Time seems to slow and I almost hear classical music and see light streaming from the sky.
Twins.
Gorgeous twins, here in my small town bar.
Gorgeous twins who are looking at me with hungry eyes and wicked smiles.
I look to the sky (well, the nightclub ceiling that is covered with exposed pipes and lighting rigging) and say a silent ‘thank you’. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this blessing, but I wish I did because I’d be doing it over and over and over again for the rest of my damn life!
I smile at these manifestations of all my sexual imaginings and start to dance. The music is happy sounding with a pulsing beat, and the flashing lights make everything feel magical. I’m grateful for the liquid courage that Abi and I drank a few minutes ago. The alcohol sits like a warm balm in my stomach, so that when Austin starts to dance behind me, I don’t freeze up, but meld into him. Jason takes up position in front of me, grinning down as he starts to move.
All I can think is wow. I love a man who knows how to move his body. Men who know how to dance know how to fuck. At least that’s my experience.
“So, have you lived around here for long?” Austin asks, bending to speak directly into my ear.
“All my life.”
I turn so I’m dancing face to face with Austin, wanting to see his face as he talks.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“What do you think? It’s the only bar in town that isn’t filled with middle-aged men or alcoholics.”
“You’re really selling this town.”
“I don’t need to sell it,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “You’re here already. It’s a bit late to be having second thoughts.”
“Oh, I never have second thoughts.” He runs his eyes over my body suggestively and I swear my nipples harden under his gaze. It’s something my dirty little books always say happens, but it’s a first for me.
Austin rests a hand on my hips. His palm is so big and heavy. This close I can see golden flecks around his irises, and the long lashes that make his eyes look so pretty.
“You’re very flirty.”
“You’re very pretty.”
“She sure is,” Jason whispers in my ear from behind. He rests his palm on my other hip and presses in closer.
I get a flash of another evening from a few years ago, when I watched my friend Carrie dance just like this, sandwiched between two gorgeous men. I was so jealous of her then. Of their attention and of the dazed look she had on her face as she became their focus. I didn’t know that she was interested in them then, but I totally understand how she felt now that I’m in the same situation. There’s something so unbelievably overwhelming about so much man. Two tall and strong bodies. Broad shoulders, narrow waists. Thighs that look about to burst through their fitted jeans.
I smirk as I realize they could be great casting for Star Lord from Guardians of the Galaxy.
“What are you smiling at?” Austin asks.
“You into comics?” I ask, expecting him to totally roll his eyes.
“You’re thinking we look like Peter Quill,” he says.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “How did you know that?”
“We get it all the time,” Jason says.
“You like comics,” I say in wonder. No decent looking guy ever likes comics. I guess they might be thinking the same thing. I might look like a cheerleader, but I’m a bit of a nerd at heart.
“I bet you’re pissed at the Spiderwoman butt picture, aren’t you?” Austin says grinning. How did I know they were going to bring up this very conversation?
“They had this perfect opportunity to make her a strong and empowering female character, and instead they made her look like some vampish porn star,” I whine.
“They made her sexy, you mean,” Jason says.
“The guy who drew that image based it on erotica.”
“Comics are erotic in their own way,” Austin says. “You don’t find the supersized muscles on the male characters arousing?”
When he says the word arousing, my pussy clenches. Talking to them about comics is arousing. Watching their stunning eyes light up about one of my passions is arousing. The fact they look a little like Chris Pratt is also turning me on like nobody’s business.
“Muscles don’t maketh the man,” I scoff.
“Maketh,” Jason laughs and I scowl at him. Inside though I’m reeling at how perfect they are. Before I came out tonight, if you’d asked me to describe my ideal man, it’d be scarily close to Austin and Jason.
“It’s a phrase,” I snap, putting my hands on my hips.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Austin says, mimicking my tone.
“There isn’t a woman here that wouldn’t swoon a little for a muscly guy, but most would run a mile if that was all he had going for him.”
“So you’re looking for the full package?” Jason asks with a cheeky grin.
I shake my head with mock exasperation. Really I love their banter. “Yes. Brains as well as brawn.”
“I wasn’t talking about brains.”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
I start dancing again, making sure that my movements are seductive but not too sexual. I live in this town after all. Creating some speculation is one thing. Causing a scene is a whole other thing.
“So how long are you in town for?” I ask, loudly enough that they can both hear.
“The whole summer,” Austin says.
“That long enough?” Jason adds.
“For what?”
“For whatever you want.” Austin grins at his own suggestiveness and I want to laugh.
“And what do I want?”
“I wish I knew every little thing that’s going on in that beautiful little mind of yours,” Jason says. This time, his mouth is so close to my ear I feel the press of his soft lips. My ass bumps against his thighs and everything in me goes tight with anticipation.
“I’m not sure you really wanna know.”
“Oh yes we do,” Austin says. He reaches up and pushes a curl behind my ear and grazes my cheek with this thumb.
