The Billionaires: The Stepbrothers: A Lover's Triangle Novel

by Calista Fox

  There was also a long wooden table that sat twelve, with a simple runner and a long-and-low fresh-foliage centerpiece with candles. A large dark-brown leather sofa and matching recliners were arranged before the tall, wide hearth, which took up a good deal of wall space. A moderate flame cast flickering light throughout the oversized room.

  Smooth river rock trimmed the walls and fireplace. Above, there were open rafters accented with polished wooden beams and a matching ceiling. Old-fashioned fans on lengthy pulleys overhead complemented the décor, along with pendent lighting.

  Scarlet wiped her feet on the rug at the entryway and then crossed the gleaming hardwood floor to the island and deposited the key. Sam came in with a gust of wind and she shivered.

  The pup stirred.

  She glanced at Sam over her shoulder. “He’s probably ready for some water. If I take the blanket off, how bad is it going to be?”

  Sam left the bags and a pastry box on the counter and reached for a tissue from the dispenser in the far corner. Returning to her, he handed it over.

  “Fuck.” Scarlet’s heart plummeted at the implication she was about to be emotionally devastated. She swallowed hard. Slowly knelt before the water and food bowls already set out on a small mat and carefully extracted the puppy from her hair and placed him on the floor. She gingerly peeled back the blanket. And gasped.

  “Oh, come on!” she softly wailed. She leapt to her feet. Moved away and started to pace as her eyes flooded with tears.

  “He’ll be okay,” Sam said once more, in a low tone.

  “According to whom?” she quietly demanded.

  “I have a vet on call for my horses, and we have a small on-site med facility. Dr. Harmon came out to check on the dog after I found him. Clearly, someone drop-kicked him a couple of times. Tried to starve him. Tossed him out a window on 93, not far from here. We took X-rays. Nothing’s broken. There’s also no chip implanted, so it’s a safe bet to say no one’s gonna come lookin’ for him. And if they did…” His jaw clenched. As did his fists at his sides.

  “Yeah. They’d deserve your wrath.” She whisked her fingers over her cheeks, though a few more drops fell. She returned to her kneeling position next to the puppy and very lightly stroked one of his floppy ears. “You sure are a cute little bugger.”

  Since he only gazed at the offering in front of him, rather than partaking, she dipped her fingertip into his water bowl and held it to him. He licked tentatively. She repeated the gesture, lowering her hand, guiding him downward, until he actually stuffed his face in the bowl and lapped enthusiastically.

  “Seems you know what you’re doing there,” Sam commented.

  Her head lifted. Slowly. Taking him in from his wet, tan-colored suede boots, up his powerful-looking jean-clad thighs, over the notably impressive bulge between his legs, to the outline of hard core muscles beneath his navy-colored T-shirt, since his leather jacket now hung open.

  It took a few moments for her gaze to continue upward to his jutting pectoral ledge, then the thick column of his corded neck.

  Scarlet tamped down a sigh. The visual assessment was enough to make her burn. But then her gaze slid over his squared jawline, his sensual-looking lips, his ruggedly handsome face.

  And those blue, blue eyes. Crystal clear and mesmerizing.

  She was acutely aware of her chest heaving. Her pulse thumping. Her clit tingling.

  “Not a clue,” she said of his comment.

  Her response held double meaning. She didn’t have a clue as to how to treat a battered and bruised puppy. Had less of a clue as to how to handle her second hotter-than-hell man in just two days.

  Stepbrothers.

  Sam Reed was Michael Vandenberg’s stepbrother.

  And Michael had called Sam to tell him about her.

  What had he told him about her?

  The question brought her around. A little bit. She was still swept up in the distressed feelings evoked by a mistreated puppy and the heat flaring within her at the sight of Sam.

  She stood and said, “I honestly can’t believe someone could do something so vile. But of course it happens all the time, right?”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say all the time.” Letting out a long breath, he added, “Though even once is too much in my opinion.”

