SPEED: A Stepbrother Romance

by Stephanie Brother

  The rest of the call was mercifully short. After we said goodbye, I thought about the explanation I'd given Justin. The truth was that I did want a serious relationship; I just didn't want to settle for someone who didn't give me butterflies. I didn't want to waste the time of someone who didn't occupy my every thought.

  I had dated a few guys in college and several after, but I just hadn't found that spark. Was there something wrong with me? Was I even capable of feeling that elusive spark?

  Later, as I lay in bed that night, I remembered being fifteen, lying under my fluffy pink comforter in my quiet bedroom and being acutely aware that Axel was lying on his bed, just on the other side of the wall. I'd definitely had that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling back then. There were so many nights I fell asleep thinking about him.

  While my friends had posters of Chad Michael Murray or Jesse McCartney on their walls, to me, Axel was the perfect guy. And just like my friends' idols, Axel was equally unattainable. He was older than me, in a different league socially, and, of course, he was my stepbrother. I knew it was wrong for me to have such an intense crush on him, but I couldn't help it, no matter how I tried to deny my feelings for him. In a small way, I'd been glad when our parents divorced, because sometimes it was pure torture living under the same roof as him, and wanting him so much. Sexual feelings had been new to me back then, and he was the boy populating all of my fantasies.

  Ugh! I sat up and shook my head, hoping to clear away the memories. I couldn't sleep, so I figured I may as well do some more research and preparation for the interview. I didn't really need to research Axel's career. I'd been following it since the beginning. I'd even attended a couple of his races, but I'd never contacted him in all the years since our parents’ divorce.

  Doing an Internet search on Axel yielded approximately twenty percent articles about racing and eighty percent stories about his love life. Actually, “love” probably wasn't the right word. He dated--a lot--but he didn't seem to stay with anyone long enough for love to develop. Looking at his dating history, I'd have to assume it was all about the conquest. He'd been seen out with models, actresses, and stunning women from other countries; really, it was a wonder that he had time for racing at all.

  The further I scrolled, the more disgusted I got. Axel had obviously grown up to be a superficial, love 'em and leave 'em man-whore. As I clicked through the endless pictures of him with a never-ending parade of women at his side, I realized that my encounter with him was going to have positive consequences that I didn’t anticipate when I requested the assignment. Seeing firsthand the man he'd become was going to allow me to finally get over him, and any schoolgirl illusions I still had about him.

  If I was being completely honest with myself, I had to admit that I'd put him on a pedestal. He was my first crush, and being parted with him so suddenly after our parents' divorce had left me longing for him all these years. Without intending to, I compared men I dated to him, or rather to a romanticized ideal of him I still held. Tomorrow, I'd get to meet the real man, and then the spell that had been holding me back all these years would be broken.

  I closed my laptop, got back into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, a burst of clarity provided by a good night's sleep allowed me to solidify my goals for the day: get a kick-ass interview that would impress Dean; look so damn sexy that Axel would treat me as a conquest, just like he seemed to treat most women; and, when I could then see my stepbrother's playboy ways in person, I would finally break free of the grip he unwittingly held on me.

  After showering, I dried and styled my long red hair into flowing waves. I'm naturally blond, so accentuating my copper-dyed tresses was part of the disguise. Normally I wore my hair in some sort of up-do, but today I let it fall down my shoulders and back.

  I applied smoky eye shadow, just lightly enough to still be appropriate for day, and I squeezed into a snug, curve-hugging skirt, topping it with a silky white blouse that helped highlight my best assets.

  I practiced speaking in a slow, sexy tone. I would sound nothing like the little girl Axel had known. And just for good measure, on the way to the interview, I picked up a pair of fashionable glasses to further disguise my face, though it was already so different without the braces, acne, and baby fat that had plagued my teen years.

  I caught a glimpse of my reflection and was pleased. My look said sexy, smart, and all grown up. It was time to meet my long-lost stepbrother.

  Chapter Three - Hard to Get

  Axel

  There are two things I love to do in this life, and when I'm not actively engaged in doing them, I'm usually thinking about when I'll get the next opportunity. Interviews are not one of those two things. Interviews are usually boring or sometimes painful, but they're a necessary evil related to one of the things I love. My manager is heavily focused on sponsorships and promo opportunities, and the more publicity I get, the happier he is.

  I wasn't thrilled when I found out I was scheduled to do an interview with a city magazine, but I was very pleasantly surprised when I walked into the water-side restaurant and saw the woman who would be interviewing me. Her wavy red hair drew my attention first, then her full lips, then my eyes dropped and lingered on her incredible rack. I knew then that I was going to be talking to her about one of the things I loved — racing — while only thinking about the other thing I loved — fucking.

  I made my way over to her, managing to pull my gaze off of her amazing chest and back up to her beautiful face. Wow. I see a lot of beautiful women, but she had that natural look I love. She was watching me too, though she looked away frequently, as if she were nervous. Time to pour on the charm.

  When I reached her, I extended my hand. "Axel Beckers. It's nice to meet you."

  She placed her soft palm in mine and I squeezed her hand firmly while looking into her eyes.