“I think it might blow your mind.”
“I doubt it,” Jason says. He has his hands on my waist now, his thumbs pressing into my back in a way that feels deliciously controlling. I get a flash of a scene from a favorite book, where one of the characters makes the heroine ride his brother hard, and I feel lightheaded.
“Do you ever get the feeling that something might just be too good to be true?” I ask because things like this just don’t happen to me. I’m Katelin who isn’t scared to go for what she wants, but also Katelin who never seems to find it.
“Never,” Austin says.
“How come?”
“Because if it feels that good, I make it true.”
“Good things come in three’s,” Jason says from behind with a smile in his voice. I turn around to see his face, a carbon-copy of his brother’s. The only way I can tell them apart is that their shirts are different.
“What’ve you got on your mind?” I ask because hell, I might be living out my dream but I’m not prepared to make a fool of myself.
“Oh baby, if I told you, I’d definitely blow your mind.” He slips his hand lower on my hips so it’s resting on my bottom. All I can think of is ‘squeeze’, just a little bit. Then he does and it feels electric. God, I’ve missed sex so damn much.
“That a promise?”
“Oh yeah.”
And then I do what any girl would do in my shoes.
I tell them it’s time to go.
What? Wouldn’t you be even a little bit tempted to ask them to make good on their promises?
Liar!
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br /> Escape – A Stepbrother Romance
Description
The last person I expected to see in a police interview room was my estranged stepbrother…
Samantha
When I’m called to represent a mysterious client, I had no idea it would put me face to face with the one guy I could never forget.
But memories are like shadows, following you around no matter how hard you try to break free from their chains.
He was my best friend and my stepbrother, but now he’s a stranger.
Then our eyes meet across the interview room and I know I’m not going to be able to stay away, no matter how many times he warns me it’s too dangerous to become mixed up in his life.
Brandon
On the outside I’ve crafted an image to help me fit in: tattoos and muscles, street clothes and a scowl.
I’ve modeled myself on the man I despise most, the man who took me from a happy home only to neglect me as a kid and use me as an adult.
I’m stuck in a world I don’t want to be in because there’s nothing for me outside of this. But then Sammie walks back into my life and nothing feels the same.
She’s beautiful, and I know I shouldn’t want her that way but I do. Just one touch and I can’t get her out of my mind.
I want to escape but how can I when I know I’ve lived a life that’s put me beyond the point of return. Saving myself now would risk the only girl I ever loved.
Excerpt
1
Samantha
My day starts off great. Maybe that’s why I have this little niggling feeling that something’s going to happen. Something big and maybe bad. Call it women’s intuition or maybe it’s attorney’s suspicion. I have a gut instinct that doesn’t like too much positive karma for fear that it’ll all swing back the other way.
When you wake up five minutes before your alarm, style your hair in record time, make it to the subway early enough to grab your favorite coffee and receive chocolates from your boss for hard work all in one morning, it’s hard not to be watching where you step for fear you’ll break your ankle to even the score. Add to it that a very sexy man engages me in conversation at the deli counter and then slips me his card, and I’m positively dreading the downward slip of bad luck that’s heading my way.
Then the phone rings and I know this is what my day has been building up to, as ridiculous as that sounds.
“Samantha Corrigan?” The voice on the line is deep and husky in a way that reeks of danger.
“Yes, speaking,” I say, with no idea who’s on the other end of the line. I shift forward on to the edge of my seat and grab a pen, ready to jot down anything useful.
“A friend of mine has been arrested today. I want you to represent him. Can you get down to the Spring Street Police Station now?”
“I can be there in an hour,” I say, writing Spring Street on my legal pad. “What’s the name?”
“Ask for Connor,” he says. “He’ll be in the waiting room.” Then he hangs up.
“Connor,” I mumble, jotting it down too. I check my phone for a record of the last call received but it’s unknown.
When you’re an attorney specializing in defense cases you get used to calls that come out of nowhere, but it’s usually the defendant or his family that make the arrangements and I usually have a few more details provided before I arrive at the police station. The mystery caller didn’t even tell me what his friend’s been arrested for.
Strange.
I make a few phone calls and send three emails for other cases that just can’t wait. Then I’m out the door with my briefcase, hopping into a cab outside the office and heading to Spring Street.
It’s a beautiful day, the perfect mix of sunshine and breeze, without too much humidity. Outside the station I catch a scent on the air, floral and damp as though someone has been watering hanging baskets, and it reminds me of days spent in the backyard, dancing under sprinklers with Brandon. I think about him every so often. He’s a part of my past that seems so distant that it takes a song, a scent or another person with the same name for me to recall my long-ago stepbrother. It’s been fifteen years since he left, promising he would keep in touch. Shit. I swallow down a lump in my throat as I recall the day his dad came to collect him. He sat in the backseat of his father’s truck with his head hanging forward, not wanting me to see how upset he was about leaving. By that point I’d become used to holding in my tears.
