Page 9

Chapter Nine

Cleopatra

I walk beside Blaze while Sharon and Dad follow behind in their own little whispering world. “The four of us will stay at my place,” Blaze announces to our little group. He leans over to whisper to me. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“All four of us?” I squeak. “In one house?”

Again? Heated memories of his bare torso, skin damp and scented fresh from the shower, surged to the forefront of my mind.

He gives a seductive wink. “Just like old times.”

Old times? The torrent of teen hormones when I was tortured by the protective older brother role he played for me while trying not to check him out? This is the worst-case situation. Not only must I find ways to avoid him, but I have to do so in front of our parents. I'm flooded with teenage embarrassment as I recall trying to look away when he was only in a towel.

Now, he looks even better, more filled out, with bulging muscles and dark chest hair?—

As Seraphina would say, this is a prime piece of real estate!

This is my dream house. It’s currently a little dilapidated, with crooked shutters and missing cedar shingles, but overall, it is my absolute dream of a home: a small mansion that somehow manages to feel like a storybook cottage. The exterior splendor is not yet fully realized due to the green overgrowth and lack of landscaping, but it is magical all the same.

“Home sweet Home,” Blaze says, his voice tinged with pride. “Haze is the real builder for the family, but for now, I’m his sidekick.”

“Apprentice,” I correct, remembering how he used to work for our builder neighbor. He was good at the job even then. “Don’t sell yourself short. It’s going to be gorgeous.”

He gives me a brief look. “You like it?” In his eyes and in his voice I can feel his need for my approval.

And I like that feeling more than a sister should.

Mesmerized by possibilities, I can’t tear my gaze from the beauty and charm. I allow a brief, forbidden flash of imagery to enter my mind, me living here with him, us working side-by-side painting shutters, clearing weeds.

We’re both hard workers. That's one thing we have in common …

My voice sounds almost reverent as I answer him. “Yes. I love it.”

Sharon speaks up. “It’s nice, but a bit run down.” She also thinks ketchup is a vegetable.

I give Blaze a pointed look to convey that she’s wrong.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “The exterior is still a mess, and the east side needs love. But the main rooms are finished, as well as three bedrooms and bathrooms in the west wing.”

“We could stay at Haze’s,” Sharon offers. “Speaking of that handsome devil, why hasn’t he come to greet us yet?”

“He’ll be having dinner with us tomorrow,” Blaze explains. “Work’s been a bit… busy.”

Dad offers, “I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but I was a roofer when I was younger. I’ve done some renovations myself. I’m happy to lend a hand with the roof when you’re ready. I’d love to find a way to repay your generosity.”

“I’d love to have you look at some tricky spots by the gables if you have time,” Blaze says. We all gaze up at the damaged white trim at the bottom of the quaint gable windows.

“Looks like water damage,” Sharon adds helpfully. “Is there mold?”

“No mold, Ma. You’ll be comfortable here, I promise. It’s much bigger than Haze and Ophelia’s place, and the side you’re staying on is totally renovated. We’ll share the common space in the center, kitchen, and dining room for meals. ”

I force a smile on my lips, trying to be patient with my stepmother. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sharon leans in to place a motherly kiss on Blaze’s cheek. “Thanks, hon.”

“Thanks again for having us. We’re over the moon to be here.” Dad gives me a side squeeze and shakes Blaze’s hand. “Your mother and my second wedding was planned so quickly we didn’t even talk about a honeymoon.”

“How did you two meet again?” I ask.

“We bumped into one another paying speeding tickets at the courthouse where we first wed. We always did love to drive fast.” Sharon stares up at Dad, beaming. “Isn’t that romantic?”

“Kismet,” I offer.

“I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers again,” Dad gushes. “So, we rushed the wedding and didn’t consider the honeymoon. I’d say this whole fiasco is working in our favor.” He grips Blaze’s hand in his meaty butcher’s one. “Thanks again for setting us up with this vacation.” Dad waggles his brows in a way I can’t unsee. “We’re looking forward to it.”

“Need a tour of the West Wing?” Blaze asks hopefully.

This place really is his baby. It’s sweet and cute, in a hot way.

