Page 11

Chapter Eleven

Cleopatra

I wake naked. In his bed. Whoa. Not what I was planning.

I’ve really gotta lay down some rules of my own. Like no overnights. Do our naughty things and then I sleep in my bed, he sleeps in his. Spooning is all kinds of dangerous. Cuddling can lead to some very confusing feelings on both sides.

And the most important rule?

When we go back to the city for Lydia’s wedding, this fun vacay sex is over, O-V-A-H kinda over.

His arm is thrown over me, a heavy weight. He’s got a shock of dark hair over a closed eye, softly snoring through parted Hollywood-ready lips, soft breaths just reaching my cheek as he breathes.

He’s out cold. I’ve forgotten what a heavy sleeper he is. When we lived together, I made him set two alarms so he wouldn’t be late for work: one on his phone and a cheap plastic blue one I’d bought him from the dollar store. The same one that now sits on his nightstand, ticking joyfully away.

I can’t believe he kept it. He could afford a much nicer one now.

I need to pee, shower, and leave this bed without giving him the impression that we're playing happy family. I meant to make it to the guest room last night, but I hate sleeping alone. He’s so warm, like a heated weighted blanket. It’s calming to lie beside him, tucked into his luxurious bedding.

I gently circle his wrist, attempting to lift his muscled arm without waking him. Scooting toward the end of the bed, I slip underneath and carefully place it back on it.

He lets out a louder snore, flipping over with such gusto that he almost leaves the bed. Now, he’s lying on his side, facing away from me. I grab his discarded white tee from the floor and put it on. He’s still sleeping. Perfect. I not only need the toilet and a shower, but I need some alone time to process.

I tiptoe across the plastic that lines the floor in the dusty hall, where the walls are patched in preparation for painting.

In just a few days, I went from picking up an invitation at my ex’s place to being here. The thought of visiting Keith’s makes my stomach turn. No matter how much I try to suppress it, every so often, a flash of that humiliating video invades my mind, and the memory of the sound of my moan makes me cringe .

Fortunately, Blaze took my phone for security reasons, so I’ve been spared the distress of dealing with the fallout.Blaze replaced my old Android with a sleek, black, high-tech phone that features the Bachman Brotherhood BB symbol emblazoned on the back of the case.

I haven’t bothered to turn it on with my family and Seraphina here.

The pain stands out even more than the embarrassment of everyone seeing my va-gi-na. It’s something only your worst enemy would do to you. Not the one who is supposed to love you more than anyone.

The person who is supposed to be your person.

They aren't supposed to cheat on you with a younger, more attractive version of yourself named Candy, either.

Then I remember the way Blaze looked at me last night in my bare-naked vulnerability, and his words, how he made me feel beautiful. The warmth of the memory washes over me, taking away the pain.

That feels good. Really good. I’ll focus on that.

I reach the guestroom Blaze mentioned as ‘my place to land, when you need some time.’ I am touched, knowing he wants me in his bed but also cares enough to give me space.He knows I have to retreat sometimes and get my introvert recharge on.

While the room is clearly under construction, it remains a comfy place to spend some time. A cushy-looking carpet and bed are in the center, both pushed away from the stripped walls, where peels of leftover floral wallpaper are being removed. The bathroom seems to be finished, except for the dark wood walls, which he’s in the process of stripping to lighten the space.

A gorgeous shower with multiple showerheads, including a rain one, calls my name.

I let the warm water wash away the heartache from home. Soon, the lathering suds from the expensive, deliciously fruity-scented body wash and the steam rising around me bring up newer, more pleasant memories. Like last night. Goodness, that was so naughty, so delicious.

But people are expected to date within their league. I’m the clumsily dressed mascot at a county baseball game, while he’s a major league all-star. I glance down, rinsing suds. Is my right breast bigger than the left one? He’s probably used to being with women who have perfectly symmetrical breasts.

Unless everything sweet he says is a lie, there’s something about me that he likes.

And…I’ve never known him to lie…

I have known him to be a man. Sometimes men can get confused. They think they want the wifey-material good girl, but what they desire is a catwalk model who can perform sexy tricks in bed.

Like Candy. Barf.

“Gawd!” I hang the scrubby back up on a hook. “Do men torture themselves like this?”

Ruining a spa-like shower experience by obsessing over everything the women in their lives have ever said and done? Judging themselves? Thinking of every way they don’t measure up?

No, I don’t think they do. They probably masturbate and rinse off.

I dry off, fine tuning my wording for the rules I need to suggest to Blaze.

When I emerge from the bathroom, a massive fluffy blue bath sheet covering me from under my arms to mid-calf, I find a sexily tousled hair Blaze, black sweatpants hanging low on his hipbones—still shirtless, does this man ever wear a shirt?—sitting on the guest bed, flipping through his phone, waiting for me.

