All I see is passion . . . lust.
His thumb presses slow circles against my hipbone as he lowers his head even closer, the proximity of his dynamic body searing my skin.
On a breath, his gravelly voice breaks through the silence. “I’m doing what I should have done ten years ago.”
Slowly, he lowers his mouth to mine where he takes my lips hostage.
One kiss . . . exploratory.
Two kisses . . . yearning.
And on the third kiss, he fully commits, moving his hand from my hip to my jaw where he cups my cheek, holding me tenderly as his lips move across mine.
Stunned and shocked, I stand there stiff, unsure of what to do.
Is Bram really kissing me?
Why?
His body presses against mine, his chest to mine, his legs threading, his hands gripping.
My mind’s whirling, my heart’s pounding, and my instincts are telling me to kiss him back even though the terrified feeling racing through my veins is confusing me.
But after the third sweep of his lips across mine, coaxing me, enticing me to let go for a moment, my body relaxes and my hands find the back of his neck.
He groans into my mouth and with one drag of his tongue across my lips, I part my lips, giving him access. He takes no time in accepting the invitation as he dives forward, tilting my head back enough to give him better access.
Our tongues dance.
Our lips mold.
Our bodies sync.
This is Bram, the guy who’s annoyed me for ten years, the guy who drove me crazy every time I ran into him. The guy who once saved me. The guy who once asked me on a date.
And then it hits me.
I’m kissing Bram. Like, kissing him, kissing him.
What the hell am I doing?
This needs to stop.
Abruptly, I tear my mouth from his and roll out of his grasp. His hands hit the wall as I scoot farther and farther away.
I press my hand to my mouth and stare wildly at him. My eyes bounce back and forth, scanning him, looking for answers as millions of questions form in my head.
My hands start to shake.
All the reasons why this never should have happened start to pierce my brain.
He’s a client.
He’s my brother’s best friend.
We are nowhere near compatible.
He must see the consternation on my face because he moves in again, trying to take my hands in his, but I pull away, shoving my hands behind me.
“No,” I say, my chest sticking out, my nipples hard and easily seen through the fabric of my T-shirt.
A giant grin spreads across his face, his eyes fixed on my breasts, his tongue rolling over his lips. He tries to step in again, but I sidestep and move out of the way, backing into my living room.
“Jules . . .” he whispers, sounding a little exasperated.
“Don’t you Jules me. You’re supposed to be on a date with Carly. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” His smirk grows wider as he moves in.
I bump into my couch and try to move out of the way, but he catches up to me and traps me against the sofa. My backside barely being held up by the arm of the couch as he crowds me.
“No, it isn’t obvious. So if you would just back up a bit, we can discuss what happened with your date.”
“I don’t want to discuss my date.” He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and holds me in place. “I want to talk about that kiss.”
“That was a mistake,” I quickly say. “A lapse in judgment.”
A serious mental episode where I lost all reasoning. Even though it was the best kiss of my life.
His grin quickly fades as his brow draws together, anger taking form.
“That wasn’t a fucking mistake, Julia, and you know it.” He pulls me in by the hip, flush against his body and forces me to look at him. “You’ve wanted to kiss me just as long as I’ve wanted to kiss you.”
“Bram, you’re—”
His lips crash down on mine, and this time instead of being tender and explorative, he’s demanding and possessive.
The way his tongue sweeps across mine, the way his mouth demands more, and the way his hands so effortlessly hold me in place, I’ve never felt anything like it before.
And yet, I know it has to stop.
Hand to his chest, I push him away again and retreat to the middle of the room where I hold my hand against my forehead trying to understand what’s happening. When I look up, Bram is standing a few feet away, chest heaving, want in his eyes.
“Get over here, Jules.”
I shake my head. “You can’t order me around like I’m your little puppet. It doesn’t work like that.” Even though he’s a total red in the bedroom. I motion to the space between us. “That can’t happen again.”
“To hell it can’t.” He closes in on me just as I hold my hand up to stop him. My palm meets his chest.
“I’m serious, Bram.”
“And I’m serious too. Jules, I want you.”
“You’re drunk.”
His eyes grow darker, his brow pinching inward. “I’m not fucking drunk. I’ve wanted you for a really long time now. Why do you think I purposefully lost the bet to Rath and Roark?”
“You purposefully lost the bet?”
“Yes.” He tries to scoot closer, but I keep him in place. “I wanted to get closer to you. Christ, Jules, ever since college I’ve wanted to take you out, press you against a wall, feel your lips against mine, taste you. I thought I would get over my craving, but every time I bumped into you, my craving intensified, and after I saw you at Rath’s fundraiser, I knew I had to find a way to have you.”
“I don’t . . .” I try to catch my breath. “I really don’t understand. Why didn’t you just say something?” Bram doesn’t hold back. Ever. He’s never needed to . . . but he’s suggesting . . . no, he’s adamant here. He wants me. And has for a while . . . This whole time he’s had feelings for me while I foolishly tried to set him up with other women? What the fuck?