Sharon stands halfway up the stairs, her purse clutched to her side. “We’ll find our way around.” She holds out a hand, waggling her fingers in a final goodbye. Dad hurries behind her. The door opens, the sound of giggles echoing, then ending as the heavy door quickly closes behind them.

Ick.

“Can’t slow down those two kids,” Blaze chuckles. “They seem excited to consummate the marriage.”

Double ick.

“At least there will be a main living space between the two-bedroom quarters,” he says.

“That’s… good.” It’s weird enough that our parents are married again and we’re stepsiblings again. “Sleeping in the room next to them while they're on their second honeymoon might be a bit much.”

“Yeah. It might ruin the mood for our own vacation.” He playfully elbows my side.

I quickly correct, “Forced safety emergency trip. And don’t assume there will be any you-know-what between us.”

“You know what they say about assumptions,” he says. “They get your ass spanked.”

I still haven’t figured out if I want to cross that bridge. I mean I want to, want to. My body is begging for it. My face and my you-know-what heat to boiling. “Fine. Please do not presume that there will be any you-know-what between us.”

The repercussions…

“You-know-what?” he teases, interrupting my thoughts. “Can you not say the word out loud? ”

I hold my head up high with goody-two-shoes dignity. “Can but choose not to. There’s enough dirty talking in the world already. I don’t care to add to it.”

He leans in. Too close. My senses are overwhelmed with the scent of man, cologne, and the feel of the scrape of his five o’clock shadow brushes against my cheek. His husky voice murmurs, the sound traveling straight between my thighs. “You mean, sex? Fucking? Me eating your pussy while you scream,” his voice goes all husky as he mimics me, “ Oh Blaze don’t stop! Don’t stop ? —”

My turn to elbow him in the ribs, but I’m not as gentle.

“Ow!” he laughs, rubbing his side. “That almost hurt. Like I got punched by a leprechaun.”

“Leprechaun? Please.” I’m at least as strong as a hobbit. My attention turns back to the magnificent house. I start up the steps. “Can we go inside?”

Finally, he heads for the front door. “Of course. Mom and Dad were too busy, but can I give you a tour at least? This project’s been my baby, and I’ve been dying to share it with someone from home.”

“I’m the first to see it?” I’m genuinely honored.

“Yeah,” he goes, shyer than I’ve ever seen him. “Except for Haze. I’ve kinda been waiting.”

Waiting for what?

I want to ask but then he turns the brass knob, saying, “I hope you like old houses.”

I’m the only patient who looks forward to going to the dentist. My local office has a subscription to Architectural Digest, and they never discard old subscriptions.

“ Like old houses? More like obsess. You’re talking to the girl who would choose an apartment with high ceilings and crown molding over one with a pantry and hall closet. As limited as storage space is in NYC, you know my heart lies with real hardwood floors.”

“When it comes to real estate, if there isn’t lead paint, I’m not interested,” he says.

“The more asbestos to be removed, the better,” I banter back.

We step inside. I take in the gorgeous foyer and the curved staircase, surprised by his choice of house. This place is so… me. “I thought you’d be a modern guy. Clean lines and walls of windows.”

“I’m secretly old-fashioned. I believe in spanking naughty women,” he teases, giving me those bedroom eyes of his. “And everyone knows I’m a sucker for an old soul.”

I ignore the spanking comment but get stuck on the ‘old soul’ one. He’s referring to his brother’s wedding when we were you-know-what-ing in the back of the church, and as I was on the brink of orgasm, I said I loved the scent of incense, and he called me an ‘old soul.’

I won’t let him affect me. Willing my cheeks to stay void of color, I swallow hard and steady my voice. “I want the full tour. Every detail. Don’t spare me.”

“Great.” He moves his hand to my lower back, doing that ‘protective man guiding thing’ I find so incredibly sexy. “And after that, we need to fuck. ”

“What!” I stop cold, turning to face him. “What did you say?”

“Talk,” he says. “I said we need to talk.” He says it so cooly, I wonder if I misheard him. Maybe my mind had a Freudian slip. Seems like I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about sex, not him.

“We need to talk,” he repeats. “Go over the rules.” His hand leaves my lower back, sliding over my bottom. He squeezes my ass like he owns it, like I’ve got his name tattooed on my skin. “And the consequences if those rules are broken.”