  "Marlee Lawson," she said. "Thank you for coming." Her voice was husky, and it threatened to make my dick hard all by itself.

  "My pleasure." I'd never said that during an interview and really meant it before, but I'd never had someone so pretty conducting an interview before.

  We took our seats. Marlee already had an iced tea in front of her, along with a small pad full of notes.

  A waiter approached and I ordered iced tea also, aiming to make the sexy interviewer feel like we had something in common right away.

  "Would you like to look over the menu before we get started?" Marlee asked, when the waiter walked off.

  It seemed like she intended to be all business.

  "What do you recommend?" I asked.

  "What do you like?"

  "Redheads," I said, giving her a crooked grin.

  Marlee didn't return my smile, and she also didn't seem particularly surprised by my comment. She gazed at me, but then averted her eyes briefly, before looking back.

  "I recommend a burger," she said, still with no hint of a smile.

  I couldn't help but laugh as I picked up my menu, quickly scanned the options, and closed it again. The waiter returned, and we placed our orders.

  "Where would you like to start?" I asked, adopting a businesslike tone to match hers.

  She glanced at her notes and then asked why I was moving to the area. I explained that I liked the weather, the entertainment, and that the location was convenient to a couple of places where I could practice during my off season.

  "Do you still do other racing outside of Indycar?" she asked.

  The question gave me pause, as it implied a knowledge of my racing history, and I wouldn't have expected someone from a local, non-sports magazine to dig back into my pre-Indy racing career. The majority of interviewers knew what I currently raced, and who I had recently dated, or at least that was all they usually asked about.

  "Yes," I said, "I race bikes and other cars; really anything my manager won't object to."

  Marlee smiled briefly, the first positive expression I'd seen on her face si
nce we shook hands. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and I imagined myself running my fingers through that long, red hair while she went down on me. Her pretty lips were going to look even better wrapped around my cock.

  "Are you a racing fan?" I asked.

  "I'm a casual fan," she said.

  "Are you a fan of mine?" I flashed a bigger grin, the type that usually earned women's phone numbers, and more than once, a pair of panties. Marlee was unmoved.

  "I wish you well," she said. "But I'm not an active member of Team Axel," she continued, referring to a name often given to my female fan base.

  "That's too bad," I said. I wanted to question her, but her cold tone was throwing me off course. I was going to have to work really hard for this one, but I had a feeling she'd be worth it.

  After a sip of tea, Marlee asked what I could share about the coming season, and we talked for a while about the schedule, my sponsors, and other drivers. She continued to impress me with her knowledge of my career, and I decided she was either an exceptionally professional interviewer, or she was severely understating her level of interest in racing. She asked insightful questions that I rarely heard from old sportswriters, much less from a twenty-something woman.

  "My manager said you're writing for City Magazine?" I asked after our food was delivered.

  She nodded and I thought I read concern on her face.

  "I'm impressed with your questions," I said.

  She thanked me, and the expression she wore made me realize that I'd finally discovered the right approach. She broke into a smile, and I decided that flattering her professional abilities might just get me where I wanted to go. She apparently took great pride in her work, so maybe helping her succeed at her job would help me succeed at getting her naked.

  "How would you like to go for a ride with me? I'll bet your readers would really like that angle," I said.

  Her beautiful smile disappeared instantly. Damn! What was with this girl? I started talking quickly, trying to bring her back around.

  "I could drive you out to the construction site of my new house. The framework is up, and you could see the property." Still, she was cold. "I won't speed, I promise," I said, flashing my best grin again.

  "No, I don't think I should do that." Marlee looked completely distracted, and also, a bit panicked.

  What the fuck?

  "Our staff photographer will be going out there next week, I think," she continued.

  "C'mon," I said. Despite her protests, I decided that I was not taking no for an answer. All I needed was more time with her, and I knew I'd win her over if we were together in my car. But I had never had to beg a woman to do anything, and I was at a loss in this situation. I looked at Marlee, and I probably looked hurt, or pitiful, or something, because I saw her soften, and then she agreed.

  "Just a quick trip?" she asked.

  I did an internal fist pump. I felt like a puppy jumping around her legs with excitement. "Just a quick trip," I agreed. "The site isn't far away, and I'll bring you right back."

  Marlee went back to looking uncomfortable. If I was reading her right, I'd guess she regretted agreeing to the ride, but I wasn't going to let her change her mind.

  We continued with our lunch, talking about the highlights of last season. At one point, I asked Marlee if she'd been to any races, and though she answered in the negative, there was something that made me disbelieve her. I didn't push. There was something strange about Marlee Lawson. Something almost familiar, but something not quite right. I wasn't a paranoid person, but a crazy idea crossed my mind that she could be posing as an interviewer to try to get inside information for a competitor. She did know an unusual amount about racing.

  My phone buzzed, and I used the incoming call as an opportunity to excuse myself from the table. As I walked away, I ignored the call and instead brought up the website for Marlee's magazine. Out of view from the main dining room, I scrolled down the list of staff writers until I found Marlee's name. Okay, that checks out. But — wait a minute. That was clearly not her picture next to her name. Marlee was a Hispanic woman with tan skin and straight black hair. This was not Marlee.

