Hard: A Step-Brother Romance

by Sosie Frost

No one nearly drowned me in literal pleasure and whispered innuendoes in my ear until I collapsed in his arms.

  And no one was idiot enough to bolt from the pool, lock myself in my room, and pray the bikini hadn’t fallen off as I bounced to safety.

  But, for Christ’s sake, one of us had to be responsible, and I wasn’t talking double-checking to ensure I took my pill in the morning. We had to be adults. We had to forget all about the sex. Since Zach was a meathead who spent every available hour harassing me, training, or eating, I’d be the one to take charge.

  We had to end it.

  Whatever it was.

  The games. The flirting. It was time to make a plan for him to move out as soon as he deployed so we could get on with our lives. I had four months until I graduated and received my trust, and they would be spent fully-clothed and respectable. If we had to act more like strangers than family, so be it.

  But, of course, I checked my makeup before I went down the stairs. And my hair. And I wore a sweet little pair of panties I tried to convince myself matched my outfit.

  You know, like how any girl would prepare to talk to her step-brother.

  Zach hung out in the theater more often than should have been fair, but I let him have the room as I mostly occupied the library. Zach wasn’t watching TV or playing a video game. He laid in the dark and quiet, dressed in the t-shirt and shorts he used to work out.

  He collapsed over the couch. His long, toned legs kicked out over the arm.

  I hadn’t made an effort to hold a real conversation with him since the incident with the pool jet. I didn’t even know what to say.

  Hey, so that was better than drowning! Or maybe I don’t normally hump inanimate objects, but for you, I’ll make an exception.

  I owed him an explanation. I knew we needed to hash it out like adults.

  Hell, I probably should have thanked him for the mind-blowing orgasm.

  Instead, I said the stupidest thing I could think of.

  “Don’t sit on the furniture with your shoes on.”

  Zach didn’t move his arm from over his eyes. He grunted and kicked the tennis shoes off his heels. One nudge of his legs dropped the shoe to the floor. The other he decided to launch into the nearby lamp.

  “Oh, that’s great.” I stood the floor-lamp up, brushing the dust from the shade. Uh-oh. There was quite a bit. “Now we have boot-prints over everything.”

  “Hire a maid.”

  His voice muffled over his arm. He didn’t look at me while we talked. Fantastic.

  “Do you really want a maid here?”

  “Yep. And a personal chef. And a landscaper. What are you waiting for?”

  “It’s…in the process,” I shrugged. “I have to figure out how my dad managed all this.”

  “Easy. Open wallet. Pay butler. Let him oversee the estate.”

  Couldn’t he see how weird that was for me? I wasn’t throwing money at a problem to make it go away.

  …Unless it was him and the inheritance I planned to buy back.

  That didn’t count. It was completely different.

  “I haven’t decided on anything yet,” I said. “We can do something temporary.”

  “Temporary?” Zach snorted. “You can’t take care of this house. It’s a full-time job, and you have the money to hire the army it needs to stay in shape.”

  “But if I sell it—”

  “Sell it?”

  I flinched. “Well, yeah.”

  He sat up. His profanity was a sharper bite than usual. “Why the fuck would you sell this place?”

  He asked that question while sitting in one of the fifteen leather recliners and sofas positioned around an auditorium-styled room, complete with full-sized movie screen, projector, and arched buttresses decorating the ceiling.

  “Because…it’s ridiculous?” I said. “Because I still get lost in the east wing? Because the upkeep on this place is insane?”

  “You’re a billionaire,” he said. Then the asshole spelled it out for me, letter by letter. “This house is nothing to you. You should have two more like it in other places in the county, plus a vacation spot in the Maldives for kicks.”

  “Don’t sass me.”

  “This house is an estate. Size matters. It’s meant to be large and obscene.”

  “You would know that best.”

  He swore. Damn it. I waved a hand, collapsing on the chair beside him. He didn’t make room for me. In fact, he scowled.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I’ll take the compliment anyway.”

