by Wild, Nikki
And even before the weekend, I had been thrilled. Mark's company had just gone public and he was feeling lavish. And whenever my stepbrother was feeling lavish, I always liked to be right in his line of sight.
It wasn't hard. Mark was ridiculously easy on the eyes. That handsome face of his, topped with that floppy hair that he was perpetually running his fingers through in a sexy but unselfconscious way, that trainer-honed body that he like to show off in tight ski sweaters...yeah all of those things made it very easy to look at Mark.
Listening to Mark, well, that was another issue entirely.
I had been listening to him non-stop for three days now.
The storms rolled in the last night of our stay. I had all my bags packed already, my boarding pass already printed and folded into my purse. It had been a nice visit, but I knew what would happen with too much family togetherness. My stepfather would drink too much and challenge Mark, never quite getting over the sting of having a son who did so much better in life than he did. My mother would whine and plead, begging us all to get along, martyring herself in the most annoying way possible. I would retreat into my room and sulk, somehow still a brooding teenager when it came to my family, even though I was on the wrong side of twenty-five.
And Mark would be above it all, somehow. Still grinning, still joking, even as the situation deteriorated. It was like he didn't believe bad things could happen to him, so they just...didn't.
And now that a bad thing had happened, he refused to admit it.
"It's not a goddamned adventure," I seethed. "I have a job. I have appointments. I have..." I searched for an appropriately dire consequence and couldn't find one. "...plants that are dying," I finished, lamely.
Mark snorted into his Scotch. "When this is all over, I will buy you some new houseplants, Chanel," he promised me, laughing into the back of his hand. "I wouldn't want you to go one moment without your houseplants."
I blushed furiously into my drink. "Go to hell Mark," I seethed. Mark laughed all the louder.
My mother sat up in a huff. "Well," she announced, "I'm going to bed. I don't need to sit up and listen to you two bicker like a couple of children." She punctuated her tirade by stomping across the marble kitchen tile and down the hallway to the guest bedroom.
Mark turned to me, wide-eyed, and started giggling like a schoolboy caught goofing off in church. I rolled my eyes even harder, trying and failing to keep the smile from playing around my lips. "I think she's handling it almost as well as you, sis," he told me in between gasping laughter.
"Oh go to hell, Mark. You have no idea what it's like being…" I couldn't think of what it was I was trying to say. The word I was going to use was "normal."
Because my stepbrother definitely was anything but normal. Superhero good looks mixed with superhero smarts was not a normal trait.
But my resentment of him was completely normal.
Mark spread his hands innocently. "Hey, the way I see it, were all enjoying an extra long vacation together. I have more than enough food, more than enough logs for the fire, and the power should come on at some point. We have booze, we have books, and we have cards. What more could we ask for?"
Privacy? I thought. But instead of speaking my mind, I looked down at my empty drink, swirling it around so that the ice cubes clinked against the glass. "I could ask for more bourbon, I suppose," I smiled.
Mark laughed in triumph. "There it is! There's my sister smile. You should try doing that more often."
"Oh really?" I arched my eyebrows. "And why is that"
He grabbed my glass and turned his back on me his broad shoulders filling out the dove-gray cashmere sweater a little too well. "Because it makes you look really pretty," he told me matter-of-factly
He was out of reach of my swat and I think that was deliberate. "What are you saying?" I demanded.
Mark turned and handed me a glass filled to the brim with Chanel colored liquid. I gulped looking at it, there were at least four shots in there. I was going to get hammered if I finished that.
I lifted it to my lips, as my stepbrother knocked back a huge glug of his. "What I'm saying is," he cleared his throat, "is that you look really pretty when you smile, Chanel."
I blushed all the way down to my toes. And steadfastly stared at my drink. Was he being serious? Or was this some sort of horrible tease. I could never tell with Mark. The normal rules didn't apply to him.
"So what's your plan?" Mark asked.
I opened my mouth and croaked, "What do you mean?" There was an implication in his question that I did not understand.
Mark gestured towards the hallway. "You going to bed or what?"
I shifted on the barstool. Sleep was the last thing from my mind. I was filled with angry pent-up energy, that creepy crawly sensation of cabin fever. If someone asked me to right now, I would gladly run a marathon, and probably have energy left over to ski down a black diamond slope.
I shook my head "I'm not sleepy."
Mark's eyes twinkled. "Well good then, you can keep me company." He stepped off of the kitchen and into the sunken living room, moving to stand over the fire and rub his hands over the warmth.
I moaned. "Just promised me we're not going to have to have some life-changing talk. I've had enough of those to last a lifetime this weekend."
Mark laughed and turned to an end table, opening a drawer. "Nah," he said, "how about a game instead?"
