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Chapter Three

Blaze

I hear my mom’s ringtone while trying to put on my wrinkled pants. After zipping up and buckling my belt as quickly as possible, I grab my phone from my pocket and stare at the screen.

“It’s my Ma,” I say to the beautiful brunette dressing next to me. “You gotta go…” Natasha? I’m not sure enough, so I say, “Honey.”

She’s pulling the strap of her dress over her shoulder. She pauses, tossing me a look. “I have to leave because your mom is on the phone?”

I gather her shoes from the floor. “Yeah.” I hand them to her. “Go. Please.”

“Can’t I at least put these on?” She takes the shoes, hanging them from the crook of her finger by their strap.

There are countless legitimate reasons for this woman to leave. Calling my mom back is just one of them .

I can’t sleep unless I’m alone.

I don’t do overnight guests.

I have to piss like a racehorse, and I get pee-shy around strangers.

Though after what we just did, she would hardly appreciate it if I called her a stranger to her face.

Despite my jet lag, it’s 5 p.m. in New York City, and it’s time for a stiff drink. I don’t want to be rude, but I also am not offering her one.

And reason number one—I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.

Grabbing her purse, I usher her to the hotel door, her shoes still dangling by the strap from her fingers. Blinking like a wide-eyed doe, she tosses over her shoulder, “Call me?”

“We’ll see.”

I laid it all out before the panties dropped. I always do. I may play the game, but I’m clear about the rules. This was a one-time thing. An exchange of orgasms. Nothing more.

One woman matters to me, but she detests me, so I keep clear boundaries with others. We’re just having fun. I kiss the beautiful woman's cheek chastely and lock the door behind her. Running a hand through my hair, I jog to the bathroom, trying to recall her name.

“What was it? Natasha?” It comes to me, and I snap my fingers with a grin. “Tash! That’s it.”

Eager to empty my bladder, I fumble with the zipper. “ Shit!” The urge strikes before I can fully prepare, and I end up pissing on the material as well as the toilet seat.

Disgusted yet too lazy to change, I zip up the damp pants to call Ma and grab a drink. After that, it’s straight to the shower.

Ma doesn’t answer, so I text her to give me a ring when she can.

“Shower or drink?” I ask myself, glancing down at the drying pants. “Drink. Whiskey, first.”

I go to the corner of the room, to the bar by the window overlooking the East River and Roosevelt Island. I glance at Queens, where I visited a guy bothering Dame's friend.

It wasn’t my first assault of the day. Or my most satisfying one.

Afterward, I stopped at a fancy store on the corner to wash my hands and buy a new shirt.

Police don’t take kindly to men like me walking down the street with clothes covered in blood.

The attractive woman at the counter helped me clean up, select a new outfit, and discard my soiled ones. She didn’t ask any questions, and her flirty banter was impeccable. Her shift ended just as I pulled out my black Amex to pay.

Lucky coincidence.

I told her I had a hotel on the Upper East Side and a few hours to kill. She was game. Now I’m standing here, naked except for my pants, putting ice cubes in a glass and thinking more about the woman who instigated my trip to Queens than about her .

I love the pants she picked for me, though. She knows her labels. It's too bad I ruined them.

There’s a banging at my door. I’m not expecting anyone, and Tasha took all her things when she left. I think I know who it is. A grin curves on my lips, hoping the guy has grown some courage and brought friends back to try and rough me up.

I’m up for a bit of fun.

I tip the ice into the bucket and head for the door. The banging resumes. “Jesus! Hang on.” You’d think someone would be less eager to get their ass kicked for a second time today.

I throw the door open, prepared for an attack.

A threat stands at my door, though it’s not what I anticipated.

Instead of an angry kid and his group of friends, I encounter something deadly. The most flawless, stunning, and infuriatingly virtuous girl in existence.

The one person in this world who sees right through my bullshit.

We get along, yet we always fight, which doesn’t even make sense.

Cleopatra, teacher, friend, former lover, and for a very short time, my stepsister, now stands in the hallway, arms crossed primly under her chest, pinning the fabric of the patchwork dress to her body.

She cocks her chin at an angle, narrowing her gaze at me .

An involuntary reflex comes over me to angle my half-naked body closer to hers, pose, and give her a little show, lifting my right arm and resting my hand above my head on the door frame. I don’t miss her momentary weakness, the flutter of her gaze stroking my naked chest.

