Step (8 page)

She gave my hand a tug. "This way."

I trailed her around the side of the hotel, down a side street and onto the open air parking lot where employees parked their vehicles. She led to me a beat-up minivan that probably should have been sold for parts and scrap metal about fifty thousand miles ago. It hardly looked safe to drive. "Give me your keys."

"Why?"

"I'll drive." I didn't want her behind the wheel of this old beast if it decided to die on us.

She fished her keys out of the box I held but didn't relinquish them just yet. "Are you insured?"

I smiled at how careful she was about everything. The guilt weighing down my shoulders grew heavier. I couldn’t even imagine what she was feeling after I had just totally fucked up her life by getting her fired. "Yes, and my license is valid. I haven't had so much as a parking ticket in six or seven years."

"All right." She handed over the keys, and we stowed her box in one of the backseats. "The air conditioner doesn't work," she said as we buckled our seatbelts.

"We aren't going that far." I tried not to make a face at the awful pop music blaring from the speakers, but she must have seen my grimace. She laughed, the sound so light and airy, and reached out to change the channel. I touched her hand and shook my head. "Leave it. This is your car."

Before I even got us out of the parking lot, her phone was ringing. She dug it out of her purse and answered the call. When she started speaking perfect Spanish, I glanced at her with surprise. I had picked up quite a bit just being around Dom's family as a kid, but Jem spoke as if she had been bilingual since birth.

From the bits and pieces I could understand, I gathered it was her supervisor. The woman seemed to be encouraging Jem to file a complaint about the way she had been fired. Texas was an at-will state so I didn't know how that was going to work out for Jem, but if she had a paper trail, it would be easier for her to get the unemployment benefits she had earned and deserved.

Of course, one whiff of this to the gossip rag vultures and Jem would be dragged through the mud. We both knew what had happened back in that hotel room was mostly innocent, but no one would ever believe us. I had fucked that up by giving her that tip out in the hallway.
What the hell were you thinking?

I wasn't thinking. That was the problem. Jem had blitzed my brain so badly that I hadn't employed the usual caution that kept me out of trouble. Instead of hurting myself, I had hurt her. That was something I couldn't forgive or forget. I had to be more careful with her.

Everything Diego had said about me was true. I was a prick, and a nice girl like Jem had no business being anywhere near me.

But I couldn't stop what I felt for her. This connection between us? It was instant and
real
. This wasn't just lust. It was something else entirely.

And I wasn't giving up on the chance to keep Jem in my life without a fight.

Chapter Six

Jem

When we reached his building near Discovery Green Park, I felt embarrassed by the state of my sad minivan with its peeling paint and broken air conditioner. Step didn't seem to care one bit. He drove up to the valet station as if he were behind the wheel of a Hummer, handed over the keys to the valet there and gave instructions for parking it.

With his hand between my shoulder blades, Step guided me into his luxury high-rise and headed for the elevators at the rear of the lobby. He retrieved a keycard from his wallet and his cell phone from the super tight pocket of his leather pants. After using the keycard to activate the private elevator, he dialed a number and made a quick phone call. As he spoke a language I couldn't understand, he rubbed slow circles on my upper back.

"A friend of mine is going to pick up your van," he said after tucking his phone back into his pocket.

I panicked. "I can't afford to—"

"It's my treat. It's the least I can do after getting you fired."

"Step—"

"Let me do this." He swooped down and kissed the protest right out of me. I didn't know how to react to this whirlwind—well—whatever this was between us. Relationship? Tryst? I didn't even know what to call this thing.

While I was still trying to figure out what we were doing, Step took my hand and led me out of the elevator and into his incredible apartment. The far wall was floor to ceiling windows with an incredible view of downtown Houston. I wanted to press my nose up against the glass and try to pick out all the interesting spots. I quelled that urge and followed Step into the kitchen. Everything was upscale and luxurious, from the professional grade appliances to the gleaming quartz countertops and hand-scraped hardwood floors.

