by Nikky Kaye
The Naughty Step
Billionaire Book Club #2
Nikky Kaye
Contents
Welcome to the Billionaire Book Club
1. Zoe
2. Nathan
3. Zoe
4. Zoe
5. Nathan
6. Zoe
7. Zoe
8. Nathan
9. Nathan
10. Zoe
11. Nathan
12. Nathan
13. Zoe
14. Zoe
15. Zoe
16. Nathan
17. Zoe
18. Zoe
19. Nathan
20. Nathan
21. Zoe
22. Nathan
Coming Attractions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Nikky Kaye
Welcome to the Billionaire Book Club
What, you thought that the super-hot, super-rich hung out with soccer moms and wine lovers at their local bookstore?
This is Book #2 in the series, but they are all standalone stories. If you’d like to read The Billion Heir (Book #1), you can get it here. Next up is Help Yourself (Book #3).
If you’d like to read exclusive excerpts and be first to find out release details, please sign up for my Coming Attractions newsletter.
1
Zoe
“I’m sorry, miss, but he’s not answering.” The uniformed security guard held out the phone for me to hear the ringing click over to voice mail—again. “Is he expecting you?”
“Not exactly…” Dammit, Mom! You were supposed to call ahead!
I let out a sigh almost as heavy as the air outside. New York in June was hot and smelly. So was I. Thankfully you couldn't see my perspiration through my white eyelet lace top, but I was sticky enough that my thighs were chafing from rubbing together under my denim skirt.
The building watchdog looked at me suspiciously, silently doing a threat assessment of the cotton candy cloud of strawberry blonde hair on my head and my silver flip-flops and matching pedicure. Come on, really? How dangerous did I look?
I pushed my sunglasses up on my head and smiled sweetly. “Please try again?”
With obvious reluctance, he dialed again. We were both surprised when someone picked up this time. The guard straightened as he spoke.
“Mister Brownlow, there’s a lady here to see you, Miss...?” He looked at me expectantly.
“Zoe.”
“Miss Zoe,” he announced, then shook his head. “He doesn’t know a Zoe,” he whispered to me with a frown.
“Zoe Zawaski.”
Nope. Blank stare. The doorman was on the verge of branding me a stalker or something. I was hot, tired, and really wanted a shower, a cold drink, and to sit naked in front of an air conditioner.
He protested as I leaned over the desk and snagged the phone out of his hand.
“Nathan, it’s your sister.”
“I don’t have a sister,” he said. I had prepared for denial. I wasn’t prepared for the husky voice on the phone to make my body tingle.
“Okay, I’m technically your stepsister. I can explain, if you let me come up.”
A minute later I was rolling my suitcase into an elevator headed for the twentieth floor. Sweat rolled down my forehead, threatening to drip into my eyes. Would I be flashing the security camera if I pulled up the hem of my shirt to wipe my face? I wondered. I peered at the ceiling. Chances were that if the elevator didn’t have air conditioning, it didn’t have a camera.
I lifted the hem of my cotton shirt above my bra to swipe my face.
Ding!
“You know, you’d think I’d remember that body from summers at the lake.”
Oh god.
Until that moment, I hadn’t known I could burn with embarrassment and still feel cold prickles up my spine at the same time. Nathan had decided to welcome me at the elevator bank instead of waiting in his apartment.
I dropped the hem of my blouse. “Hi.”
Nathan Brownlow stood before me with his hands on his lean hips, his blue dress shirt rolled up and unbuttoned over a white undershirt. Beneath trim charcoal pants, his feet were bare.
He was a total stranger. Not in the “Wow, you grew up nicely!” kind of way, but the actual “I’ve never met you” kind of way—although he was smirking at me in a very familiar kind of way.
His arm shot out as the elevator door began to close between us, his hand slapping across the sensor. I bolted forward, managing to tip my bag over in the process. He flinched as the extended handle banged into his shin. Then the elevator began beeping in protest at being held up.
“I guess you’d better come in, sis.”
He let go of the door, bending down to lift my bag back up. I slipped out of the elevator before the door closed on me and followed him down the hall, taking the opportunity to notice the tendons flexing in his wrist as he rolled the giant suitcase behind him.
I was a sucker for wrists. They were so… strong but bendy.
When he ushered me through the door of his apartment, he left the suitcase in the hall.
“Is that going to be safe out there?” I asked. This was New York. A crime occurred three times every minute, or so I’d read.
Nathan lifted an eyebrow at me. “Safer than you might be in here, actually.”
Oh.
I laughed nervously as he shut the door. “Maybe I’d better start explaining…”
He mocked my titter. “Ha ha ha ha,” he said, his expression turning to stone in a split second. “Yeah, maybe you’d better.”
“I’m Zoe.”
“I got that part.”
“Zoe Zawaski.”
“Got that too.”
I dropped my overstuffed hobo bag on the scarred hardwood floor. “I’m Zuzu’s daughter.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head. “Congratulations?”
“Yeah, I know. Zuzu, right?” I stepped past him, looking around the open living space. “I think my grandma watched It’s a Wonderful Life when she was in labor or something.”
