Stepbrother Master(20)

I backed away. When she made no move to put her underwear back on, I snapped, “Now, Emma. Or I’ll put you over my knee and you won’t sit for the rest of the night because your ass is red.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she stepped one foot and then the other into her panties and pulled them up her legs. Her expression turned mulish. “There. Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if I were buried balls deep inside you. Now let’s go.”

I was tempted to grab her hand and drag her back to the reception behind me, but I didn’t want to raise any suspicion about where we’d been. Not that anyone would guess what we’d been doing, but I wasn’t looking to tempt fate. Instead, I made a beeline for the bar.

“Maker’s. Three fingers. Neat.”

My gaze darted to my left at the giggle that erupted. Emma’s blue eyes were shining, and she’d bitten her bottom lip.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

She shook her head and looked to the bartender. “Nothing. I’ll have the same.”

The bartender served up both our drinks and we took them to an empty table. I sat and tossed back a healthy swallow. Surprisingly, Emma sank into the seat beside me. She still had that grin on her face.

“What?” I asked, taking another swig.

She bit her lip again. “Guess this is my only chance of getting three fingers tonight, huh?”

I spat my whiskey all over the fucking floor.

This woman is going to be the death of me.





Chapter 9


Emma





I stayed in the seat next to Ford until I'd choked down my fiery drink. Then I got to my feet, feeling restless. My system had definitely needed that whiskey, but it still wasn't enough to take the edge off my raging libido. And if I couldn't have the man sitting next to me—or get so drunk I'd just end up throwing myself at him again—then food would have to do.

As I prowled around the reception tent, the demolished wedding cake caught my eye. It probably wouldn't hurt anything if I took a second slice. Only a handful of people were still whooping it up, and they seemed more interested in slow-dancing or taking advantage of the free booze. The old folks and the parents with young children had gone home hours ago. Mom and Russ were nowhere to be seen. Probably upstairs already, I thought, and immediately felt grossed out. That image sure cooled me off a bit, but I didn't want to dwell on it.

I cut myself a fat chunk of cake and indulged. Unsurprisingly, considering Mom's sweet tooth, the caterer had gone all out. The paper plate almost bent under the weight of dense, bittersweet chocolate and whipped vanilla frosting, topped with glossy ganache. But all the sugary goodness in the world couldn't touch the sexual frustration I felt.

I gazed out across the lake as I lifted each fluffy forkful to my mouth. That damn gazebo was just barely visible in the moonlight. I giggled, remembering the look on Ford's face at my “three fingers” comment. After all the shocks he'd given me over the past week, he deserved a little taste of his own medicine.

“What's so funny?” asked a woman behind me.

I whirled, almost rolling my cake right off the plate. Celeste stood with a flute of champagne in her hand and a slight smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.”

But I bet your heart's not breaking over it, either. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone Celeste. “It's okay,” I replied. “I was just … remembering something from earlier.”

“Before you and Ford disappeared?” Her snake-like smile didn't budge an inch.

I blinked at her. Okay, what the fuck? Was this an interrogation? “Uh … ” My mind flew in every direction at once, leaving me to stumble over my words. If she'd noticed us leaving together, there was no point in insisting we hadn't.

But did I even need to lie? After all, we were step-siblings now. For all she knew, we'd been hauling the reception stuff back to the house or showing Mom's uncle the stars or something. “While we were gone, actually. He can be a pretty funny guy when he wants.”

Her brow creased. “Really? He's always so serious with me. He must be a little tipsy right now.” She looked over to where Ford still sat, nursing a second whiskey. “But I kind of like the strong, silent type, don't you?”

Good thing she likes the sound of her own voice, too, or I'd have to think faster. I made a noncommittal noise while I chewed, then swallowed and replied, “Sometimes it works. Depends on the guy, I think.”

Looking unconvinced, Celeste glanced at Ford again. “I should finish packing soon … oh, did I mention? Russ and Cynthia are sending me on a cruise while they're on their honeymoon. I tried to say no—it's way too generous—but they insisted because I'd worked so hard on the wedding.”