  He watched the Lab for a few seconds. As did Scarlet. She wasn’t sure what was normal for the dog—was he drinking enough? When had he last eaten? Was he freezing his little paws off?

  Snatching the blanket from the floor, she asked Sam, “Think he’d be warmer in front of the fire?”

  “Actually, I’m more concerned about him eating something.”

  “What have you been feeding him?”

  Sam rubbed his chin with an index finger and said in a contemplative voice, “Well, the vet says he’s about nine weeks old, so he’s been weaned. He’s good for dog food.”

  “Where do you keep it?”

  “Pantry.” He hitched his thumb toward a door beyond the fridge.

  She headed that way and stepped inside. Her eyes popped. This was no “pantry.” It was a huge walk-in storage/laundry room.

  On a long counter sat a Science Diet bag. She scooped out some kibble and then went back into the kitchen and dumped it in the bowl. Sam was busy unwrapping the box, which accommodated a pie, and then put a tub of what she presumed to be ice cream in the freezer.

  He turned back to Scarlet and said, “Your tire’s got a chunk taken out of it. And the idiot with the rental company who serviced the vehicle didn’t check to see if the spare was replaced when last used, so you don’t have one. I’ll need to call around in the morning for a new tire. Pull the dent in the wheel well. Unless the rental company will send someone out for you, there’s not much else I can do but offer you dinner and a place to stay for the night. It’ll have to be my loft, because the guest bedroom’s not finished. But I’ll change the sheets for you and sleep on the couch.”

  “I hate to put you out like that.”

  “I don’t see that either of us has much choice. I’m not inclined to risk my truck as the weather gets worse. Or our lives.”

  Scarlet knew precisely why, aside from the obvious hazard of being on the road in a snowstorm.

  Cassidy Harkins.

  She’d been Sam’s fiancée.

  Scarlet said, “Can’t argue with your logic.”

  “Good. Now how about we see to that cut?”

  She tugged off her gloves, one a bit ravaged from when she’d sliced her hand. She carefully removed the bloodied napkins.

  Sam took her hand in his, palm up. His touch was surprisingly gentle, though with a hint of roughness from light calluses, indicating he wasn’t opposed to manual labor. And like Michael’s hand on her bare thigh, Sam’s touch sent shock waves through her body. So much so, she jerked her hand back, out of the cradle his larger one had created.

  Scarlet’s heart bounced off the wall of her chest. To cover her adolescent move and her instant reaction to his skin on hers, she said, “I should rinse this off before I bleed on you.”

  She skirted him and went to the sink.

  He didn’t speak for a few moments, the tension stretching between them. Finally, he told her, “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

  While he disappeared into the storage room, she fought for a steadying breath. All of Sam Reed’s six-foot-two- or -three inches of rugged virility were so not good for her health.

  He came back to where she stood and laid out the canvas-covered kit. Without a word, he took her hand again, dabbed it with a paper towel to dry her palm, and then oozed antibiotic over the wound. It stung, but she didn’t flinch this time. Forced herself to remain as still as possible. Hell, she barely even breathed.

  Sam placed a cotton pad over the cut and then wound gauze around her hand. After a few passes, he turned her hand over and in a notably gruffer voice than before—was it sexually strained?—he instructed, “Hold this here.” He tapped the gauze with his long, blunt-tipped index
finger and she did as instructed so that he could cut the end of the strand and then apply two strips of tape to secure the bandage.

  “Nice job,” she softly said. “Thanks.”

  “Should be good as new within the week.”

  He glanced up. Their gazes locked. The air shifted between them.

  Everything shifted inside her, too.

  Her breathing morphed into a paltry crawl. At the same time, a molten sensation flowed through her from head to toe, seeping into all the cracks and crevices created by years of heartache. Making her feel blissfully warm. A little less alone, a little less hollow.

  Because this man had experienced heartbreak and loss as well. And the way he so deeply cared for the well-being of the abused and abandoned puppy told Scarlet Sam was a man with vast emotions. Had therefore likely been wrecked to the core over his fiancée’s death. And that of their unborn child.