  “I’m sure you would.” I picked at the couch. “I don’t know what I want to do with the money or the house. I mean, technically? I don’t even own it yet. His estate is paying for everything. My bank account has about five hundred dollars in it.”

  “You’ll manage.”

  “Probably. I did before. But this isn’t me. And I don’t think it’s you either.”

  He snorted. “And so you can’t accept it? You can’t take the help?”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  I grimaced. “What do you care? You should be in the exact same spiral of shame that I am.”

  He laughed. It wasn’t his normal, carefree chuckle. It almost sounded…angry.

  “Please, Shay. Go ahead. I’ve heard it every day since I came here. Tell me why I should be ashamed of myself.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you today?”

  Zach groaned as he sat up. “I’m waiting to hear how I’ve fucked it up this time.”

  “Why don’t you get it?” I asked. “How don’t you see that this inheritance is all bullshit?”

  “It’s legal.” A grunt accompanied his words. “You want to screw me out of what an attorney said is rightfully mine? Be my guest. Find a judge who’ll side with you. We’ll get it over with.”

  “I’m not talking about you!” I pushed from the couch only to pace the room. “For Christ’s sake, Zach. I’m talking about me. I got all this stuff—the house, the cars, the school, the billion freaking dollars—all from a man I didn’t know!”

  “He was your father.”

  “He was never a father to me. He ran around on my mom, left my family when I was a kid, and only checked in on my birthday and holidays to give me money. He never loved me. He tried to buy me off so he could have a life without me.”

  “So? What’s the problem then?” Zach shrugged. “Take the bastard’s money. He screwed you over for twenty-one years. Least you can do is get what’s yours.”

  I gave up. “You don’t understand it.”

  “Then tell me.”

  There was nothing to tell. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say anymore. I didn’t know what I wanted. Suddenly, an entire freaking estate was too damn small, and Zach’s presence entirely too big.

  “Forget it.”

  He called after me before I made it to the doorway.

  “You make it seem like you’re the only one who lost someone.”

  I stopped. His voice embittered, but I didn’t blame him. Not when he was absolutely right. He stood, gripping the couch with a trembling hand.

  He didn’t look okay. Was he sick?

  “Do you think you’re the only one who had a shitty parent? Think I wanted to be hauled house to house, date to date, man to man? You’ve never asked where my real father is.”

  No, I hadn’t. “Where is he?”

  “My mom said he was dead. A soldier. Died in Desert Storm.”

  I swallowed. “Is that why you…?”

  “Became a SEAL? Yeah. Felt like it was in my blood. Serve the country. Do some good.” He arched an eyebrow. “Except I’m twenty-four years old, and Desert Storm ended twenty-five years ago. Mom was never good at math.”

  “Oh.” I softened my voice. “Did you ever find out who he was?”

  “Don’t know. He was probably just some screw she had. She was good for fucking around like that. She tossed herself man-
to-man looking for someone to take care of her. She married three times before shacking up with your dad.”

  “Wow.”

  “Six years ago, I came home from basic training and she tried to hide a black eye. I kicked my step-father’s ass from one side of the house to the other, but she defended him. Took her three more months of him beating on her before the money ran dry. I got her out of there, she met your dad, and the rest…” He shrugged. “At least he never hit her.”

  “No. He wouldn’t have.”

  Zach held my stare. “Don’t pretend like you’re some lost little lamb in the world. You want to feel guilty? Feel guilty. You want to feel sad you didn’t know him better? Fine. But don’t front a holier-than-thou attitude, Shay. I’m not in the mood.”

  I bristled. Only Momma ever took that tone with me. I wasn’t sure I liked it coming from Zach. He wasn’t exactly shining his perfect halo.

  “Don’t you dare lecture me about my behavior,” I said. “Not after what you did.”

  Zach waved his arms wide. “God help the next man who thinks you’re attractive. Two forms of ID, a credit check, and proof of his family tree before he gets in your pants.”

