Stepbrother Master(36)

I almost wanted to laugh. “Shy” was the last word I'd ever use to describe Ford. But I remembered the first day we'd met: the cold suspicion tempering the lust in his eyes, the way he'd acted like his father's guard dog. Maybe Mom wasn't too far off the mark here.

“You and Ford got off to a rocky start, but it seems like some time alone did you both some good.” Her tone and voice softened further, into the same tenderness she always showed when talking about her new husband. “Russ is one of the best things that's ever happened to me. If you can feel at home here … that would mean so much.”

All over again, it struck me that I'd never seen Mom so happy and in love. Her run of bad luck had finally ended. This marriage was here to stay.

If I didn't ruin it by screwing her stepson.

My stomach twisted with a mix of sick guilt and anger. I hated lying to Mom like this. We had always been close since we were each other's only constants in life, but now I was hiding from her. The fact that she didn't know I was pushing her away changed nothing.

“I do, Mom. Thanks.” I hugged her, fighting back sudden tears as I breathed in her perfume—that rose-jasmine smell from my earliest memories. “I … I think I'll go to bed now. I still feel kind of crappy.”

She squeezed back and kissed my cheek. “Sleep well, sweetie.”

I nodded, afraid that my voice would crack if I spoke, and closed the door behind her. Then I sat on the bed and cradled my head in my hands. My mind ran in circles. What the hell was I going to do?

But I didn't have long to think. Footsteps approached my door, heavier and more widely spaced than Mom's. The door opened to reveal the man I least—and most—wanted to see.

“What are you doing up here?” The words came out more harshly than I'd intended. “You're going to get us caught.”

“For Christ's sake, relax.” Ford walked over and rested one hand on my shoulder. For some reason, I didn't brush it off. “It's normal for a guy to care about his sister. Our parents just think I'm up here checking on you.”

“But I—”

“They don't know. Trust me,” he said. “And even if they did, we're two consenting adults. It's none of their fucking business. We've got no reason to worry.”

I wanted to believe him so badly. To just listen to his calm, confident voice and fall into the warm strength of his arms. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. Despite myself, I started to relax.

“Attagirl,” he said with a slight smile. Holding my eyes, Ford cupped my chin with his free hand. My body responded automatically and my face turned up to his.

He bent down and drew me into a slow, lingering kiss that made me ache. Then, with his lips still brushing mine, he murmured, “I want to fuck you again.”

A soft noise of surprise and desire escaped me. That familiar heat I always felt around Ford was quickly rising under my skin.

“I can't stand not being inside you. I want to make you come and feel your body writhe against me.” He kissed me again, wilder and hungrier than before, and this time I returned it. Somehow his other hand was already on my knee; it strayed over my thigh, then further up, and I arched toward him. Slowly I began to surrender, melting under his touch…

But the memory of Mom's smile resurfaced. She and Russ were probably eating dessert now, or watching TV cuddled on the couch, or some other cute couple thing. Comfortable and peaceful in marital bliss … while their children lusted for each other right above their heads. Nausea and guilt overwhelmed anything else I was feeling. It was only for a moment, but that was just long enough to push Ford away.

He blinked, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “What's the matter?”

Wasn't it obvious? Was he just messing with me again? The only words I could find were, “I can't. I'm sorry.”

“Hey, stop it.” He glanced down for a minute. “I acted like a dick tonight. If you're still mad, I can't really blame you.”

“No, I'm not … well, sort of.” I shook my head. It was nice of him to fess up, but I couldn't get sidetracked. “That's not what I meant, though. I was talking about all of this. Us. It's just too weird.”

Ford reached for my hand again and I stepped back away from the bed. He gave a huff. “If you would just listen for a second, I'm trying to apologize.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it; I really do.” I tried not to sound frustrated and landed somewhere in the region of sarcastic. “But if you were listening, you'd know that's not what I'm upset about.” That close-knit “happy family dinner” feeling had clashed so horribly with the sexual charge between me and Ford. Even the memory made my skin crawl.