The floor had seen better days, its pockmarked honey planks contrasting with the stark white leather couches. The sun was setting sun on the other side of the building, and the only light in the apartment came from the halogen pendants hanging over the stone-topped kitchen island. The cupboards were sleek, frosted glass, as was the coffee table.
The whole apartment screamed, “Adults only! Kids and pets strictly forbidden!”
“Zoe?”
“Hmmm?” I turned from where I was trailing my fingers across the cool, smooth back of one of the ultramodern couches. Nathan still stood by the door, half in shadows.
“Who the fuck are you?”
My mouth fell open. Wow. Okay. Apparently the doorman wasn’t the biggest obstacle here. My face palm dislodged my sunglasses, and they landed on the floor with a clatter.
“Oh hell, please tell me they told you.” Mom, I’m going to kill you.
He strode toward me, suddenly much taller in the shadows than in the light of the elevator. “Who told me what?”
“My mother is married to your father.”
“Zuzu…”
“Married to Benny, yes. About six months ago.” I peered at him, but couldn’t interpret his frown. “Did you not know this?”
“He lets you call him Benny?”
“Yeah. I was kind of surprised I didn’t get to meet you at the wedding, especially since it was so small, but my mom kept me pretty busy. Perhaps I just missed you…” I trailed off, realizing that he hadn’t attended. I would have noticed him.
As he paced in fr
ont of the kitchen his lean body blocked the light like a strobe effect, making it even harder to determine his expression. “I guess I should send a card,” he said drily.
I wished I hadn’t left my purse by the door, desperately wanting something to fidget with. The air conditioning worked just fine in here, as the goosebumps on my upper arms and my hard nipples would testify to. Plucking at a leather seam on the couch, I tried to warm up the chill between us.
“Yeah, well, my sublet for the summer fell through and my mom said that your dad said I could stay with you. It’s only for a couple of months, and since you have the extra ro—”
He held up his hand, his voice loud and sharp. “Wait.” I stopped talking, stopped breathing. “Back up,” he commanded.
My explanation came out as a stammering puddle of word vomit. Just graduated from Iowa State. Go Cyclones! Communications degree. Landed advertising internship in Manhattan for the summer, yay! Sooooo excited! Scored a place on Craigslist, but totally got screwed over when I arrived. Stayed in a hotel last night, cried on phone to Mom. Instructed to go to Nathan’s.
“You’re a real estate agent, right?” I continued. “Maybe you know a place I could rent, short-term? Benny said I could stay in your guest bedroom, but I don’t know if—”
His hand went up again, muting me. “You cried?”
I sniffed. “I was very stressed.”
“Huh.” A corona of contempt radiated around him, like the halogen lights from behind his tall, tense body.
Judgmental jerk. I wasn’t ashamed of being in touch with my emotions. Self-awareness was the key to good interpersonal communication, although this conversation was not a stellar example. Honest emotions, as well as his father, were evidently strangers to Nathan Brownlow.
My chest tightened, anxiety welling up in me again. What if he kicked me out? My suitcase was still in the hall—at least I hoped so. I certainly couldn’t afford a hotel for the summer, but I didn’t feel safe staying in a hostel. I could look on Airbnb, but I—
“Zoe, breathe.”
I inhaled shakily, hoping that letting the breath out wouldn’t unplug the tears I was holding back. My eyes closed. Centering myself, I pursed my lips and exhaled slowly and with control, just like in yoga class.
“I’m just going to try calling Benny,” I heard him say.
Nathan’s footsteps faded away into another room as I fought for inner serenity. I’d counted fifty-seven breaths when I heard him return. When I opened my eyes, he sighed. I blinked to adjust to the twilight, flinching when he stalked toward me.
His arm brushed against mine as he reached for a floor lamp behind the couch. The light from it revealed gold glints in his brown hair, and only then did I see that his eyes were as green as a panther’s. Just like a big cat he padded around me, scrutinizing every exposed, vulnerable inch.
I wrapped my arms around myself to suppress a shiver, and to hide the headlights I sported through my thin lace bra. “Nathan, I know this is—”
He held up his hand, silencing me. I was developing a downright Pavlovian response to the gesture. Soon I’d be salivating as well.
“You can stay tonight,” he conceded. “I can’t get a hold of my father.”
I nodded. “They’re trekking in Nepal. The satellite phone is a little wacky sometimes. I was lucky enough to Skype with them last night.”
Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Benny is in Nepal,” he repeated, as though it was a mystifying advanced math problem. “With Zuzu. What. The. Fuck?”
I bristled a little. It wasn’t my fault that he wasn’t in touch with his father. Well, in this case it might not be my fault, but it was still my problem.
“Can I stay, then?” I asked in a small voice. Please please please please…
“For now.”
His eyes widened at my squeal and bounce. I summoned all the gravitas and gratitude my twenty-two years of life experience had rendered me capable of.
“Thank you thank you thank you thank you! I promise, I won’t be any trouble at all! You won’t even know I’m here.”
