first time. Like maybe I could show her how good it could be, and then she'd know.

I hadn't expected her to show
me
how good it could be.

Maybe she hadn't had any practice, but oh, fuck—Summer was a natural. Once she started, she lost her shyness, and she was totally unafraid. She'd wanted everything I'd done to her, and I knew she wanted more, that she could go farther, deeper. She'd rocked my world.

I was twenty, and an idiot, so afterward I'd done the only thing I could think of. I bailed as fast as I could. I'd assumed I'd have time—time to come back and maybe make it up to her, to make sure she was okay. And then, being twenty and an idiot, I'd flushed my life down the toilet, and that day on the beach turned out to be the last day I'd ever had sex at all.

And I spent six years jerking off to the memory. Just that one, never the others. That memory was the one that kept me sane.

She had no idea, but for six years, Summer had kept me human.

I opened my eyes and took a breath. I knew she'd be in town. Nate had told me. And, though Nate was good to me—though I hadn't chosen him, he was more of a father to me than my own deadbeat father had ever been—and he was giving me a chance, if I was being honest, Summer was part of the reason I'd come here. Just the chance to be near her again.

And here she was.

Nate was waiting for me. My new life was waiting for me. I had to get my shit together, or lose everything forever.

I could smell coffee brewing. I straightened and headed back to the kitchen to see the only man who thought me worth saving.

S
ummer

“
S
ummer
, oh my God. Did you hear?”

I looked up. I was at the back of my shop, arranging a table and chair set I'd just bought into a display. When I arranged the chairs just right, and added a centerpiece and some wine glasses, potential buyers could imagine what the set would look like in their own home. It was simple, but it always worked a thousand times better than just tossing the furniture anywhere and waiting for someone to buy it.

My friend Caitlyn had come through the front door of my shop, her six-month-old baby on her hip. Caitlyn was one of the few friends I'd made since moving to Terre Mills. She lived in the same small apartment building as me, with her husband and their baby. She had quit her job as a receptionist when she had the baby, and she tended to come visit me at the shop during the day, when she was going stir crazy at home and needed to get outside for the walk.

“Hear what?” I said.

“Tim took the car to your dad's shop last night. Your stepbrother is out of jail and working there!”

I silently gritted my teeth. It had been four days since I'd seen Bram at my dad's house, and I'd been trying my best to think about something else. Anything else. “Oh, that. I know.”

“Tim says he's scary looking. He's all bulked up like a fighter, and he's covered in tattoos!”

I jerked my head up. Bram had been wearing long sleeves when I'd seen him. “Covered in tattoos?”

Caitlyn nodded. The baby, Jordan, made a sound, and she absently bumped her hip up and down, soothing him. “Tim said he looked like—well, like an ex-con. Scary and mean. I sure hope Nate knows what he's doing, and that stepson of his won't drive off business.”

“I'm sure it will be fine,” I said, arranging one of the empty wine glasses. “Bram just needs a chance, that's all.” Right. I'd been warning my dad about him four days ago, and now I was defending him.

“I don't know. I heard the liquor store owner he and his friends beat up was in the hospital for three weeks.”

I winced. I hadn't heard that. “It was a long time ago. People make mistakes. My dad made mistakes, too, remember.”

“Yes, but he didn't
hurt
anyone.” Caitlyn looked down at Jordan, who was staring up at her with his sweet eyes. “I mean, I don't mind having Jordan near your dad, but I don't think I'd trust him around a man like
that.
”

I straightened. Now I was annoyed. I liked Caitlyn, but truth be told, we didn't have much in common. She was married, with a baby, and I wasn't. I knew she thought I should have married my last boyfriend, Mike. She'd given me lots of hints after we'd broken up, wondering why.
You guys seemed so great together,
she'd said. I wasn't about to tell her the truth—it was too embarrassing and shameful—so I'd just shrugged her off. But I was going to be twenty-five in a few months, and Caitlyn had decided my life needed fixing. It was getting a little annoying.

“I don't think Bram hurts babies,” I said to her.

She shrugged, her expression stubborn. “Summer, you don't know him very well. You haven't seen him in years.”

It was true, and I'd said practically the same thing to my father, but I realized I
did
know Bram. Or, at least, I thought I did. There had been more to our relationship than just the sex on that last day. We'd had some good times that summer, and he'd never been angry or violent. Which only made what had happened later all the more baffling. “Okay,” I said to Caitlyn. “You're right. I guess I'll get to know him better, because I'm having dinner with him at my dad's tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, really? How interesting. You'll have to tell me everything.”