  More tears filled her eyes.

  He quietly asked, “Did I hurt you with the antibiotic?”

  “No.”

  “Then … what?”

  “It’s just … I…” She gave a slight shake of her head. Swallowed hard. “I know about the car accident in the Hamptons. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. That.” He carefully released her hand. Made himself busy zipping up the kit and returning it to the other room.

  Scarlet felt an odd severing of a sensitive, delicate tie. One that had been woven between them in an instant and cut just as quickly.

  While she collected the napkins and paper towel with suddenly trembling fingers because she’d unexpectedly let a wall down that she shouldn’t have, Sam stalked back in.

  He abruptly said, “I’ll tell you whatever I can about the art theft, but the car accident is off-limits, Miss Drake. Absolutely not a topic of conversation.”

  Anger and something much more evocative flashed in his cerulean eyes.

  Pain.

  It’s pain, Scarlet.

  And maybe he saw it in her eyes, too.

  With a nod, she told him, “I can respect that. And please, call me Scarlet.”

  “Fine.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a coatrack in the corner by the tall glass panes and the window seating with drawers and cubbies built in underneath.

  Scarlet removed her jacket as well, and he hung it with his. Not saying anything further.

  A plethora of words welled in her throat, though. An apology. A condolence. And gratitude that he’d helped her out this evening.

  If he hadn’t come along or taken that tow call, she might still be out there in the snow. Especially with the road outside of Lakeside closed. It wasn’t as though there were homesteads lining the countryside. The ranches were few and far between. And there probably wasn’t much cause for the locals to be out and about on a night like this, in stormy weather.

  She shuddered at the thought of truly being stranded. Though she’d loaded up with provisions to placate Bayli—and because it was the smart thing to do—she had no idea how long the heater would have run. She’d kept the interior lights and the radio off in the event that might aid the battery life, but really, she could have been an icicle by the time someone found her. If not for Sam.

  He eventually spoke again, telling her, “You should stand over by the fire. I’ll start dinner.”

  “Let me help.”

  He eyed her curiously. Or maybe suspiciously. She couldn’t quite decipher all of his expressions. There were myriad ones that ran deep.

  “All right,” he said. “I need the portabellas sliced and we’ll do up some baked potatoes.” He gestured toward a basket on the island filled with vegetables. All fresh from some sort of greenhouse farmers’ market, she was sure. “There’s a box of disposable gloves under the sink to protect that bandage from getting wet.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Sam reached for a stainless-steel colander overhead and gave it to her for cleaning the ’shrooms and potatoes. He asked, “You’re not opposed to venison tenderloin roast, are you?”

  “I’ve never had venison. But I’ll try anything once. I’m a bit of an adventure freak.”

  “I figured as much, since you were driving across Montana in the winter.”

  She loaded up the colander and took it to the sink. “That was born of necessity.”

  “Why don’t you talk to me about that?” He preheated the oven and set out a broiler pan.

  Scarlet said, “The insurance company that paid out the claim on the art collection hired me to basically do a final-attempt investigation to confirm nothing was overlooked in the initial examination of the case. It’s a good-faith procedure for their stakeholders, to demonstrate no stone was left unturned and justify the check they cut.”

  “That’s a fancy, nonoffensive way of saying they want to make damn sure my family didn’t rip ’em off.”

  “Why, yes, it is.” She smiled and batted her lashes.

  “Hmph.” He actually cracked a grin. Not much of one, but it was more than she’d gotten out of him thus far.

  “So I have Michael’s alibi,” she said as she rinsed the mushrooms. “I’d like to hear yours.”

  “I already gave it.”

  “I’m aware of that, though I haven’t yet read the statement. Sometimes it helps for me to hear these things in person.”

  “Then you came a long way for nothing, Scarlet Drake. Because I don’t have a hell of a lot to tell you.” He yanked on one of the handles on the refrigerator door and retrieved a slab of bacon and the roast, wrapped in butcher paper. She dried the baby bellas on a paper towel.