Instead of giving him my speech, I’m momentarily frozen by his easy beauty, overwhelmed by the fact that It’s my stepbrother sitting on the bed. The one I had sex with last night. And he stuck his finger in my?—

“Hey lil’ sis.”

“Please stop calling me that.” I run a hand over my towel-covered hair. The hobbit in her terry cloth robe.

“Sorry about the mess in here. We’re still under construction.” He stands, slipping his phone into his pocket and stretching, showing off the full plane of his abs before sauntering to me. He leans in, brushing his lips over my cheek in a light kiss that leaves my skin tingling, then whispers against my ear. “How’s that magical pussy of yours this morning?”

He moves away before I can chide him, meandering across the room. He heads over to the double doors of the closet. “ I hope you don’t mind. I took some liberties with your wardrobe.”

Curious, I pad across the lush carpet to join him. “My wardrobe?”

“You’re going to be here a while,” he says. “You'll need more clothes than you threw in your bag the other night.” He flings the doors open, both at once.

And I just stare, taking in the rows of clothing hanging in front of me. “This is all for me?”

“The dressy stuff we hung up.” He opens a drawer of a dresser. “And there’s casual stuff in here.”

I lift a pair of black leggings from the drawer; the material feels silky between my fingers. I recognize the brand as one I could never afford. To go with the leggings, I choose a soft bra, cropped top, and slouchy off-the-shoulder sweatshirt.

I find myself wanting to look good for him. Comfy yet a bit sexy?

“Thank you. These clothes are amazing. I can’t wait to try them on.” I cuddle the soft pile of clothing to my towel-covered chest. Just holding the luxury goods makes me feel warm inside. “Who helped you with the shopping?”

“The Beauties. They’re always buzzing around here, trying to feed me. I finally had something I needed help with, and they were more than eager to lend a hand.”

“Who are the Beauties?” I ask.

“The wives of the Bachman men.” He arches a brow. “You already know a bit about them from last night,” he says .

“Right.” I take a step back from him and his naked torso.

“There are only two ways into this family,” he says. “If you’re a man, a grueling initiation and signing your soul over to the cause. If you’re a woman, marrying a catch like me.” Cue the cocky grin.

Darn, he’s cute.

“The Beauties love to take the bachelors under their wings,” he explains. “Matchmaking. Emilia is the ringleader here. Ophelia, my sister-in-law, you’ll love her; she helped with the stuff in the shower.”

“She did well. It was the best shower of my life!” Well, minus the part where I was torturing myself over worry and doubts.

His brow furrows deeply, his face going serious. “And did you have enough of those pillows and sticks?”

Huh? “Pillows and sticks?”

“You know…” He runs a hand over the back of his neck, his gaze going to the ground. Finally, he says, “That… girl stuff.”

Girl stuff? Oh. Pads and Tampons.

I stifle a giggle. “Yes. That’s covered. Thank you.”

I’d forgotten how funny he is about ‘women troubles.’ He’d be blushing right now if his superior DNA allowed for it.

“I’m on the pill. I told you at the church that day…” Uncomfortable but socially responsible, I continue, “The topic did come up at the time between kisses and our un derwear coming off. I assumed you remembered since you didn’t bring it up last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Sure. I remember, now.”

“Now?” I ask.

“Yeah. Now that you said, I remember.” He looks more uncomfortable now than he did talking about period stuff.

He didn’t remember I was on the pill. Which means…

I grill him. “You didn’t know I was on the pill. And you didn’t offer a condom…” I stare at him openly. “Were you trying to get me pregnant?”

He looks at me a beat too long before answering. “No. Not like trying or anything.” He shrugs.

Shocked, I gasp. “Not like trying or anything? What on Earth do you mean by that?”

Another sexy shrug, like looking sexily confused, makes him innocent. He can’t meet my eye. “I figured…”

His words trail off, so I fill in the blanks for him. “You figured it would be okay to get me pregnant!”

“No,” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that. You didn’t say anything either!” He stands there, shirtless, staring at me, now arms crossed over his bare chest. “It’s not 1950 anymore. I figured you’d say if you wanted a condom.”

“It’s not 1950, but you can spank women and knock them up without so much as a conversation, first?” I counter back.

“Well,” he finally says, “It’s a good thing you’re on the pill, right?”

“Yeah. A really good thing. And lucky for us, I’m a modern-day woman who looks out for my own fertility, huh, Mr. Old-Fashioned Mafia man?”

Please remind me to run to the bathroom and count my birth control pills the second he walks out of this room!