I went back to my table and chair set, shrugging. “I don't think there will be anything to tell.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Caitlyn said. “Tim said he saw Mike the other day.”

I felt my spine stiffen at the mention of my ex-boyfriend's name. “Caitlyn, I really don't care.”

She kept talking as if I hadn’t said anything. “Tim ran into him at the coffee shop. Mike had a girlfriend for a while, but it seems to be over now. He's single.”

Oh, ew. No. “That's nice.”

She sighed. “Summer, he's good-looking and has a good job. That's the kind of man you need in your life! It makes such a difference when you're not single and dating anymore. Life is just so much easier. And it isn't as if there are a lot of men to choose from around here. I mean, tonight you're going to be stuck with a tattooed thug.”

I felt my cheeks redden. Bram might be many things—selfish, cocky, man-slut, heartless de-virginizer—but he wasn't a thug. And, I realized, I'd rather be around Bram than Mike any day. “I'll take it into consideration,” I said.

“If you want Tim to set something up with Mike, just let me know,” she said sweetly, heading off toward the door. I was suddenly glad she was leaving. “You guys were just so great together. If I were you, I would reconsider.”

B
y that night
, I'd nearly changed my mind again. I'd defended Bram to Caitlyn, but as the dinner hour approached, I had to admit I was uneasy. I didn't know what I would do or say, sitting across a table from Bram, trying to be polite and make conversation with my dad there. But Dad had asked me, so I had to try.

I got there first—Bram had stayed late working on a car in the shop and wasn't home yet. “Spaghetti and meatballs,” my dad said, giving me a kiss on the cheek before he hobbled over to the pasta pot on his crutches. “Bram and I have been eating takeout every day, so I decided to cook. You always liked this when I made it.”

I smiled. It was true—I did like my dad's spaghetti and meatballs, which he'd often made for me growing up. But most of the reason I liked it was because it was pretty much the only thing he knew how to make. “How are things going with Bram?” I asked.

“Good, good.” Dad picked up a spoon and gave the noodles a stir. “That boy is very good with cars.”

“He's not a boy, Dad. He's twenty-six.”

“He's a boy to me,” my dad said, giving me a wink. “Just like you're my little girl.”

Oh, great. Now I felt guilty and weird. Well, it was a long time ago, and it would never happen again. I just wished I could get over it, forget it the way other women seemed to be able to do. “Can I help?” I asked.

“No. Bram rearranged some things in the kitchen so I can reach them better. And you see, he went and got this high-top chair from the attic and fixed the broken leg, so I can just lean on it and take the weight off.” He moved over to a chair that had been placed near the counter, a bar chair that was waist high. He leaned back on it and relaxed his hands on his crutches, and I realized it worked for him because he didn't have to struggle in and out of a regular chair. Why hadn't I thought of that?

Okay, fine. I'd let it go. “Your regular doctor's appointment is tomorrow,” I reminded him, since he never knew what day of the week it was. “I'll pick you up at one.”

“No need, sweetie. Bram will take me.”

Now I was stung. “I can do it. I always take you to your doctor's appointments.”

He waved a hand. “I know you're busy. It isn't easy for you to leave the shop. Besides, I need help getting up and down those stairs at the doctor's office, and Bram is stronger than you.”

I felt my cheeks getting hot. He
did
need help on those stairs—and when I offered, he always stubbornly said no, insisting he could do it himself. And I didn't care about leaving the shop if it helped my dad out. Did he think the shop mattered more to me than he did?

“Bram doesn't even know where the doctor's office is,” I said, the protest sounding weak even to my own ears. “How will he know when the appointments are? He doesn't have the schedule like I do. He doesn't know when to get your prescriptions refilled.”

“Well, now,” my dad said, irritated. “We're grown men, Summer, not a couple of idiots. I think we can figure things out.”

“It's just that—”

“It's just that what?”

I turned. Bram was standing in the kitchen doorway. I'd had no idea he'd come in. He was wearing the same worn jeans I'd seen on him a few days ago, and a dark green t-shirt. My eyes traveled down his chest and his arms and suddenly I couldn't breathe.

My God, he was ripped.

This wasn't the same Bram I knew at all. His biceps bulged from the sleeves of his t-shirt, and the muscles of his shoulders were ripples beneath the thin fabric. His chest strained the front of the shirt, tapering off into a stomach that looked rock hard. Like Caitlyn said, he had more tattoos than before—winding over his biceps, his forearms. He leaned casually against the door frame and watched me from his dark brown eyes. His short hair made him look different, too, older and more dangerous than the soft waves he used to have. He was so much taller than me, his long legs powerful, the thigh muscles evident even through his jeans.

