by Tabatha Kiss
“Says the former contract killer,” she quips.
“You know what I mean.”
“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? I really don’t.” She pushes her sagging sunglasses back up her nose. “I was born in L.A. If I ever make it back, I’ll probably die there, too.”
“There are worse ways to die. Trust me.”
“You’re right.” She nods softly as she runs a fingertip along the edge of her coffee mug. “I just wish my life didn’t feel so manufactured. And it’s not like I can complain about it either. If I even try to express an ounce of negativity, people just brush it off. What the hell does she have to complain about? Look at her.” She lets out a hard exhale. “They forget there’s an actual person beneath that spotlight.”
“You have a good life, Dani,” I whisper, grasping for ways to comfort her.
She tilts her head. “Yeah, but… is it really a life when someone else makes all of your decisions for you? Honestly, the choice between pancakes or waffles was the biggest decision I’ve made since… ever. I almost asked for your opinion.”
“I would have gone with waffles.”
She smiles and little dimples cave on her chin. “Well, shit…”
“Forget about all of that stuff.” I smile back without thinking. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. You don’t have to be anyone but Dani out here. Especially not with me.”
She scoffs. “Don’t pretend like you don’t see Roxie Roberts staring back every time you look over here.”
“You’ve never been Roxie to me.” I bite my tongue, feeling like I’ve gone too far. Her eyes flick up at me over the tops of her shades and her cheeks turn red. Definitely too far. “I mean…” I shrug and grab my coffee. “You’re my little sister, you know?”
Dani clears her throat. Her eyes drop to the table. “Yeah, I know.”
“All right!”
I lurch slightly as the waitress appears at the booth. “One bacon cheeseburger with fries and some pancakes.” She lays the plates down in front of us, along with a container of maple syrup for Dani. “Is there anything else I can get you two?”
“No, thanks,” I answer. Dani shakes her head with a kind smile.
“Enjoy.” She wanders off again.
Dani grabs the syrup and pours a healthy amount over the small stack of carbohydrate heaven. “I refuse to not enjoy this,” she mutters, squeezing even more from the bottle. It seeps to the edges of the plate before she finally stops and readies her fork.
I smile. It can’t be helped. This is Dani; the girl I knew before she was molded and shaped through the Hollywood filter. “Hey—” She looks up at me as I slide the edge of my plate towards hers. I nudge it a bit closer until she snags a fry and crushes it between her teeth.
“Oh, my god…” Her eyelids flutter closed. “I miss fries.”
I chuckle and pull my plate back.
***
I decide to get some rest and continue on to Denver in the morning.
I can easily manage the rest of the trip, but there’s something about extending it that just feels so damn tempting. It’s dangerous as hell. Getting this file decrypted is priority number one. Taking Mercer’s focus off of Dani is everything. And yet…
I don’t know. Maybe this is a little fun.
Dani lies on the other bed with the television remote in one hand, surfing away at the limited channels available. She’s on her side with her head propped up on her other hand. Her feet dangle off the side, connected to perfect, smooth legs. She slipped out of her jeans and into my big shirt again the second we arrived and it’s taking everything in me not to gawk at her.
“Uh-oh…” Dani points to the television.
A national news channel flashes a photo of her face, along with an older one of mine. ROXIE ROBERTS KIDNAPPED BY STEPBROTHER.
“Looks like Bennett is going all out with this…” I mutter.
“He must really hate you,” she says.
“Always has.”
She clicks away from the channel. I stand up from my own bed and walk to the window for a distraction, but there’s not much to see out here. It’s the most secluded, rundown motel I saw off the road. I guess it’s all my fault that there’s nothing else to look at other than her perky—
Dani lets out an exasperated moan and my ears twitch. “You’d figure there’d be something decent on. What else do people have to do around here?” I glance at her as she rolls onto her back. Her chest rises and falls. “A-ha!”
I blink out of it. “What?”
She points at the television. “Finally, some quality programming.”
Roxie Roberts looks back at me from the old, glass screen. Her blonde hair tumbles in the wind as waves crash below her feet, submerging her up to her knees. It’s the ending of the first Night Trials movie. Tears roll down her dirt-covered cheeks and she waves her arms up and down. The rescue boat sits on the horizon. Music swells. She’s finally escaped… until Part 2, of course.
I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me,” she laughs. “How have you never seen this before?!”
I shrug.
She peeks at me from the corners of her eyes. “You know, you’re pretty boring for a dead guy. Ooo— They’re showing it again. Sit down. The beginning is the best part.”
I stay on the wall. “I thought actors hated watching themselves on screen.”
“Only when I’m crying,” she says. “Or laughing. Or kissing somebody. I usually turn away then.”
“Why?”
She drops the remote by her side. “No one likes looking into the mirror when they’re actually feeling something.”
“But it’s not real,” I point out.
“It’s my job to make it look real, so it feels real.”
My eyes fall on the screen again. There she is. Little Roxie Roberts in the role that catapulted her to major stardom. I’ve seen this so many times, I could say the lines out loud. I’ve cried with her and laughed with her but it wasn’t real. Not like now. Now, she is real. She speaks and her voice vibrates my ears without passing through a set of speakers first. She’s so close, I could reach out and touch her warm, apple-scented skin. My fingers tremble. My face explodes with heat. My cock twitches in my slacks.