I make my way through the automatic doors and into the cool waiting area, pushing those memories aside. It smells musty, like old magazines and unwashed bodies, the nose-wrinkling odor of crime. I scan left and right looking for someone who resembles a ‘Connor’ and a huge, hulking man stands up and makes his way over. He has that way of walking that is part stalking animal and part aggressive human male. Shorn hair and all black clothes make him menacing, but I’m used to dealing with individuals like him. I draw myself up to my full height, 5’8” plus my skyscraper heels. Even so, I only reach his chin when he comes to stand way too close. “Samantha,” he says surprisingly quietly.
“Connor?” I ask.
He nods and draws a brown envelope from inside his bomber jacket. “This is for you. There’s payment inside. When you need more, there’s a number inside the envelope for you to contact. The man you’re representing is being held on assault charges. It’s important that he gets released without charge.”
“Okay,” I say, taking hold of the envelope cautiously. Cash handed over in envelopes is highly irregular, and the envelope is fat enough for me to suppose it contains a large quantity. I want to tell Connor this but I can tell he’s just carrying out someone else’s instructions, probably someone he wouldn’t want to ignore. “What’s my client’s name?”
“Brandon Ford,” he says, and I blink at him in shock.
“Brandon Ford?” It’s not a particularly unusual name but it’s weird that I was just thinking about my ex-stepbrother and now here’s Connor mentioning his name.
“Yeah,” Connor says, stepping back and looking towards the door. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ve been sitting here for hours and I got shit to do. You got it from here?”
“Yes,” I say, although inside I’m not sure I have.
Connor nods and makes for the exit and I turn to the desk in a haze of memories tinged with a little bit of fear. It can’t be my Brandon being held in those cells. He was a good kid. Clever and quiet. I tell myself that it’ll be some other Brandon Ford I’m representing and everything will be fine.
The desk officer ushers me though and I talk to the officer working on the case. The Brandon Ford being held in the cells got into a bar fight and beat a man. The officer says it was quite brutal. He also says that Mr. Ford is suspected of being a member of a local crime organization, known for their involvement in illegal gambling, drug running and other nefarious activities.
I ask if he has an existing record and the office mentions a couple of other charges that were dropped. Then, when I’ve finished jotting down my notes, I’m taken towards the interview room where I will meet my new client. My navy patent heels click on the tiled floor and I adjust my purse on my shoulder, feeling ridiculously nervous. Half of me is desperate to open that door and find that Brandon Ford the criminal is a stranger to me, but the other half is so damn desperate to see my stepbrother again. Hearing his name has brought up a swell of old feelings inside me that has left me feeling shaky.
Just as the officer opens the door, I remember how good my day has been so far. Whoever is behind that door is about to change all that. I can feel it in my bones.
2
Samantha
When I was eight my father married again. My mom had died not long after I was born of an asthma attack. She had the condition severely and on the day it happened, she was standing at a bus stop on a busy road, surrounded by pollution and other irritants, and she’d left her inhaler in another purse. By the time the ambulance reached her she was already gone.
Thin
king about her makes my chest feel tight, partly because I spent so much time as a child imagining what it would be like to die that way, gasping for a breath that was impossible to force into your damaged lungs.
My stepmom was a lovely woman who took me under her wing immediately. She had a son who was two years older than me and we hit it off straight away.
I was a sporty kid, so Brandon and I spent hours in our yard with bats and balls, challenging each other to races across the field behind our home. Brandon was always faster but he never gloated when he beat me. Instead, he’d look down at his watch and compliment me on my timing, or nod his head and tell me my technique was improving.
At night we’d camp out in our tent and eat marshmallows and his mom’s chewy home-made cookies, never running out of things to talk about. He loved nature and would tell me all about the obscure animals he’d been reading about. To this day I think I know more about native Australian mammals than anyone else I’ve ever met, barring Brandon. A couple of years ago I travelled to Sydney and spent a whole day at the zoo there, marveling at the wombats, koalas and bilbies, wishing he was with me to see them.
He’d wanted to be a zoo keeper when he grew up so he could work with animals. He wanted to research their native environments and find better ways to house them that were closer to the places they came from. Brandon had a love of people and animals, a soft-heartedness that his mother nurtured with a stream of pets. He looked after each one as though it was the most precious thing in his life, but it was Wombat, his brown mongrel puppy, that he loved the best. Wombat would sleep between us in the tent, guarding his precious owner as he slipped into his dreams.
Even as a nine-year-old I thought Brandon was beautiful. Not in a perfect-looks way but because he had so much light inside him which seemed to flow through his face. His eyes were a soft blue-green with gold flecks around the center, the color of the lake we used so swim in on hot days when our parents would take us for rambling picnics. He had long, light-brown eyelashes that were fairer at the roots and darker at the tips. They made him look angelic when he was sleeping. In the summer freckles would appear on his cheeks as though the warm weather sprinkled him with glitter.
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