He was a monster. A beast. My biggest regret.

I couldn't believe I'd had this man between my legs, even for one fuck he'd probably forgotten about.

I wondered what it would be like to have him again. This new Bram, inked and muscled. Pounding into me, rough and hard. Would I even be able to handle it?

I swallowed and found my voice. “It's nothing,” I said.

“No, please tell me.” He pushed off from the door frame, and I realized he was pulsing with anger. “You assume I'm going to fuck it up, is that it?”

“Bram,” my dad said.

I raised my eyes to his. “No,” I said. “I don't think you are going to fuck it up. I just don't think that after
four days,
you can do everything I've been doing for the past
six years.
”

His eyes blazed at that, and I realized I'd stung him. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, Summer,” he bit back. “Don't even fucking try to boss me around.”

“Fine, but if I see the first thing wrong, I'm going to call you on it, Bram Riordan. Don't think that just because you're a big, mean ex-con that I'll just shut up when you say so.”

“I never asked you to shut up.”

“Good, because I'm not going to.”

“Children!” my dad shouted, his voice a clap of thunder. “Behave! This is a family dinner!”

I snapped my jaw shut reluctantly and turned to him. He'd stood from his chair and was holding a spoon in the air, as if he was about to smack one of us with it. “Okay,” I mumbled. “Sorry.”

“You,” my dad said to me, pointing the spoon. “You behave around your stepbrother. Give him the benefit of the doubt. That's an order. And
you
.” He turned to Bram, his eyes narrowing. “My daughter has done more for me than anyone else in my life, and I'll ask you to remember that. If I ever hear you disrespecting her again, you'll be in the ER getting this spoon extracted from your ass. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Bram said.

“Good. Now both of you go sit down. We're going to have spaghetti.”

You'd think things would be really awkward after that, but they sort of weren't. It was like a big thunderstorm had blown through, clearing the air. We were quiet at first, but slowly we talked about all kinds of things—sports, what was going on in Terre Mills, some political stuff about the town’s new mayor. Things that I realized Bram had missed out on over the past six years, though none of us said that out loud. It was only after my dad turned the conversation personal that I started to feel uncomfortable again.

“You haven't seen Summer's shop,” he said proudly to Bram. “It's been a success from day one. She works hard at it, and it pays off.”

“Dad,” I said, embarrassed. I swirled the last few noodles on my plate.

Bram made some kind of grunt. He probably thought my shop was stupid and boring.

“She had a boyfriend, too, until a little while ago,” Dad rambled on as if I wasn't in the room. “I thought we'd be planning a wedding, but it never happened.”

My cheeks went hot and I glanced up at Bram. He was leaning back in his chair, one elbow slung over the back of it, and his dark eyes were resting on me. The pose made his t-shirt strain across the front of his muscled chest. “That's interesting,” he said.

I glared at him. Oh, great. Now he was going to tease me in front of my own father. “It isn't really that interesting. It just didn't work out.”
For reasons I'll never confess to anyone, especially you.

“Well, I guess I understand that,” Dad said to me. “I can't throw stones, since things didn't work out with me and your mother, and then they didn't work out with Brenda either. I just wish you'd find someone. I want you to have better luck than me.”

I couldn't help it. I looked at Bram again. He was still watching me, his expression unreadable, and now he raised his eyebrows. “Nate is right, Summer,” he said evenly. “You should find someone.”

Someone who wasn't him, of course. No way would he want that. No way did
I
want that. I shrugged and looked away, as if it didn't matter. “I've been dating,” I said, which was the biggest bald-faced lie I'd ever said in my father's presence. Well, unless I was forced to say
No, I never fucked my stepbrother.
“It'll happen eventually, I'm sure.”

“I hear those dating sites work for some people,” Bram said. “You should set up a profile.”

“Thanks for the advice, Bram. So should you. Seeing as you're single and all.”

I was needling him about being in prison, but to my shock, he wasn't even offended. He smiled at me, like what I'd said amused him. “Nah,” he said. “I don't need one of those sites.”

I rolled my eyes. What a cocky bastard, even just out of jail. “Sure.”

“It's a little early for Bram to be settling down,” my dad said, as if we were taking this seriously. “He needs to get his feet under him first.”

Bram looked at my dad, and something uneasy flashed across his expression, as if something weighed him down. “I'm not one for settling down, Nate,” he said. “Maybe never. I'd like to spend time working in the shop first and getting my shit together.”

The shop? What about the shop? He was thinking something behind those dark eyes, I could tell.