Seeming agitated, he plows his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe because you turned me down before, so I thought that if this time I tried to woo you rather than come out of nowhere and ask you out, you’d be more susceptible to saying yes.”
I scoff, hands crossing over my chest. My anger starting to build as I think about the last three weeks and everything we went through. It was all for nothing. “You were not serious about dating me in college.”
“Yes. Jesus, Julia. Wasn’t it obvious?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t. That night you asked me out, you’d just been with Lauren Connor, so I wasn’t about to say yes to a date when you were post make-out session with another girl only minutes before.”
“We didn’t make out. She was a distraction until I could get you alone. I wanted nothing to do with Lauren. I wanted you, Jules.” He scoots closer, but I keep him at an arm’s length. “I remember seeing you that night, by yourself, watching Clarissa dancing. You were observing her, completely unaware the whole time that I was watching you. I was fucking enchanted with the way you pushed your glasses up on your nose and the way you would shift in place every once in a while, slightly bobbing to the beat of the music, or how every few minutes you would scan the room to find Rath, to make sure he was within a certain distance from you. And even though that guy tried to attack you just a week before, you still walked around in a public setting with your head held high. I watched, Julia, I watched your every move, and I wanted you so fucking bad.”
No. This can’t be happening right now. There is no way Bram likes me. He’s . . . he’s a red. He belongs with someone who can keep up with his demands and his ruthless personality. I’ve never taken the test, but I know for certain a red is not for me.
“And then when you said no to going out with me, fuck, I spent the rest of the night in my room replaying everything I said to you, wondering ho
w I could have asked you differently, how I could have changed your mind. But I didn’t press, because after that you never came back to another party, and I thought it was because of me.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It was because I didn’t belong there. I didn’t want to be that girl who hung around, waiting for my friend to score her next hookup, but that doesn’t matter right now.” I walk to my door and grip the handle. “You need to leave, Bram.”
When I glance over my shoulder, I see no movement coming from the man who has flipped my night upside down. Instead, he stands firmly in place, hands in his pockets, a little rock in his heels.
“I’m not leaving. We need to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
“Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me you didn’t feel anything when I kissed you? Because you sure as hell seemed like you felt something.”
“I was caught up in the moment. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”
He steps forward, a sense of fury in his steps. “Don’t fuck with me, Julia. I’m standing here, telling you I like you, asking for a chance to date you. Are you really going to tell me no . . . again?”
“I’m just . . . God, I’m just trying to”—I look him up and down, taking in his outfit—“what about Carly?”
Angrily he pushes his hand through his hair. “I don’t give a fuck about Carly. I’m here for you.”
“So the past three weeks, all the questions, the interviews, that was all a joke to you?”
“No.”
“But you never really wanted my help, did you?”
He lets out a deep sigh. “Jules—”
“Leave, Bram.” I motion to the door. “Just leave.”
“It wasn’t a joke to me.” His voice softens, the sadness cutting right through my bitterness. “It was a way to get closer to you, a way for you to see me as anything other than your brother’s best friend, or the beer-drinking idiot you met in college.” I have to look away because with every sentence he utters I can feel my defenses start to lower. “I wanted time with you, Jules. I wanted little moments I could hold on to while I was trying to win your heart. I wanted to show you via the tests and interviews, that I’m the kind of man you would want to date.”
Oh . . . hell. I glance up and see it in his eyes, how genuine he is, how desperate he is for me.
I bite my lip, my hands starting to shake, the nervous jitters taking over my body. Just like the night at the frat party when he asked me out, a small part of me wants to say yes. The curious part, the part that wants to throw all caution to the wind.
But I’ve never been that girl. I’ve never been one to decide something on the whim. I’ve always been methodical and thoughtful about every decision I’ve ever made and starting a relationship with Bram is a huge decision, one I don’t see being able to make in a day.
“I can’t, not right now. I’m sorry.” I open the door to my apartment and look at the floor, unable to see the defeat in his eyes.
The sound of his boots clunk against the hardwood floors as he stops in front of me and tilts my chin up. For the first few beats, he’s silent, searching for answers, answers I can’t give him. And then, “You said not right now. Does that mean there’s a chance?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
He solemnly nods and pinches my chin with his thumb and forefinger, whispering his lips briefly against mine. Tender and soft, he then pulls away. “I can see the uncertainty in your eyes, the wariness. I don’t want you jumping into this with concerns about what we could be. So, I will wait. I’ve been waiting, what’s a little more time?” He takes a step backward, eyes trained on me. “This is far from over, Jules. Get out your pros and cons list, because you’re going to need it. I want us, Jules. Together. I’m not talking just one date. I. Want. Us. Go through your observations of my character, of my strengths, of my weaknesses, and tally them into the columns you need to. This time though, I won’t run with my tail between my legs. This time I’ll stay close, Jules. Because there is no one else I want to be with. It’s you.”