He eyes me curiously. “And you know I’m really careful, right? I’ve used a condom with every girl I’ve ever been with.” He goes all uncomfortable with the topic, shifting weight to his other foot. “I mean, I got tested before you came even though I knew it would all be good–which it was–just wouldn’t ever want to put you at risk.”

Wow. So much information. So many feelings dragged up all at once from his confession.

I totally appreciate him looking out for me, giving me those big brother warm fuzzies I love.

Which is super confusing when we’re talking about STD testing.

‘Cause we had sex. Bareback. Raw dogging it (as Seraphina would say) with a man I should be playing Pictionary with instead.

But the real kicker…

“You got tested before I came.”

“Yes.”

“Which means you were expecting us to sleep together. ”

“Was I?” He runs his hand over the back of his neck, looking at the ground. “I’m kinda damned if I say yes, right?”

My arms cross over my chest as I stare at him. “Kinda. Yeah.”

“So, the closet, yeah—” He nods to the closet doors, like I’m going to let him change the subject this soon. “The Beauties are serious about their clothing and beauty products,” he explains. “They even have their own workout gear line: The Beehive.”

Wait. The Beehive? My attention turns from the baby-making, STD-testing machine to the closet he’s trying to show me.

Curiosity wins.

“These are the leggings with the bumblebee emblem on the hip?” I remember I’m holding a pair. I point to the cute little yellow and white emblem. “These are theirs?”

His brows lift. “You’re familiar with the brand?”

“I don’t work out, but they’re super popular with the active women in the city.” The wealthy ones, at least. I’ve never stepped foot in the store, knowing I couldn’t afford the luxury goods. Their tagline is like you’re naked.

“The ladies here love them. I hope you do, too. If not, we can get you something else…”

“No way!” I assure him. “It’s perfect. This is wonderful.” I stretch up on tiptoe, planting a grateful kiss on his cheek.

He slips an arm around my waist, bringing me in close. “Forgive me for last night? ”

I should be madder than I am.

A good reminder to have the ‘rules’ conversation with him ASAP. “The closet kinda makes up for it.”

“Good.” He gives my ass a series of soft pats, the feeling going straight between the tops of my thighs. “Don’t forget about my rules.”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper.

He leaves me with a smile, going back to his room to shower and dress.

I have to stand there, taking a few deep breaths to recover from…well, him. His sexiness. His apparent nonchalance about having a baby with me. His thoughtfulness in preparing the closet. Once my pulse returns to normal, I dress. The clothing is comfortable and well-fitting. The leggings truly feel like I’m wearing nothing at all.

I still feel slightly shy about the long-sleeve crop top I’m wearing under the sweatshirt, which shows part of my soft midriff. I typically don’t wear fitted clothing that reveals my body. Hopefully, I won’t get too warm and take the sweatshirt off.

We meet downstairs in the grand foyer. His hair is damp from his shower. He wears a light long-sleeved sweater and jeans. He looks long at my black leggings, his gaze heating my blood. “Daaaaang. Your ass looks scrumptious. Like a ripe peach.”

“So,” I brightly change the subject from my scrumptious bottom, a topic he seems obsessed with. Though I’m flattered. “What’s on the schedule for the day? Do you have to work? ”

“Here and there,” he shrugs. “But I took the day off to get you settled.”

“Thanks,” I say. “That was kind of you.”

He starts towards the back of the house, and I walk beside him as he tells me about the day. “I thought we could have breakfast in the garden; OJ and toast, a slight smear of strawberry jam, no butter.”

Okay. He’s totally forgiven. And I think I’m getting feels.

Then he tops his planned breakfast menu, saying, “After we eat, I wanted your opinion on some paint colors.” I would only trust those closest to me with such a big decision.

I am going to have his babies, aren’t I?

Stop. It. Cleo.

“I’m honored,” I say. “Paint is everything.”

“I’m glad you’re here to help. I had no idea there were so many shades of white.” His green eyes sparkle with mischief. “I guess you can’t go wrong, as long as you don’t wear it to someone else’s wedding.”

I accept the barb gracefully. “Ha. Ha.”

“Teasing.” He shoots me a grin. “After breakfast, we can waste some time painting samples on the wall, get into trouble, have dinner with the ‘rents, the bestie, Haze, Ophelia, Liam, and Emilia.”

I’m terrible at small talk. Thank goodness Seraphina will be with me. “I can’t wait to meet everyone. Think mom and dad will make it out of their bedroom? ”

“They’d better. I had wagyu steaks flown in from Japan for Falcon.”

“That was thoughtful. Thank you. You know how seriously my dad takes his cuts of meat.”

“He’s gonna need the stamina to get through a second honeymoon.”

“Gross.”