  “I should have known what type of guy you were when you introduced yourself.”

  “And what type of guy is that?”

  “I don’t know, Hard, why don’t you tell me? Find a girl in the bar, take her home?”

  His eyes darkened, a deep jade that looked colder and less inviting than his usual conquesting smirk. His voice rumbled, rough and impatient. Everything about Zach morphed before my eyes. This wasn’t the carefree charmer from the pool.

  I really pissed him off. I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t like that it happened.

  Why did it hurt so much to have him mad at me?

  None of this made sense, and that was exactly the reason getting closer to Zach would be a bad idea. We’d end it before the Disney birds started tweeting and my heart fluttering. A crazy part of me actually liked his idea of a house in the Maldives, a place where no one knew us. Just me. Him. A sunset. Solitude and peace and absolutely no responsibility to anyone but ourselves.

  Did I deserve that slice of paradise? Did Zach deserve to wake up from a nap so I could call him out for being a man-whore?

  I meant to set a line in the sand. Instead, we ended up bearing our souls. Then again, I bared enough of my body to him. At least now I was seeing what made Zach, Zach. And I almost liked it.

  Almost.

  “You know.” Zach took an unsteady breath. “I did meet a girl at the bar. I did take her home. And she was the best goddamned fuck I ever had.”

  “Zach—”

  “And yes, I regretted every minute I didn’t tell her who I was. I regret it more now that she’s pissed as fuck at me and I ruined my chances with her. But Shay?” He leaned close. “You might believe it of me, but I didn’t think you were any particular type of girl.”

  I looked away. He didn’t care.

  “I didn’t judge you, even though you sure as hell assumed I was some shady player looking to score. I thought I was the luckiest bastard in the world to spend the night with someone so goddamned beautiful.”

  I stilled. His voice only hardened.

  “I didn’t think you were a slut because you found a guy to fuck,” he said, watching me flinch at the word. “But you’re sure as hell acting like a bitch now.”

  The insult hurt, worse than I ever imagined. Especially coming from a man whose opinion had somehow started to matter.

  He realized it too. He turned, rubbing his head.

  “Fuck, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, Shay.”

  He apologized.

  He never apologized, not in the weeks we spent together. I shut my mouth, but he groaned, sitting back on the couch.

  “Sorry. I’m not feeling right. I have a headache…” He pressed his lips tight. His face had paled, but he didn’t let me speak. Was that why he stayed in the theater? It was one of the few comfortable and dark rooms in the house. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I think you did.” And I think I deserved it.

  “Why did you really come to talk to me?” Zach said. “I can’t see straight. Don’t ask me to read between the lines now.”

  “It’s nothing,” I lied. “I have some aspirin in my bathroom. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  I cleared my throat. “That’s not an invitation to the bedroom.”

  He smirked. “Yet.”

  “Keep dreaming, loverboy.”

  “Every night, Shay. Every night.”

  I didn’t have the courage to tell him I dreamed it too.

  I ignored the rapid-fluttering that lumped my heart in my throat. I hoped I’d choke on it before I admitted what I was feeling.

  So much for being responsible.

  So much for ending whatever it was we had.

  So much for me ignoring what happened in the pool.

  I poked the carpet with my toe. At least it was plush and cushy because when I fell for him, I would fall hard.

  And I think I already struck the ground.

  The only time I was ever called to the principal’s office, I was thirteen, Dad had just left us, and I thought I was edgy because I cut class.

  Momma came down to the school equipped. She beat me with a wooden spoon before we even left the principal’s office. It cracked in half by the time we got to the parking lot, and then she drove my ass to the store and made me buy her a plastic one. It didn’t have the same whack, but I never got in trouble again.

  Except now, apparently. And getting summoned to the principal’s office when you work at the school is an entirely different kind of humiliation. I wished for the spoon. Hell, I’d have asked for the whisk.