“Fuck it.”
I push off the wall and walk around the bed to her. She watches with suspicious eyes and they grow in surprise as I lower myself to the bed and balance over her.
“Fox, what—”
I kiss her. I fucking kiss her. It’s short, only a few seconds, but feels a like sublime hour of bliss. Blood rushes south, locking me in place above her. I open my eyes, prepared for the inevitable backlash. Get away from me, you creep. Don’t touch me. Who the hell do you think you are?
Dani stares at me but she doesn’t move. There’s only an inch of air between us. Her breath trembles through her lips to touch mine, smelling like warm cider. My mouth waters for more of her.
I touch her face, drawn to her like a magnet. Again, she doesn’t move. Heat radiates off her skin. I slide my thumb across her bottom lip. It feels so soft and smooth beneath my fingers, just like it did five years ago. I give her one more second, one last chance to push me away, before finally leaning in and kissing her again.
Her body feels tense and stiff but I can’t make myself stop tasting her. I take a much-needed breath, feeling the cold air wash through my body but it does little to chill my racing heart. She trembles beneath me. I can’t tell if it’s fear or pleasure driving her. I look into her eyes and I see both staring back at me.
Dani’s hands rise to my hips, hovering for a moment before she builds the courage to touch me. It’s like fireworks shooting up my back; the gentle pressure of her fingertips igniting the nerves beneath my skin.
She licks her lips and kisses me back. Her lips press against mine, pursing and quivering.
I ease myself between her legs and her knees settle against my sides.
Fuck. This is really happening.
I’ve fantasized a thousand times about this moment. Every night for years, I’ve lied in bed with closed eyes and this is what I saw. I’d kiss every inch of her alabaster skin. I’d taste her long enough to quench my thirst for her. I’d fuck her until she turned numb.
Tonight, I’m finally going to do it.
She leans back, her breath heavy and wild, as I attack her neck and collar bone. I keep my hands moving, practically twitching around her entire body with minds of their own. I can’t help it. It’s Roxie fucking Roberts for god’s sake — beautiful, perfect Dani.
I navigate down her shirt, flicking the buttons free, and slip my hands beneath it. Her skin feels like warm milk and tastes just as good. I cup her breast with one hand and feel her nipple swell between my fingers as she shudders beneath my touch. Pleasure radiates down my spine, fueling the blood in my cock. It rages for her, begs for her. Years of bedding look-a-likes have come to this moment. Years of imagining her face instead of theirs — of her lips wrapped around my the tip of my dick instead of theirs.
I slip a hand beneath her shorts and her warmth tickles my fingertips.
“Fox, slow down.”
I lick between her breasts, barely hearing her words, as I push my hand deeper between her thighs.
She goes tense in my arms. “Slow down.”
I pause. Her pupils twitch with a deep hesitation that I haven’t seen in a woman’s eyes in quite some time. “Dani, are you a…?”
She looks down and wets her throat. “Yes…”
“That’s impossible.” I push up on my arms. “How are you still a virgin?”
She gives an awkward chuckle. “My very overprotective agent schedules my time and he doesn’t exactly leave room for personal relationships with men.”
Reality crushes me. She’s too vulnerable — too fragile for this. For me.
I’m taking advantage of Roxie fucking Roberts.
What the hell am I doing?
I hang my head and slide away from her.
“Wait— Fox.” She reaches for me. “You don’t have to stop. Does this really bother you?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” I linger on the bed’s edge, unable to believe my own reaction. “I don’t think I can be gentle with you, Dani.”
“Oh.” She grips her shirt and holds it closed. “I mean, I guess you don’t have to be…”
My heart stops pumping blood towards my disappointed cock. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve wanted you for so long, I… I don’t want to do things that you can’t handle.”
“I can handle it.” Her eyes flash with anger.
Here she is. My perfect stepsister.
Nubile, untouched Dani lying in front of me asking me to touch her in ways no man ever has.
But I can’t do it.
I can’t corrupt America’s sweetheart.
Chapter 10
Dani
Fox shakes his head. “Dani, don’t say that because you think it’s what I want to hear.”
My jaw drops. Every bit of pleasure melts off my body, replaced by seething annoyance. “I can handle it, Fox.” I sit up and throw my feet on the floor. “God, when are people going to stop treating me like some dainty fucking flower?!”
“Dani—” He stands up and presses his shirt down. “You should get some sleep.”
“Are you serious right now?” I don’t mean to raise my voice but the emotion in me is far too intense.
Fox. My ridiculously hot stepbrother. Even when he was dead and I hated him for disappearing, part of me still wanted him. Years of heartache brought back again in one moment of rejection.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s not right.”
“This isn’t right? Being a member of a secret murder club is morally okay but fucking me is out of the question?”