  “It’s okay if I hear exactly what the FBI did. It’s a cross-check. And just plain and simple Scarlet is fine.”

  His glowing blue eyes flitted to her. “Believe me, there’s nothing plain and simple about you.” His gaze roved her body, from her long hair with the bangs tossed over to one side, down the front of her tight gray wool sweater, to her low-rise jeans and hiking boots. “Scarlet,” he added with another quirk of the corner of his mouth.

  Their gazes connected again and her pulse jumped.

  Bayli had once joked that the way Christian or Rory looked so intensely at her sometimes sparked a physical jolt low in her belly. She called it eye sex.

  Scarlet was fairly certain she’d just had it with Sam Reed.

  She reached for the potato scrubber on the ledge and went to town on the skins, her blood sizzling, her skin tingling.

  And what was going on between her legs mirrored all the zings Michael had incited the night before.

  Christ, had that really been less than twenty-four hours ago? Had she only left his bed at the Crestmont this very morning?

  And now here she was, hot for his stepbrother. Completely charged by his powerful masculinity and smitten with his contradictory compassionate nature. His obvious love of animals. His broken heart.

  Everything about him pulled her in, hooked her. Made her want him the way she’d so desperately wanted Michael within the first few seconds of meeting him.

  That was crazy; she knew it.

  Not that it wasn’t possible to be overwhelmingly attracted to two men at the same time. It’d happened to Jewel over the course of twenty-eight years of knowing and eventually falling in love with Rogen when they were kids and then Vin as they’d entered adulthood. It had happened to Bayli much quicker. About as fast as it was happening to Scarlet.

  Perhaps it was because her best friends had experienced soul-deep emotional and sexual connections with their guys that it was easily a viable romantic scenario in Scarlet’s mind. Plausible, so that maybe from the onset of meeting Sam she’d subconsciously been open to the concept of sharing volcanic chemistry with both him and Michael.

  Who knew how synergy and electrifying vibes really worked, other than to say that they could strike like lightning? And she’d been zapped twice.

  She considered this as she wrapped the potatoes in foil, pierced them, and added them to the oven along with the bacon Sam was cooking. Th
en she found a bamboo cutting board, grabbed a knife from the block, and began slicing mushrooms at the island.

  Sam pulled out the broiler pan when the bacon was only about half-done and set the roast on the flat strips, seasoned the meat, then rolled it all up and returned it to the oven.

  He washed his hands, moving about stealthily. As he reached for a sauté pan, his chest grazed her shoulder and it was a wonder she didn’t cut open her other palm from the jarring sensation inside her. Just like Bayli’s reaction to eye sex.

  Fuck.

  She tried to keep her shuddering to a minimum.

  Come on, Scarlet. This is serious business.

  Don’t get lost in those gorgeous blue eyes. That whole sexy, earthy look the man sported. And the enticing scent of him.

  Scarlet had a small window of opportunity to engage Sam and find out more about the missing artwork. It was extremely fortuitous that he’d been the one who’d rescued her and brought her here. Even more advantageous that she couldn’t make it into Lakeside or back to Rollins, so that she had no choice but to have dinner with him.

  To spend the night.

  Kismet was shining bright and Scarlet was not fool enough to turn a blind eye to it. She had the chance to question Sam without it being the accusatory interrogation he’d originally expected it would be. They could talk. Discuss a few theories. Perhaps Scarlet would learn something invaluable. A key factoid that would explain how the paintings had vanished and where they might be.

  Without incriminating Michael and Sam, she hoped. Really, their quilt would be a bummer of epic proportions. Especially with Sam constantly sneaking peeks at the puppy to check on him. That kindhearted gesture did things to Scarlet. Moved her in a way that would have been significant under normal circumstances, but given Sam’s tortured past and obviously still-tormented soul, his concern for the Lab held even more poignancy for her.

  She didn’t doubt for a second that Sam Reed would have made an incredible father.