"Have you had lunch?" He asked as he opened the refrigerator and peered inside.

"No." I placed my phone and purse on the counter. "I was running behind schedule so I skipped my usual lunch break and dove right into my second shift."

He shot me a look of consternation. "It's after three o'clock. You shouldn't go that far between meals."

I decided not to tell him there were days near the end of the month where I sometimes skipped lunch entirely, but he must have guessed.

With one hand on the door of the stainless steel fridge, he held me in place with his piercing gaze. "You were going to eat eventually, right?"

"Yes. I had a lunch packed."

"Everyday?"

I squirmed uncomfortably. "Usually."

"Usually?" He slashed his hand through the air. "That shit stops right here, Jem. If you won't take care of yourself, I'll start packing your lunches and making sure you're getting three square meals a day."

That protective streak of his flared hot and bright. I didn't know why it made my chest feel warm and tight, but it did. When was the last time anyone other than Benji had cared whether I was eating or getting enough sleep or feeling well?

Needing to push back, just so he understood I wasn't going to let him run roughshod over me, I asked, "How do you intend to do that when you're on tour?"

"Something tells me your little brother would love to earn a cool grand a month keeping tabs on you," he replied quickly. "A thousand dollars is a lot of money to a sixteen-year-old."

"A thousand dollars is a lot of money to a twenty-one-year-old," I grumbled.

He smiled and then ducked back into the refrigerator. "I don’t have anything fancy in here. We've been traveling a lot and working in the studio so I've got the basics. How about pancakes?"

He could have offered me a frozen pizza, and I would have been just as touched. No one other than Benji had ever cooked for me. "Pancakes sound great. Do you want me to help?"

"No." He set out the ingredients he needed from the refrigerator onto the counter and then strode toward me. Using the toe of his black leather boot, he pushed a barstool away from the counter and then picked me up like a naughty child and deposited me right onto the low-backed seat. "I want you to sit here and rest. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Soda?"

"Soda, please."

He kissed the top of my head, grabbed a soda from a cabinet and a glass from a cabinet that he filled with ice. He brought them back to me and then got to work making us a late lunch. Feeling awkward just sitting there while he cooked, I sipped my soda and then asked, "Have you lived here long?"

"I bought this place about two years ago?" He whisked batter in a bowl. "I don't get to spend as much time here as I had expected I would. We were on tour all last year, and then I had that throat thing in the spring. We've been recording in Tor and Leif's studio in Sweden the last few months. The plan is to go on tour again right after the New Year."

"That's a hectic pace."

"Yes." He moved to the griddle he had been heating on the stovetop and began to drop dollops of batter on the hot surface. "We've been incredibly lucky that our fan base has continued to grow. Every time we think about slowing down, we hit a new surge of popularity. It's hard to say no to tours when your fans want to see you so badly."

"I bet." I ran my finger around the rim of the glass.

"It's a lonely life." He smacked the spatula against his bicep as he stood in front of the stove with arms folded. "I realize how crazy that sounds because we are constantly surrounded by people when we're on tour, but it's not the same as being surrounded by people who love and care about you."

"Like your brother and cousin?"

He nodded. "My brother is a SEAL so we don't get to see each other as much as we would like. When we do cross paths, it's for a day or two at most." He flipped the first three pancakes. "Our cousin was locked up on an aggravated robbery charge until earlier this summer. I came to visit him every six or seven weeks. One time, I flew from Tokyo to Houston and then right back to Sydney a day later to make sure that I got to visit him on his birthday. The jet lag nearly killed me."

"You must really care about him."

"Yes." His voice had grown softer so I didn't push. He plated the pancakes and brought butter and real maple syrup to the island. I hadn't ever tasted the real stuff, but I kept that fact to myself. In our house, the cheapest pancake syrup available sat on our kitchen table during a pancake breakfast.

Step sat next to me, his thigh touching mine, and dug into the tall stack of fluffy pancakes on his plate. I followed his lead. In between bites, he asked me about Benji. "Which high school does he go to?"