With a relieved sigh I flung myself at him, my arms going around his neck. It wasn’t until my still hard nipples made contact with his chest that I froze.
Oh, yeah, this was probably inappropriate. We were practically strangers after all.
His slightly shaggy hair curled under my fingertips at the nape of his neck, and his pectoral muscle was hard under my heated cheek. His heart thumped in my ear, making my own stutter and speed to catch up. He smelled like spice and soap and something purely masculine after a day of work in the hot city.
Yep, this was definitely inappropriate, but as his hands smoothed over my ribcage I couldn’t move beyond blinking. He didn’t even have to hold up his hand this time.
Something deep in my belly constricted as his hands drifted down to wrap around my waist. Oh my god. He was so hot and hard and here that I didn’t even think to be embarrassed about him feeling my love handles. My thighs squeezed together under my jean skirt as he bent his head over mine. When he spoke, his breath against my ear made me shiver.
“Welcome to the family, little sis.”
2
Nathan
She’d been staying with me for a week, and every day I discovered a new form of torture. It was a novel experience for me; usually with women, I was the one doling out the punishment.
Her lacy bras needed to be hand washed, which she hung up to dry until my bathroom resembled a dressing room at Victoria’s Secret. I didn’t need to know that she was a 38D, but I appreciated the information. The lingerie laundry was just the icing on the cake of the past week.
That first night was awkward, to say the least. I quickly realized I wasn’t set up for an impromptu slumber party, so I gave her my bed while I tossed and turned on the couch. The thought of her rolling around in my sheets fostered some very un-brotherly fantasies. The next morning I was understandably grumpy when she poked her head into the den that I was reorganizing to make room for her.
“Here, let me help,” she chirped as I knelt beside a small filing cabinet. Fresh from her shower, she was annoyingly fresh and dewy and casual in a tank top and capris. Her hair was pulled back into a French braid, the end leaving a damp spot on the back of her tank.
“It’s okay, I got it,” I said.
“Whoa, is this a Murphy bed? That’s so cool!” She reached for the handle and pulled the wardrobe sized casing down.
Fuck! “No, don’t—” I jumped to my feet.
She blinked at the narrow black leather mattress and the array of riding crops, restraints and floggers swinging in the recessed space around it.
“Oh.”
My body burned with a paralyzing combination of irritation and white-hot arousal at the sight of her fondling the dusky leather blooms of my favorite rose flogger. I had to give her credit, though. No matter how red-faced, she still turned and looked me in the eye.
“Mr. Grey?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“You’re hilarious.” I shoved her aside to swiftly close up the play area.
The awkward silence that followed rivaled the one between my father and I after my mother left—and that one had lasted two years. It wasn’t until Zoe followed me out to the living room that I realized she’d retained the rose flogger.
My gaze followed it as she swished it against her thighs. “Nathan, what—”
I held up my hand, and her mouth snapped shut. Good girl. Silently, I turned over my palm and extended my arm for her to give me the flogger.
Zoe shook her head and pressed her lips together, lazily swirling the toy around in an unpracticed figure eight. Likely she didn’t even realize what she was doing, but my body tightened nonetheless. In the thin pajama pants I wore, my problem would become obvious soon.
“You know, something I didn’t understand about that book, movie, whatever…”
I sighed. Clearly she wasn’t about to relinquish it without a debate. I needed to regain the
upper hand—literally.
“What did you not get, Zoe?”
Holding the base of the toy in one hand, she wrapped her other hand around the falls and twisted them experimentally. Then she plucked one rose out and held it up. “First, how did that girl manage to graduate from college without having a laptop? Seriously. It’s totally unrealistic.” Her eyes rolled up.
I perched on the back of the couch, bemused by the beginning of her rant. This should be interesting.
She added another leather rose to her impromptu bouquet. “Second, did she spend all her money on fancy underwear? In the movies, she’s always taking it off. I did a drinking game while watching it with friends—every time she takes her panties off, we had to do a shot.”
“And…?”
“And we got wasted.”
A laugh escaped me. Little sis was adorably naïve. “You’re absolutely right,” I concurred. “What’s the point of wearing it at all?”
She pointed the flogger at me. “Exactly! And how did she not get a UTI from all that sexing? And please, he’s a billionaire?” She snorted. “He’s not even thirty!”
I snatched the toy out of her hand, making her jump. “Zoe, I’m a billionaire, and I’m only thirty-two.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Really?” she squeaked. She shook her hand out, her palm probably burning from the swift way I pulled the leather across her palm.
Oh, little girl. There is so much that I would love to teach you.
I was very aware of her gaze flitting from my face to the flogger swinging from my hand. More and more she was focusing on the latter. Interesting… It got even more so once she included the bulge in my pajama pants in her visual rotation.
I shrugged. “Well, on paper, and if you take the all commercial deals I’ve done into consideration. I’ve definitely moved more than a billion dollars worth of property.”
She blushed, her diatribe apparently at an end. “I’m sorry I, uh, intruded on your privacy. That—” She pointed to the toy. “—is none of my business.”