I sank into his deep leather sofa, mindlessly rubbing my fingers over the buttery softness. It smelled like wealth and good taste, only one of those things I actually attributed to my stepbrother. He must've hired a designer. "Sure, whatever…" I sighed. The Bourbon was strong, and I yawned unobtrusively into the back of my hand. The alcohol was burning a penetrating heat through my body, hotter even in the fire that roared in the grate. I grabbed the woolen throw blanket off the back of the sofa and snuggled up underneath it contentedly. Bourbon made being with Mark actually tolerable. I grinned sleepily.
"What are you smiling about?" Mark teased as he began dealing cards.
"You playing host," I shot back.
Mark looked up from his cards, a wounded expression knitting his eyebrows together. "Playing?" He asked. "Why do you say I'm playing?"
I shifted uncomfortably in the sofa. "Well…" I gestured futilely.
Mark sat back on his heels. "Oh, I get it," he said, all the warmth streaming from his voice. "You think I'm showing off, don't you Chanel?"
"Well…" I hedged. I slid my hand around to take in the gorgeous mansion he called a cabin. A huge bank of plate glass windows would have afforded us a stunning view of the slopes if it weren't obscured by whiteout conditions. The broad deck overlooked an expansive rolling lawn that led directly to the chair lift. Inside it was all blonde wood and light, accentuated by dark touches like the brown leather sofas and cast iron appliances. The whole place oozed money and careful attention to detail. "I mean, it's understandable that you would," I tried to soften the sting of my words. "This place is gorgeous."
Mark bent his head, his heavy lids shading his deep brown eyes. His long dark lashes cast a shadow across his cheekbones that danced in the firelight, angling up the swooping line of his sculpted cheekbones. The effect was breathtaking and he had no idea that it was even happening.
"I'm not trying to show off, Chanel," he retorted, my name on his lips like some kind of curse word. "I'm trying to have a good time with my family."
"Oh never mind, I don't know what I'm talking about," I laughed breezily.
Mark shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Wish I had a tape recorder when you said that, sis." He arched one eyebrow as he glanced at me devilishly, the dimple in his left cheek coming out of hiding.
I took another sip of Bourbon, even though I was already feeling incredibly drunk. That was the only explanation for why I kept looking at Mark the way I was. There was a softness about him that I had never seen before. Maybe it'd never been there before.
I leaned forw
ard eagerly, wanting for the very first time to please him instead of antagonize him. "So what are we playing?"
Mark sat back up again. "How about a little five card draw?"
I raised my eyebrows. "I have no idea how to play that."
"That's okay, I can teach you."
There was something in his voice that made that sound like a threat. "That some kind of poker, right? Gambling?" I demanded.
Mark shuffled the cards expertly. "Yep," he agreed his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
I looked down at my drink. "I don't have anything to gamble with, though."
Mark was steadfastly refusing to meet my eyes, fixing his gaze down at his hands. "We'll think of something…" he assured me. "What do you have that you value?"
"Um, here?" I took another sip of the Bourbon. This conversation was setting me on edge.
"Well, yes." Mark slowly and methodically began dealing out cards.
"Well," I took a deep breath, "Here, I only have my clothes."
Mark reached over and took a sip of his Bourbon knocking back an entire shot in one open throated swallow. "Then we play for clothes."
A shiver went through me. His words echoed in my head, ringing like a bell that wouldn't stop tolling. "You mean, you want to play strip poker?"
Mark nodded, still not meeting my eyes. He seemed to be waiting for my reaction, testing to see if he had pushed too far.
I took another sip of the Bourbon and stared into the fire. The swirling flames were mesmerizing, and the heat flared across my cheeks. Getting to see Mark with his shirt off. Was it worth the risk? I didn't know how to play poker, not at all. I could end up completely naked in front of my fully-clothed stepbrother and then what would I do?
Thinking about what I could do made me blush all the harder.
"Okay," I choked in a strangled whisper, barely able to get the words out. "Let's play."
Mark sat up and quickly dealt five cards face down. "Five card draw, nothing wild," he announced.
"Whatever that means," I nodded, reaching for my cards. I looked down at my hand. "Okay, what now?"
Mark was studying his own hand carefully. "You can get rid of up to four cards," he instructed me. "Draw from the top of the deck."
"I want big cards, right?"
Mark grinned cheekily. "How about you just do what you think you should do and I'll let you know how you did?"
I clutched the Bourbon for strength and looked down at my clothes, mentally gauging the number of items I could remove versus Mark's. I had a scarf, jewelry, socks, a belt...I would have quite a while to go before I risked full nudity. "Fair enough," I relented, setting down three cards and drawing three more.
Mark set down two cards and looked up at me. "Well, this is shit," he declared. "Set 'em down."
I spread my cards out on the table and Mark did the same. "Looks like you beat me, sis," he exhaled.
I leaned back, clapping my hands in delight. "Do I get to choose what you take off?"