He gives me a sexy wink, sending a delicious little shiver straight to my core. “Someone adorable once taught me the importance of protein.”

I attempt to come up with something cute to say. “Hmm…” I tap my chin with a pink nail. “Who would that be?”

Flirting just doesn’t come naturally to me. Why do some people, i.e., Blaze, look sexy when they wink, while others, i.e., me, look like they’ve got a nervous twitch? Life is so not fair.

Darn that genetic gamble of the dice.

If he and I did have children together, would they be round little hobbits or major league cuties? Perhaps a combination. Wait .

Banishing all taboo thoughts of bearing my stepbrother’s children, I follow him out the back door into the bramble-covered gardens. “Mind the gap,” he jokes, pointing to the massive hole in the ground, a bobcat digger sitting in the middle. “That’s going to be a pool.”

“Gotcha.” I picture the finished yard, a lush garden ripe with fruit and flowers in bloom. A pool of blue water sparkling in the sunlight. Stone paths, statues, and water features.

“Here’s the garden shed, but it’s big enough to be a guest house. I don’t know what to do with it, but I love eating out here.”

“I can see why.”

“Really? It’s such a mess right now. Most people can’t picture the vision till it’s complete.”

“You only need a little imagination.”

“I like that.” There’s a small table with two chairs, and a breakfast spread over the top of the table. Toast, jam, and juice, among other things. He pulls a chair out for me. “Here we are.”

My favorite breakfast. I take a seat. “Thank you.” The bread is freshly baked, the orange juice is real, and we’re dining al fresco in the sea breeze—my classic breakfast elevated to Bachman standards.

I take another bite of the toast. “This might be the best bread I’ve ever had. Do they make it here?”

“Yep. We’ve got a bakery on site. At the café.” He leans in with a wicked grin. “The secret ingredient is crime.”

Whether illegally paid for or not, I could get used to this. I will use his crime statement to investigate. “Tell me more about what the Bachmans do.”

“Investments,” he says, leaving it at that.

“Investments?” My brows raise. “What else? Tell me more. ”

“If I did, I’d have to kill you.” He gives me a devilish grin.

I lean back in my seat. “What?” Okay, so not having his babies.

“Kidding.” He chuckles. “Or you could marry me. Then I could tell you all my secrets.”

His joke makes my heart beat faster. I play it off. “If I married you, what would that make us?”

“Husband and wife?”

“But we’re already stepbrother and stepsister. So, sadly, no wedding.”

“That is sad.” There’s a little too much wistfulness in his tone. He looks out over the garden. “I think you’d like it here.”

“I do!” Too much. I dab my mouth with my napkin, buying time to recover from the flutter in my chest as I wipe my fingers on the cloth. Clearing my throat, I stand. “Shall we paint?”

We work, opening cans and smoothing paint into vertical rectangles. When finished, the concrete walls display samples in varying shades of white, with tones from green to blue. Standing close, we study the colors. I feel good vibes from completing the project with him, his appreciation for my opinion, and the warmth of his arm against mine.

“I like the third one.” He points to the same rectangle that my gaze keeps drifting towards.

“Same. ”

“What was the name of that one?”

“Hang on. Let me check.” Under my instruction, he’s placed each paint can beneath its corresponding wall swatch. I kneel, inspecting the label.

No way. I am going to have his babies.

He comes over to see. “What is it?”

“Wedding lace white.” I stand back up.

He laughs. “Really? That’s ironic. Like your lacy white dress? The one you accidentally wore to my brother’s wedding?”

“Gah! Please. Please don’t remind me! It was the cutest one on the clearance rack that didn’t make me look too… round.”

“That dress was so fucking sexy,” he says. “I love your curves.”

The stare he gives me makes me hunger for something I can’t put a name to. Luckily, I’m torn from my carnal confusion by a ping from my new phone.

He instantly wants to know, “Who is it?”

I slip it from my pocket, reading the message. “It’s Seraphina. She’s tied up with work and we won’t see her till dinner.”

“Same with Haze. We won’t see them till dinner. And the honeymooners have yet to emerge.

It's just me and Blaze. I don’t mind. I look to him, wondering what the rest of our day will be like. “So. What now? ”

“How about some fun?” He does his sexy grin.

I try to sound seductive, lowering my voice. “What do you have in mind?” It doesn’t work. I clear my throat, promising to stop the awkward attempts to flirt.

“It’s a surprise. Follow me.” He grabs my hand, and those warm tingling sensations spread over my skin as he leads me through the garden to a white glass door on the back of the house on the basement level.

“What could this be? Your lair?”

“Kinda.” He chuckles as he swings the door open. “Come on in.”

I can’t believe what I’m stepping into.