And with that, he walks out of my apartment and down the hall. Slowly shutting the door, I turn and lean against it, my head knocking against the hardwood, my heart heavy, my stomach feeling sick with nerves.
Bram Scott said he wants to date me . . . again.
And just like before, I don’t think I can let myself say yes.
* * *
“Miss Westin, your brother is here to see you,” Anita says through the intercom, startling me. I lift my head from my desk and quickly wipe under my eyes, black streaks of mascara staining my fingers.
Shit.
“Uh, one sec—”
The door to my office opens and Rath casually struts in carrying a bag of Doritos and a two-liter bottle of root beer. “Hey Ju—” His eyes zero in on me, and his jovial expression morphs into concern. “What’s going on?”
And here come the waterworks.
They haven’t stopped since Friday. No matter what I do, they continue to fall. I’ve spent today holed up in my office, avoiding all meetings with clients, wanting to talk to them on the phone, because at least I can control my voice even if there are tears falling down my face.
And why am I crying?
Because my emotions are all over the place. I can’t seem to have a clear thought over this whole Bram situation. All I can think about is the defeat in his eyes and the passionate kiss we shared . . . combined with the betrayal I feel in him using my program. My pros and cons are nowhere to be found and all rational thought has been thrown out the window.
I spent the weekend with my head stuck in box after box of cookies, crumbs scattered across my chest with The Kissing Booth playing on repeat in the background. Now that I look back at it, The Kissing Booth probably wasn’t the best choice in movies but God, young love, best friend’s brother, it probably hit too close to home for me.
And did I get any ideas out of it?
None. Instead, I held an empty milk carton to my chest and cried. I cried for so long that my eyes were so bloodshot Sunday morning I had to drench them in eye drops to get them to open.
Sniffling, I say, “I’m not having my best day.”
“I can see that.” Rath rounds the corner of my desk, takes my hand in his and brings me to my couch where he sits us both down. He leans over to the coffee table and grabs a few tissues for me. “What’s going on?”
I wipe my nose. “Oh you know, just a little bit of this and that,” I answer vaguely, because what can I really say? Your best friend kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before on Friday and now I’m confused? That will not go over well.
“A little bit of this and that? Sorry, Julia, but that answer is not going to cut it.” He reaches to the Doritos and the root beer. With one swift movement he pops the bag open and hands me a chip that I quickly shove in my mouth. He then twists open the soda and hands me the two liters. Having zero shame, I tip the bottle back and take a swig, keeping the two liters close to my chest as I eat another Dorito.
“Doritos are so good,” I say on a sigh, my tears starting to dry.
“Yeah, I brought them because I haven’t seen you in a while, thought I’d surprise you.” He looks me up and down, my disheveled appearance an obvious sidestep from how I normally carry myself. Wrinkled dress pants, stained blouse, and my hair in a low side pony, I look nothing like Doctor Julia Westin.
At least Anita was nice enough not to say anything when I walked past her desk this morning. The only indication that my appearance threw her off was when she asked if she could get me a new shirt.
“You’re a nice brother.” I pat his knee. “Such a good brother.”
Silence falls, the sound of chips crunching in our mouths and the light hum of my computer the only noise in the room.
“Are you ready to talk?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“Well, I’m not leaving until you talk, so are you telling me I
’m going to have to get comfortable?” He takes his jacket off and drapes it over the side of the couch and then gives me that brotherly look that says, “Spill.”
Succumbed to his ability to pull anything out of me, I sigh into the couch. “There’s this guy.” I’m going to keep it vague, because . . . well, I don’t want Bram killed.
“What’s his name?”
“I’m going to keep that little tidbit to myself because I don’t need you to go all older brother on me, hire a private investigator, and find out everything you shouldn’t know about my love life.”
“When have I ever done that?” I give him a pointed look that makes him chuckle. “Okay, once, but the guy was being a douche and from the look of it, this guy is being a douche as well.”
“Not really. He just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting him to have feelings for me. It’s too much for me to absorb.” I brush a piece of hair out of my face. “He’s someone I never thought would like me that way. Because of that, I’ve never looked at him that way either. And then he comes into my life, telling me he’s liked me for a long time and is finally doing something about it. I mean, how am I supposed to take that?”
“He’s liked you for a long time?”
“Apparently. I had no idea. It almost felt like it came out of nowhere.” I don’t mention how he treated my program like a joke, because that would easily give Bram away.
“Well, do you like him?”
I bite my bottom lip, working that question over and over in my head. It’s what I’ve been trying to answer myself. “I think I might.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I stare toward my window, the cloudy, chilly sky of New York casting a grey glow over the day. “I think he could hurt me, break my heart.” And I’m not sure I’m willing to risk that.
Rath takes my hand in his. “If he hurts you, I hurt him.”
If only it was that easy.
Chapter Twenty
BRAM
Nope. Rip. Crunch. Throw.
Stupid. Rip. Crunch. Throw.
Elementary. Rip. Crunch. Throw.
The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister Page 18