"Er," Mark looked down.
"Come on," I urged. "Mark Nolan hesitating? I don't believe it."
"Fine, what am I taking off?"
"Your shirt!" I practically screamed, giggling madly.
He rolled his eyes. "On one condition."
"You don't get to make conditions."
"Yes I do, it's my house. House rules."
I rolled my eyes and drank more Bourbon. "Fine, whatever, coward."
Mark eyed me. "If I take off my shirt, I'll freeze to death. If I take it off you have to let me under that blanket with you."
I froze. A shirtless Mark under the blanket with me. How far was I going to take this? How far was he going to take this?
Only one way to find out.
"Shirt off first," I instructed him. "Then blanket."
Mark stood up, all six foot three inches of him, and lifted his cashmere sweater. I watch, transfixed but trying not to stare, as he slowly revealed the chiseled physique that lurked underneath. Mark's perfectly honed torso was a work of art, all taut, bunching muscles that rippled underneath his perfectly smooth skin. When he lifted the shirt over his head, the tension made his biceps bulge and I had to hide my gasp in my rapidly emptying Bourbon glass.
"Brr!" He clapped his hands on his arms dramatically and leapt for the blanket, yanking it off of me. I squealed and yanked it back, and he pulled even harder, forcing me to flop gracelessly into his lap.
"Whoopsie!" he teased, as I froze in place. My cheek had brushed across the warm, naked skin, and that one touch was all it took to electrify me. I felt a slow throbbing begin to clutch deep in my core.
What the fuck?
I pulled myself away from Mark like he had scalded me. Curling up in the crook of the couch, giving up my share of the blanket, I stared into the flames, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Do I want to fuck Mark? Oh my god...I think I want to fuck Mark.
I shook my head involuntarily, trying to clear the fuzz from my brain.
Chanel, you incredible slut, what the hell are you thinking? I admonished myself, clenching my fists, digging my fingernails into my palms until I carved bright white crescent moons into the skin. He's your fucking brother. You can't touch him.
but why? a small voice whined back. He's not actually related to you, and look at his body! You know you want to touch his body!
I snuck a peek back over my shoulder. Mark was leaning forward, watching me intently with his fathomless blue eyes. There was something in his expression that let me know he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Are we still playing?" he asked innocently. As innocently as he could with those devilish blue eyes flashing at me.
I should have said no. I should have stood up and told him good night. I should have retreated to my guest room and locked myself in there until the storm receded.
Instead I said, "Yeah...sure."
Mark arranged the blanket over his shoulders. I leaned in and grabbed the cards he dealt me and sucked in my teeth. "You're not supposed to give away your hand, sis," Mark teased. "You have a pretty wicked tell."
I cocked my head at my cards. "I have no idea what I'm doing," I declared, slurring my words slightly. "Here, what do I do?" I slammed the hand down in front of him.
A slow spreading grin widened across Mark's face. "Well," he said, setting down his hand, "it would seem you have to take something off."
I shivered and stood up. I could have chosen my earrings. Or my socks. Or even the scarf I had wrapped around my neck.
But instead I lifted my shirt.
"Oooh!" I gasped as the cold air of the cabin hit my naked skin. Goosebumps immediately prickled across my arms and without thinking I dove under the blanket, pressing up against Mark. "It's freezing!"
Mark slung the blanket over my shoulder and I pressed in to him more tightly. I swallowed hard as my naked skin brushed his, the heat rising from his body warming me as thoroughly as the fire.
And then I looked down.
Mark shifted as soon as I saw it, but it was not soon enough. There, bulging so hard it was stretching the fabric of his jeans, was the rock hard evidence of his desire.
And I couldn't take my eyes off it. "You're giving away your hand," I whispered, letting my fingers brush across his thigh. "You have a pretty big tell there, bro."
Mark cleared his throat. "Would you like to see how big?" He moved his hand to his zipper.
I stared, unable to move my eyes from that magnificent bulge. He was turned on, as turned on as I was. This was so wrong, but we were both adults. A little fun to warm us up, what could go wrong?
Except our parents waking up and catching us.
The shiver of danger only inflamed me further. "Yes, how big?" I asked, reaching for it.
Mark caught my hand and pressed it against that bulge. I sucked in my breath to feel it throb against my palm, so thick and hot that my pussy clenched tightly, desperate to be filled. "That big," Mark rasped.
/>
"I want to see it," I moaned, as my belly did flip-flops.
"Go ahead," Mark leaned back on the sofa, presenting me with the zipper of his jeans. The forgotten cards fluttered to the floor as I knocked them over in my eagerness to reach for his zipper. Tooth by tooth, I pulled the tab lower, holding my breath.
Mark's fingers trailed up my arm, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. I slid from the couch and knelt on the floor, my fumbling fingers trying and then finally succeeding in undoing the button.