"He attends a magnet school with a STEM focus. He wants to be an engineer or a video game designer."

"Yeah?" Step took a drink of his ice water. "A friend of mine designs video games. She owns a studio here in town. They started out on a shoestring budget, but she's gotten massively popular over the last few years. Maisie Fernandez. You might know her name."

"Wait. Is she the one who has that zombie video game? The one with soldiers and cyborgs and crazy red-eyes zombies?"

He nodded. "That's the one."

I made a face. "It's gross. Benji always tries to drag me into his games, but I can't handle them."

"Benji sounds like my kind of people."

"He definitely is your people. He was at your concert last night."

Step's brow furrowed. "I thought you said he's underage."

"He is."

His expression turned pensive and then he seemed curious. "Your brother doesn't have the same father as you, right?"

"Right." I took another bite of pancakes. "People always asked if we were adopted when we were younger because I'm, like, as white as they come, and he's half black. It used to upset him so much when he was little."

"People are assholes."

"Yes, they are."

Step sat back. "Does your brother have dreadlocks and a labret? Another piercing on his eyebrow?"

I lowered my fork. "Yes. Why?"

Step shook his head slowly and laughed. "I met him last night."

"You're joking."

"No. We had a run-in at Slaughterhouse. I was leaving with those—I was leaving, and he had gotten himself into some trouble with our security officer. I made sure he got his autograph and a free shirt and then told them to put him and his friend in a cab." Step drummed his fingers on the island. "Small world, huh?"

"Yes." I almost couldn't believe how our lives had started to intersect even before we met.

"Did he get home safely?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm glad." Step drummed his fingers a little faster. "It's really not safe for him to be out that late."

I shot him a warning look, and Step held up both hands. "I'm not criticizing your parenting. I'm just saying."

"He knows that he did something stupid, and he knows that he's grounded now."

Step tilted his head and reached out to run his fingers down my cheek. "It must be hard to play the role of sister and parent."

I poked at the small bits of pancake left on my plate. "Some days are easier than others."

"Speaking as a little brother who made his older brother's life a living hell, I can tell you with certainty that Benji appreciates everything you've done for him, and he loves you for it. But he's young. And young guys? They do stupid shit. The best you can do is try to give him good guidance and be there to prop him up when he stumbles."

"I try." Not wanting to talk about the reality of raising a younger sibling anymore, I changed the subject. "So, if you have this amazing place, why did you rent that hotel suite?"

"I don't bring women here."

His statement confused me. "Um…"

His hand settled over mine, and he drew my gaze. His bright green eyes searched mind. "Do you understand what that means, Jem?"

I gulped nervously. "I think I do."

"You think?" He flashed that devilishly mischievous smile of his and leaned forward. "I'm not doing a very good job if you only think you understand."

I whimpered and clutched at his shoulders when he captured my mouth in a decadently erotic kiss. He tasted sweet and hot, the sugar rush of maple syrup making my head spin. Our kiss grew frenzied and needful. No longer constrained by my fears of being discovered at work, I surrendered to the sensual wantonness he had awakened in me.

"Step!" I cried out in surprise when he slid his arms around me and hefted me right up out of the chair. He used his arm to shove his plate and glass out of the way. Silverware clattered when it hit the floor. The glass tipped over and began to spill water onto the floor. Neither of us gave a damn in that moment.

He deposited me right in front of him on the counter and forced my thighs open. After insinuating his body between my spread legs, he cupped the back of my head and ravenously claimed my mouth. I couldn’t do anything but hold on tight for the ride as his tongue darted against mine and his fingers flicked through the buttons on the front of my uniform. He bared my cheap Walmart bra to his hungry gaze and then nuzzled his face between my breasts.

My head dropped back as he dotted feverish kisses on my cleavage and then along the sensitive curve of my throat. I had never experienced anything like this. My body trembled wildly, and I felt that slick, pulsing heat throbbing between my thighs. I clung to his shoulders and tried to slow it down, even if just for a few minutes.