He hangs his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “When you say it like that, it sounds dumb, I know, but—”
“You’re damn right it sounds dumb.” I grab my shirt and flick the buttons closed. “I can’t believe this…”
“Dani, calm down. This was just a mistake. It’s okay—”
“No, this is not okay, Fox.” I stand up and anger rattles my knees. “You told me you don’t see me like they do, but — surprise, surprise — yes, you fucking do.”
“That’s not true,” he claims. “I meant every word I said about that. We just need to take a minute and think about this first—”
“I’ve thought enough about it, Fox. I want to do this.”
“You shouldn’t rush something that should be special for you.”
“You are special to me.” I throw up my hands. “And please don’t give me that cartoon princess view of sex. I know how the real world works. I’m not twelve-years-old.”
“I know you’re not.” His face hangs low like his words taste like acid.
“Then what’s the problem? You were revved up and ready to go ninety seconds ago. What the hell changed so quickly that made it wrong for you to touch me?”
“Nothing changed. I care about you, Dani.”
“And I care about you. That’s how this is supposed to work, isn’t it? Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy.”
“It’s more complicated than that and you know it.”
“Why? Because our parents are married? Who fucking cares?”
He steps forward, bridging the gap between us with two fast strides. “Because you’re Roxie fucking Roberts, Dani. Every move you make is on display. You’re nitpicked and judged for everything you do — that includes this. And yes, our parents are married. That immediately makes this bad for you. I am bad for you. I don’t belong in your world. I never have. It’s why I left in the first place.”
Tears sting my throat. “Then why the hell did you even come back?”
“Because I’d rather live in a world with you in it than suffer the alternative.” He turns from me and walks away, putting several purposeful feet between us.
“Fox, do you have any idea how lonely it is to be Roxie fucking Roberts?” I ask, bile rising in my throat. “I’m surrounded by people all the time but they aren’t looking at me. They’re looking at my dress or my hair or my damn waistline. They don’t care about who I am or what I think. No one ever has… except for you. Or so I thought.”
He closes his eyes. “Dani… I—”
“So if we’re going to start talking about suffering alternatives, Fox… I think that maybe you should have just stayed dead.” He opens his eyes again, showing a hard sadness. “You should have let me die…” My voice breaks apart. “At least, then I would have felt that instead of this.”
Fox takes a short step back to me. “Dani, you don’t mean that.”
“What difference does it make? It’s not like I’m irreplaceable. In a few years, there will be another girl, one that’s younger and prettier for everyone to nitpick and judge. No one will even remember my name.”
“I will.”
I inhale deeply. “It’s a nice sentiment, Fox… but you’ve already missed your chance to get in my pants.” I step away from him and he reaches for me.
“Dani, wait—”
“Don’t touch me, Fox.” I jerk away from him and rush for the bathroom before the tears spill over my cheeks.
My body betrays me. I close the door and lock it in a foolish attempt to keep the electric throbbing inside. I could feel it on his skin, too; that same insatiable lust for me as I have for him. It burns now, expecting me to go back to him and let him do whatever he wants to me and my body.
But I can’t do it.
I sit down and hang my head in my hands. My skin is still so hot. I can barely breathe. His hands were all over me. He tasted me like I was a piece of fruit and he’d been hungry for weeks. I still feel the stubble rash along my skin and lips, left behind by the scratch of his beard. It’s passion I’ve never experienced before and feel vastly unprepared for.
But I still want it to ba
dly.
I turn on the sink and fill my palms with cool water to submerge my face in. The icy burn twinges my cheeks. I wince as it runs along the gash, washing salty sweat through the tiny, open wounds between stitches.
My skin pulses with each thump my heart makes. Any moment now, my skin will split open and everything will tumble free— or so it feels.
I put my hand on my chest to feel it and take a long, steady breath in. It’s an old theater trick a director taught me during my first TV job when I got nervous between takes. Put your hand on your heart and remember that it’s all just a machine in there. Machines can be studied and controlled. You’re the master of your machine, not the other way around. It’s silly and not very scientific, but I’ve always used it to calm my nerves when they start to take control of me.
I focus on my breathing for several minutes but I feel no more in control of it than when I began.
That guy was a hack anyway. The show got canceled after three episodes.
I pat my face dry with a towel and step back out into the room.
The television is off. I don’t blame him, I guess. I wouldn’t want to look at me either after that.
I part my lips to say his name but as I scan the room, I notice he’s gone.
I don’t really blame him for that either.
***
Botsford Plaza Hotels are quite possible the gaudiest looking places I’ve ever stayed at — gold fucking everywhere — but the staff is always pleasant no matter the location, so it’s a fair trade. This particular location is known for its dual tower design. There must be some kind of local festival happening tonight. I look up into the sky and see long wires connecting the towers with large, colorful lanterns hanging between them. Gaudy as fuck, I say.
Fox pops the trunk and lowers his head down to sift through the black duffel bag of weapons and ammo. He grabs the Model 60 revolver and slips it into his belt. I hold out my hand and he exhales hard before finally handing me the Glock.
“Keep it out of sight,” he says.
Five words. It’s the longest sentence he’s said to me all day long. Seven hours on the road and the most we could manage was brief nudges and monosyllabic mumbles. I suppose it’s better than the awkward alternative of talking about last night.