  I wasn’t in trouble for cutting class. This time, I was getting completely, royally, and utterly screwed.

  I waited for their judgements.

  The principal was an old Harvard elite who got lost on his way back to Connecticut and settled in Georgia instead. He mumbled over his papers.

  The teacher I shadowed, Mrs. Bradley, was a proper southern lady who had the first dollar her family ever earned framed on her wall—if only to show how old her money was. She hardly spoke to me during my brief stay in her classroom.

  And, of course, Professor Sweeten was called from the college to attend. She arrived with her usual sparkling personality, though she finally cracked a smile through her stone-faced scowl.

  She knew what was going to happen.

  So did I.

  And that made it so damn hard not to cry.

  “Shay,” Principal Reid said. “It’s been a trying two weeks, hasn’t it?”

  No. Not in the least. The kids were great, I handed my lesson plans in on time, and I arrived early and stayed late every day to assist Mrs. Bradley with her decorations. I even volunteered to help direct the first grade play—The Three Billy Goats Gruff. I did my work, and I did it well.

  But Mrs. Bradley was good friends with Professor Sweeten. I realized it all too late.

  “Unfortunately, Shay…” he said. “After speaking with Mrs. Bradley, it appears we might have a few...issues with your continued study here. This academy was designed to offer the very best educational experience for our students—experiences many children are not privileged to receive.”

  I swallowed. “I understand the community’s expectations.”

  “Then you understand. In order to facilitate our unique and elite environment, we can only recruit the very best and brightest to guide these children into their specific world. We have to be prepared to assist them with the challenges they will face within their status. It benefits the children to have a teacher who…encompasses their family’s social class.”

  I was used to people judging me by the color of my skin, not the color of my blood. My father left me a billion dollars, and I wasn’t blue-blooded enough for these people?

  It didn’t make sense, and Principal Reid knew it.
>
  Professor Sweeten arched an eyebrow. “Shay, I’m sorry to say that your student teaching experience is counted as a pass or fail grade. I’m afraid we’ll have some very important matters to discuss at campus.”

  “Wait.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “I…can’t transfer to another classroom?”

  Professor Sweeten and Principal Reid both shared the same nauseating glance, the kind mentally delivered with a slap to the face and swift kick to the behind.

  “Shay, I’m sorry,” he said. “Your services are no longer required at our academy.”

  Don’t cry.

  I told myself to shake his hand.

  I ordered my feet to march me out of the office with my chin high until I hid in my car.

  And I stopped at the first gas station I passed and bought ten candy bars—one for every day I worked at the school before Professor Sweeten destroyed my teaching career.

  I managed one bite before the sugar coated my tongue in sticky, nougaty regret. I could buy all the chocolate in the world—or at least a large stake in the biggest company—but it wouldn’t make me feel better. It wouldn’t secure me a job.

  It wouldn’t repair a dream shattered into so many fragments I nicked myself trying to glue it back together.

  Professor Sweeten wanted to meet me at the campus. Well, she could take her syllabus and shove it in places not recommended in the student handbook. She humiliated me enough. I wasn’t letting her get in another strike while I still had chalk dust under my nails.

  I pulled into the garage. The bays were mostly empty. Dad probably intended to fill the space with more cars and never got the chance. It was just me and Zach’s car and motorcycle.

  And I was glad to see them. Since our blowout, Zach hadn’t been such an ass. In fact, I inadvertently called a truce during the past two weeks. I was too exhausted from waking at six, teaching, and coming back to do lesson plans. I couldn’t fight with him and instead accepted the apple pie he baked as an apology for his outburst.

  I never watched anything as sexy as a six foot four Navy SEAL slicing up apples and pounding out a crust for a homemade pie. It tasted good, and I shoveled it in my mouth before I said something stupid. Or humiliating. Or entirely too revealing.

  I tried to tip-toe out of the garage. No dice. He heard the door and called from the theater.