She moves away, her nose wrinkling. “Do you smell like… pee?”

See what I mean? She nails me every time.

“Do I?” I say, stepping back with a whiff. “I shouldn’t. I was about to hop in the shower before you came.”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher. I have a nose for this stuff.” Before I can invite her into my shower with me, she puts on that sexy teacher voice of hers, demanding, “Now let me see your hands.”

“Why?” Lowering my right arm, I slide my hand into the pocket of my pants, avoiding the damp part of the fabric.

She grabs my left hand before I can hide the purplish bruise blooming over my knuckles.

She releases a pent-up sigh she’s probably been holding onto since arriving. “I knew it was you. I didn’t know how. I thought you were in Italy. But when Keith mentioned his apology post—I knew it was you.”

“How?” I pull my hand back.

“I knew you wouldn’t let it go at making him take it down.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t.” I cross my arms over my chest .

Her beautiful eyes lock on mine and I feel that funny sensation in my belly. “Blaze, how often have I told you not to interfere in my life? I know you mean well, but I’m not some little sister you need to take care of?—”

“Aye, aye, aye, little sis. The things we’ve done would have our grandparents rolling over in their graves.”

“We do not share grandparents. And don’t call me ‘little sis.’ It’s gross. How did you find out anyway?”

“I saw it.”

“Nooo! ” she wails in shame. “You’re joking! How did you see it? You’re not even following him.”

“I have people.” I don’t tell her she’s on my short list of people at the Bachman Protection Agency. If anything happens to my mom, my boys in the Bronx, or Cleopatra, the information comes straight to me.

She storms past me, entering the hotel. “This is so humiliating!”

I lock the door behind her and follow her further into the room. “Don’t be embarrassed. You were way hotter than the stuff I pay good money to watch.” We stand facing one another, with only an arm’s length between us. I can feel the electricity in the air.

“Don’t want to know.” She looks like she wants to close her eyes, cover her ears, and sink into the carpeting. “I appreciate you looking out for me, though.”

“And getting the porn down.” I can’t not throw in a tease. It’s Cleo. I love the way I make her blush .

She winces at the word. “Of course, I appreciate you getting the...video taken down. But it’s the how you got it taken down that bothers me.”

“Naughty boy.” I tsk tsk. “Does the teacher want me to stay after school? Teach me a lesson?”

Ignoring me, she continues her lecture. It’s hot. Her lecturing me.

“Violence is not the answer,” she says in that sexy teacher tone. “It’s like I tell my kids?—”

“Wait. We have kids, now? Did I knock you up with twins, and you didn’t tell me? Is this some secret pregnancy stepsibling romance?”

She wants to roll her eyes, but she’s too polite. “What do you know about romance genres?”

“I am up to date on social media trends,” I say. “I mean, obviously, since I saw your porn.”

It was so sexy. She was captivating. The way she leans her head back, closes her eyes, and gives that primal yet feminine moan. If my blood hadn’t been boiling, planning the most painful way I could end Keith, I would have watched more.

“It’s not my porn. And no. No kids.” She throws her hand on her hip. “My kindergarten students?”

“What do you tell the kids?” I ask, attempting to be good.

She wears an orange teacher-looking bag over her shoulder. Her hands cling to the strap like she’s holding on to the handles, so she won’t be tempted to touch me .

She stares up at me. “I tell them that violence rarely solves problems. Instead, it causes conflict, suffering, and physical and emotional harm to everyone involved.”

She sounds like a Wikipedia article.

It’s such a turn on.

“Do you really talk to kindergarteners with words that big?” I’m staring at her lips. She’s got some red gloss on them. They look delicious. “Aren’t they like four years old or something?”

“Five going on six. And I most certainly do speak to them this way. They understand more than you think. Like the fact that violence gets in the way of long-term positive change.”

“Well, the little shit took it down, didn’t he? I consider that a positive change.”

She gives me a playful smirk. “What are you doing in New York anyway? Shouldn’t you be off smoking cigars, racing Lamborghinis down the highway, or plotting mischievous schemes in your Italian mafia lair?”

“I’m in town for a thing.” I move away from the door, inviting her in. “Ma wanted to see me.”

“What’d you do this time?” she teases.

