Stepbrother Romance 3 - Addicted: A New Adult Alpha Billionaire Romance (4 page)

He cupped my chin in his palm. “If I win, then you must promise to accept any and all offers of assistance, money, whatever, I make to you. No arguments. No excuses.” His eyes narrowed. “No matter what.”

Jerk. Would he not let me have even a little sliver of pride? “And if I win?”

He motioned toward me. “Name your prize.”

“I want one conversation. Only one. But you must answer any and all questions I pose to you. No arguments. No excuses. No matter what. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Good.” I jerked around and, facing the sink, mashed all the uneaten pasta down in the garbage disposal. “By the way, the electrician called and he can’t get to my house until next week. So you’re stuck with me.”

Kent stepped into my path, blocking what I had intended to be a hasty retreat. He plucked up a lock of my hair and it wound itself around his finger, like a shameless hussy. “No, my dear
Madamoiselle
,
you
are stuck with
me
.”

Okay, there was no shame in admitting I’d watched more than my share of movies based on old books. Jane Austen, Emily Bronte, Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. Nor was it a shame in admitting I didn’t just watch one film based on each novel; I watched them all. They were so mouthwateringly delicious, I would binge-watch them on weekends when my college roommate went home, leaving me alone in our dorm room.

There was something about those stories--of love and loss, joy and grief, struggle and victory--that resonated within me. I could not get enough. I probably never would. So it was no wonder I’d compared our somewhat taboo tryst to one of my favorite films.

I just hoped our story would have a better ending. Things didn’t end so well for poor John Malkovich and Michelle Pfeiffer. Or for pretty much the entire cast of characters, for that matter.

Maybe I’d made a mistake in comparing Kent to Valmont, and maybe I’d made an even bigger mistake challenging him the way I had. I already knew how devastating Kent’s charm could be. I’d succumbed to it three times. Then it hadn’t been a matter of pride that I’d buckled. But now it would be. I had to stay strong, to resist, like I’d boasted I could.

It was midnight. And for some reason, my room in Kent’s mansion was slowly but surely heating up. Wearing only a t-shirt over my underwear, I was coated in a sheen of sweat. I barefooted across the floor and placed one foot on top of the floor air conditioning register, which should have felt cool. It didn’t.

The air conditioning wasn’t working.

Hoping to get some relief, I dragged open the curtains and opened the windows. But the air outside was just as thick and hot as the air inside.

Well, hell.

I checked the clock sitting on the nightstand. The numbers glowed red, like always. The power wasn’t out. Just the air conditioning, evidently.

My neck itched, my hair glued to my skin by the perspiration. I gathered it in my hands and knotted it on top of my head then headed down to the kitchen for something cold to drink. It was going to be impossible to sleep in this heat. I thought about the pool outside, the sparkling clear, cool water beckoned me.

There was nothing more refreshing on a hot night than a midnight swim.

Steering toward the back door, I crept quietly outside. The last thing I needed was to wake Kent, though it would be good for him to know about the broken air conditioning. Better for me if he stayed asleep. I would just cool off in the pool for a little bit and then head back to bed.

With no bathing suit, I had little choice but to ditch the t-shirt and swim in my bra and panties. Even if Kent did wake and happen to see me, they were no less slutty than my bathing suit. So I had nothing to worry about. I slipped silently into the water, gasping at the chill racing over my overheated skin. I dunked under, letting my body sink to the bottom of the pool, my hair floating around my head, the crisp water cooling my scalp. So quiet. So cool. Heavenly.

That ended all too soon. Seeing a shadow cut across the light illuminating the deck, I surfaced.

Kent.

He stripped off everything, even his boxers, and dove in.

So much for my peaceful swim.

I raked my tangled hair away from my face and watched his beautiful body cut through the water, toward me. His powerful arms delivered him to my side within a few strokes and then there he was, face glittering, water droplets clinging to his lashes, lips curved into a smile. “Nothing like a swim on a hot summer night, eh?” He shook his head, water droplets sailing from his soggy hair. When he reached for the pool’s edge, his bicep and shoulder muscles flexed. Did he ever look scrumptious right now, the dim light caressing his features and carving deep lines between his muscles.

I turned around and pushed on the edge of the pool to propel myself out. He, evidently, decided to be a gentleman and help me by circling my waist with his hands and lifting me. I tried to ignore the quiver of need that skittered through me.

I could resist him? Impossible. I should’ve kept my big mouth shut!

“Sweet dreams,” he called out as he lithely exited the pool, giving me a clear view of all six feet-plus of muscular perfection, including the ten-plus inches or so of erect muscle between his legs.

Sweet dreams? Nope. I wouldn’t have sweet dreams tonight. Not after seeing
that
.

I would have naughty dreams. Decadent, wicked dreams.

I hoped.

My dreams, when they finally did come (sometime just before sunrise), did not let me down. In that short period of time, Kent and I had a whole lot of fun. And I even climaxed. At least once. In my sleep.

Now I was awake… kind of. My body was still tingly all over from all the nocturnal fun. But my mind was in a total pea-soup fog. Even a shower didn’t clear it. When I got out of the bathroom, I discovered my bed had been made and a folded note had been left on my pillow.

It was an invitation to dinner.