  I scrolled further down the page, not really paying attention, and trying to make sense of what was going on, when a name caught my eye. And then a picture. Red hair, but pulled back. Beautiful eyes. Serious expression. Kayla Brewster.

  Holy shit. Kayla.

  Chapter Four - Stumble

  Kayla

  I was so relieved when Axel left the table. I exhaled, long and deep, and let my shoulders slump for a second. This was way harder than I thought it'd be. I had so many conflicting thoughts and emotions, and it was real work to keep my focus on the job at hand.

  Axel was beautiful. I'd seen him online and on TV. I knew he was attractive, but to see him in person was something else. The gorgeous face I'd always loved was now all grown up. He'd always seemed grown up, since he was a few years older than me. But I saw that he'd been a boy then; now he was all man. Tall, broad shouldered, hard muscled, with knowing eyes. And he definitely was acting like the jerk I had expected him to be. Wow, he was full of himself.

  But when I saw his beautifully crooked nose, never the same after that dirt bike accident years ago, I had to struggle to keep my cool. I wanted to run my finger over his perfect yet imperfect nose, right down to his full, sensual lips.

  I kept reminding myself that he was all player and I needed a hard shell to get through our interview. It was fairly easy to deflect his come-ons. The flirting reminded me of who he was now; he was a playboy, and I had no interest in being one of his throwaway conquests.

  But when he asked me to go for a drive and I refused, a hurt expression passed over his face that brought the old Axel back to me. When we were kids, I would've done anything he asked me to, and when I saw his disappointed face today, I had that same old feeling and couldn't resist his request.

  I needed to take advantage of his time away from me to pull myself back together. All I needed to do was go for a drive, see his house, write a great interview, and then be free of his hold on me forever. I could do it.

  Axel returned to the table after what seemed like a long time, though it might have only been a minute. I was honestly too flustered to keep track.

  He insisted on paying our bill, even though I explained that it would be expensed to the magazine. His gentlemanly behavior continued as he held the door open for me leaving the restaurant, and gently touched my elbow as he escorted me to his car.

  I was very aware of his gaze on me, usually on my face, quite often slipping down to my cleavage. My wardrobe choices had obviously had the intended effect, though I found myself regretting them a bit. I was gratified by his attention, but at the same time, his flirtatious behavior was making it hard for me to breathe, and hard for me to think straight. This is what I had dreamed about all those years ago: catching Axel's attention, having him look at me like I was someone he desired, having him shower me with special attention. While I was flattered and thrilled by his interest in me, I reminded myself that he very likely treated all women this way — as objects — and his flirty, forward ways were evidenced by his endless parade of arm candy. He was a player, all the way.

  His car was exactly what I expected. Black, expensive and fast-looking.

  "Sorry for the ride," he said, as he opened the passenger door for me. "This is a rental. Most of my cars are nicer than this."

  I didn't respond; I just slid into the deep seat, trying not to expose any more of my legs, which was an impossible task. Axel stood at the door, watching my every wiggle, and I realized too late that he was looking down the front of my low-cut blouse. It was an unexpected rush; I was no longer the awkward teen he barely noticed. He was noticing me, and I could tell he liked what he was seeing.

  Axel got behind the wheel and accelerated aggressively as he pulled out of the lot. I got a thrill from being pushed back in my seat as he sped onto the highway.

  As he drove, I
realized our conversation patterns had changed. I guess he considered his interview over, because now he was asking questions about me, whereas in the restaurant, I don't think he'd asked any.

  He asked how long I'd lived in the area, how I liked my job, and why I'd chosen my field of work. He listened, and asked thoughtful follow-up questions, and I felt myself relaxing.

  I also noticed that he'd stopped the aggressive flirtation, and I had to admit I missed it, even though I knew I shouldn't.

  We arrived at his lot and he drove slowly down the bumpy, unpaved driveway. The framework that had been erected made it clear that his house was going to be huge, a mini-mansion. It looked even bigger than his dad's house that I'd lived in with Axel. No workers were there; they must have been done for the day.

  He parked in front of what looked like it would be the garage, and hurried around to my door before I had a chance to open it myself. I tried to get out of the car gracefully, but there was no doubt he got a peek at the sexy bra I'd chosen for today, and when I swung my legs out, my skirt rode higher on my thighs. I paused and Axel extended his hand, helping me out of the low car. He kept hold of my hand as we ventured onto the construction zone that was his property. When he looked down at my high heels, I was expecting him to make some kind of seductive comment, but he just apologized that the ground was rough.

  He pointed out where rooms would be and described a theater and other features he had planned for his home. I listened but was half distracted by the heat of his strong grip as he held my hand. I'd always thrilled at the few and far between incidences of physical contact we'd had when we lived together as teens. I'd always felt electricity at his touch, almost as if it burned. I felt that same energy now, but it generated heat in a few very specific places.

  "Are you okay to walk around back?" Axel asked. His voice was soft. "I'd like to show you my plans for the yard."