“Oh. Um…” I give another hard swallow, focused on the way it feels to have his fingertips gently digging into that tender curve where my ass meets the top of my thighs.

He leads me deeper into the house. Where is my indignation? Where is my girl-power war cry?

If Keith ever tried to talk ‘rules’ with me, that would finally be the hard line. Instead, I’m pressing my thighs together, wondering what the consequences he mentioned consist of.

And yet…

Why am I not giving him a long lecture on the dangers of patriarchy and the need for men and women alike to focus their attention on breaking through the pink ceiling? Is that even a thing? A pink ceiling? Isn’t it supposed to be made of glass?

I sneak a glance up at Romeo Rule-maker. Is it because I know Blaze would do anything to keep me safe, unlike Keith ?

A man must take care of you before you let him lay down rules.

If you choose to let him, of course.

Now his hand smooths back up to my lower back as he guides me through his mansion of good bones and limitless potential.

His statement about laying down the law has completely distracted me.

My mind meanders between obsessively memorizing every inch of this gorgeous, sprawling house, marveling at the meticulous remodel that will require painstaking years of work and considering what small improvements I would make if it were mine.

With memories of the spanking in the coat closet.

I try to listen as he educates me on the property.

“The Main Villa, where we are now, was built in 1903 as a Liberty-style masterpiece. It includes six luxurious bedrooms with private bathrooms- three in each wing- and the center, a shared space where we’re headed now, featuring a double living room, formal dining room, massive kitchen, which has been a real pain to replumb, wine cellar, and laundry room.”

“Wow.” I’m happy I’m capable of speech.

“There will be a pool in the future. Right now, there’s a massive hole in the ground, but it’ll be done eventually, and there will be an entertainment area: grill, spa, jacuzzi—the works. And that building.” He points to a small one-story building in the back. It has two open doors with eight panes of windows and black trim paint. “No idea what we’ll do with that, but Liam’s wife, Emilia, insists it would make a ‘lovely library.’ She’s obsessed with hers.”

“The big white one we first saw when we came up the drive?” I ask, finally prying my mind away from the heat between my thighs. “I remember the driver pointing it out.”

He nods.

As I wander from room to exquisite room,I find myself lingering on the vibrant memory of the night before, when he drew me into the coat closet and delivered a deliciously sexy, impulsive spanking.

It was so intense and completely unexpected that, at first, I was utterly speechless, unable to believe what was happening. The shock made my heart skitter, jolting with each sharp, thrilling spank.

A filthy surprise, his hand possessively stinging yet somehow tender, my soft moan caught in my throat. I remember how wickedly he smiled, how I fumbled for words, and how the confined space and his sudden, irresistible wildness pushed the air from my lungs.

The imprint of his hand is as vivid as if it were happening again: the warmth, the rush, the way he caught me off guard, the moisture between my legs.

Now, hopelessly distracted, I picture him hoisting me over his shoulder, while my attention flits from the sweeping stairs to the thought of him carrying me up them to have his way with me, and I have to catch my breath.

I want to stop my brain from running in all these directions, but I can’t. I’m overwhelmed.We climb the stairs, I safely behind him. I don’t know what mess he was talking about. Some other rooms were empty and void of décor, but I could not find a speck of drywall or dust.

We approach the doorway of the primary bedroom, where he undoubtedly expects us both to stay. Together. In one bed. My blood heats another ten degrees. Oh, the things he could do to me in this elegant room!

"Hello,” he says. “Earth to Cleo.”

“Oh, jet lag. Never experienced it before. That must be why I’m in a daze.”

A dizzy daze of a haze of Blaze.

I focus on the completed bedroom, decorated in soft gray and pale blue shades, which creates a serene and calming atmosphere. The king-sized bed is adorned with plush pillows and a luxurious silk duvet, inviting me to sink into its comfort.

As I take in the elegant furniture and subtle hints of his masculine touch scattered throughout the room, I feel a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness fluttering in my stomach. His presence beside me is both comforting and electrifying, with palpable tension hanging between us.

I turn to look at him; his intense gaze is fixed on me, conveying a mixture of amusement and desire. The memory of his touch from the night before lingers on my skin. Without a word, he reaches out to me, his fingers grazing my cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“It’s time,” he says. “For me to lay down the rules.”