I was so
not
excited about a repeat of yesterday. More disappointment. More frustration. But I couldn’t turn him down. Not after talking so big last night. I would have to suck it up and deal with him. Or he’d claim I was trying to win the bet by cheating.

I have never cheated. Not on a bet, a game, or a partner. Never. I wasn’t about to start now.

Instead, I took a drive. I went home, to my house. With the stinky refrigerator full of spoiled food. I chucked out the wilted vegetables, gnarly meats, and curdled dairy then went to my room to search for some clean clothes, being careful not to touch anything electrical.

In the interest of making things as easy on myself as possible, I dug out my most conservative clothes. The bigger and dumpier the better. I wanted to look as seductive as a bag of rotten apples. Unfortunately finding clothes that were adequately conservative was a challenge. Normally, I didn’t dress slutty, but I didn’t dress like a school marm either.

After collecting my clothes and a few other essentials, I tidied up the house a bit and headed back to Kent’s house. If he was expecting the girl he’d swam with last night, in the matching lace push-up bra and panties, he was in for quite a surprise. I even found some granny panties my mother had bought me years ago. Still wrapped in their original packaging. No girl in her right mind would be caught dead in those.

Unless she was trying to scare away one very persistent hound dog named Kent.

All packed up and determined to win our bet, I drove back to the hound dog’s house and, after spending the day lounging by the pool, readied myself for what would probably end in disappointment, if he pulled another no show. By ten to six, I was ready. I looked like one of those Mormon girls, the ones that had to protect their virtue until they were married off to some old crotchety man forty years her senior. I had very little make up on, was wearing an ankle-skimming skirt that had belonged to my mother, a top that covered everything from waist to neck, and had even braided my hair.

Kent was going to be floored. I couldn’t wait.

And look at that. I wasn’t going to have to wait.

Miracle of all miracles, he was home. On time. Un-flipping-believable.

He strolled in, looking so proud and determined, took one look at me and faltered for just a moment. It was highly possible he didn’t recognize me for a second or two. I was amused. Until his left hand, which had been tucked behind his back, shot out.

Flowers. He’d brought me flowers.

So sweet!

I smiled and took the bouquet from him. One inhale, and I was swooning. They smelled absolutely gorgeous. “Thank you.”

“You look…lovely.” He bent down to kiss me.

I jumped back, index finger wagging. “Uh, uh, uh! No kissing.”

One brow lifted. “Are we Amish now? Can I give you a friendly peck on the cheek?”

“No, we’re not Amish.” I giggled. “I suppose a kiss on the cheek is okay. As long as it’s only a peck.” I turned a cheek to him and he pressed his lips to it, lingering a little too long. All along that side of my body my nerves tingled. I cleared my throat. “That is not a ‘peck’.” I shoved him away, and he chuckled and offered an arm, like they used to do a hundred years ago.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Before leaving, I insisted on putting the flowers in water. Then I reluctantly slipped my arm through his and followed his lead.

Outside, a limousine was waiting for us. A freaking limo. This was so unfair. Kent had more money than he could probably spend in a lifetime. He could wine me, and dine me, and charm me until I had melted into a puddle of spineless goo. And then he could seduce me right out of my grannie panties.

I was going to have to stay strong, from the start.

The driver stood next to the passenger door, waiting for us to board. I sat and of course Kent settled his hot body next to me and draped an arm across the back of the seat. I was painfully aware of how close he was, how great he smelled, and how scrumptious he looked.

“Don’t you think this is a little much? It’s just dinner,” I said as Kent reached for the vehicle’s mini-fridge.

“It’s never too much. Not for you.”

I laughed. “That has to be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard. Has it worked for you before?”

His grin was wider than the Cheshire Cat’s. “Every time.”

“Not this time.”

His great big smile disappeared but he wasn’t discouraged. The twinkle in his eye gave him away. “We’ll see about that.”

He pulled a bottle out of the fridge. “How about some champagne?” The cork popped before I could respond.

My brows lifted, I said, “Champagne?” I loved champagne. Champagne was far and above my favorite beverage ever.

But.

But…

Alcohol plus Kent equaled loss of our bet.

He wasn’t just playing smart; he was playing
dirty
.

It practically killed me to say, “No, thank you.” But the words did come out of my mouth, much to my surprise.

“This bottle happens to be the one I purchased in France when I traveled there a few years ago.”

“Very nice.” I was the kid of a poor single mom. I’d never been to France. Hell, I’d never been to Canada. And that was just a car ride over a bridge. Never had any reason to go to Canada. France, on the other hand, I would love to visit someday. Maybe on my honeymoon.

He poured, stowed the bottle, and sipped while I tried not to drool. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a taste? This is true Champagne, not the sparkling grape juice some people call champagne.”

Jerk. Now I really wanted to taste it, to see if it was different from the wine I so loved. But I couldn’t do it. Not even a taste. It would be too tempting to keep drinking and then... “Nope. Thanks.” Literally biting my tongue, I stared out the window. The scenery wasn’t much to look at. Trees. Farms. Lots and lots of corn. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

There was a little purr in his voice I didn’t like. What did he have up his sleeve now?

My stomach rumbled and I pressed my hand against it to try to muffle the embarrassing sound.

“Hungry?” he asked, laughter making his voice bounce a little.