“Just a visit. She wanted Haze, his new wife Ophelia, and me to come, but they couldn’t leave Italy. Thank God. Those two have stolen my thunder since Haze came along. I may get less of my mom’s attention, but it’s nice having an older brother looking out for me.” I tease and poke her side. “Cracking heads for me. You get me?”

She pauses for a moment, looking a bit exasperated. “I really appreciate your concern, but I don’t need you to fight my battles!”

“I had to use force. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken it down. And that video was coming down.” I circle her, feeling the heated tension between us. It’s every bit as delicious as it’s always been. “What if Daddy Falcon saw the video?”

“I would have gotten it down somehow. Without punching.” She frowns. “You should have seen Keith’s face.”

“Keith’s face?” Anger boils in me, thinking of that horrible kid. Who disrespects a woman like that? “I don’t care about his face. I care about you and what he did to you.” I move in close, my voice lowering to a growl. “I could have killed him for what he did. He’s lucky I didn’t.”

She stares at me for a moment, her pretty eyes reading my expression. Seeing my truth, she swallows so hard I can hear it.

I would have enjoyed getting rid of that filth.

Finally, she whispers, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“The only thing stopping me was the fact that you would have been pissed off at me for all eternity,” I admit.

“Absolutely, I would have!” She brushes past me, moving further into the room to create some distance.

“Don’t come in if you don’t want to smell sex,” I say. “I just kicked a woman out.”

She eyes the rumpled bed sheets. There’s a fresh, wet spot in the center of the mattress. “Oh. Goodness.” Blushing, she looks away.

I grab the white feather duvet from the floor and toss it over the bed. She hovers at the foot of the bed, staring out the window and taking in the view so she won’t have to look at me. Or the bed.

“I spotted a Wonder Woman Amazon strolling down the hotel hallway, stilettos in hand,” she remarks playfully. “Could that have been her doing the walk of shame?”

“Walk of shame?” I laugh. “More like the walk of tame. You remember how good it feels to be with me.”

She chokes back a snort. “Put on a shirt, will you?”

“Can’t. I need a shower. Wanna join, cutie?”

She gives me a curt look.

I nod to the countertop bar on the other end of the room. “Take a seat. I’ll make you a drink.”

“I appreciate it, but no.” She settles onto a barstool, letting her bag slide off her shoulder to rest on the countertop beside her. “The only reason we ended up in bed at your brother’s wedding was the intoxicating effect of alcohol.”

I correct her. “The first time wasn’t a bed. It was the back of a church.”

She moans. “Don’t remind me!”

“And you’d only had a glass of champagne by then. I was the only thing intoxicating you.” I chuckle, recalling how adorable she was that night, tipsy and giggling. “Though the second time we did it, yeah, you were pretty lit.” And it was incredible. “Let me get you a drink.

As I pass her to reach the mini-fridge, I inhale the familiar scent of her gentle perfume—vanilla and those chewy caramels from the bakery near my old place. Chilled Riesling is her favorite; the bright wine is nearly overly sweet, just like her and her alluring perfume.

I grab a bottle and pour her a glass, bringing it back to her. I lean over her, allowing her to get a long look at my abs. I ensure our fingers touch as she takes the glass from me.

I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “That was a great night.”

“I barely remember.” Her voice wavers.

My lips are so close now they brush her skin as I say, “That’s not what you were saying when you were begging me to fuck your pussy.” “

She clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably on her barstool. “I think you might be mixing me up with the woman who just walked out.”

I move in to mimic her, whispering hot in her ear, “Blaze. Don’t stop. Keep going. Please.”

“What's going on with you?” She picks up her wine, stands up from the stool, her cheeks matching the vibrant red of the label. She walks over to the window, trying to find some space, not quite realizing she’s put herself in a tricky spot with nowhere to go. “Why don't you go take your shower?”

I move in, forcing her to press her back against the wall .

She scrunches her nose as I get closer. “Ugh, you really smell like pee. What's up with that? Were you and this girl getting up to something weird?”

“I’m kinky, but not like that.” I reach for the messy bun at the nape of her neck, letting my fingers tangle in it, tugging at it. “You know what I like.”

Her eyes flash. “Do I?”

“What I like, Cleopatra, is you.” The air between us heats ten degrees as I lean closer. “You’re my favorite aphrodisiac, you beautiful girl.”

And my mouth is on hers.