Billionaire Stepbrother: Winter (Our Forbidden Year Book 3) (2 page)

I closed my eyes, pushed the noise to the back of my mind and concentrated only on the slide of my hand against my rod.

The banging continued.

Dammit! But it was probably Aimee, locked out and desperate to get back in. Maybe she realised it was futile to go to class since she was already so late. Lucky for me, I thought; I could finally put this hard–on to some good use.

I turned the water off and stepped out, forgoing the towel, letting the breeze cool my wet body.

“I’m coming!” I yelled, leaving footprints behind me as I went, smiling at the thought of taking her in my arms and doing unspeakable things to her. I unlatched the main door and pulled it open, standing in the raw, ready for her to jump my bones.

“You forgot your—” I began to say.

But it wasn’t Aimee pounding at the door. Phoebe, Aimee’s best friend, stood with her hands firmly anchored upon her hips and stared at me with a murderous rage in her eyes. Her gaze flicked downwards, and her mouth dropped open as she took in my dripping naked body.

“Can I help you?” I asked, as if everything was perfectly normal.

“I…” She swallowed and tried not to look at my cock, which was pointing directly at her.

“Well, I don’t have all day. I’m freezing my balls off here.”

“You fucking prick!” she spat.

OK, that was the last thing I’d thought she’d say.

“Hi to you, too, Phoebe.”

“Where is she? Where’s Aimee?” Phoebe asked as she slipped past me into the apartment, careful not to bump into me or my swollen cock.

“Aimee?” Phoebe called, going from room to room.

“She’s not here,” I sighed. This was really not the time to have visitors, I thought; my balls were on the brink of exploding.

“Look, if you hadn’t noticed, I’m kinda in the middle of something,” I said, waving a hand at my crotch.

“I don’t fucking care! How could you do this?”

“Do what, exactly?”

Her face flamed with rage. She stalked towards me, but I didn’t give her an inch.

“You’re not going to slap me again are you?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said, ignoring my question. “How could you do this to Aimee? You two–timing womaniser.” She held up a sheet of paper and waved it in my face. I frowned, not understanding.

“You’re nothing but a piece of shit,” she continued.

“Are you going to keep calling me names, or are you going to tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

My boner eased slightly, and a draft swirled around my bare legs.

“Can’t you put some bloody clothes on?” she asked with disgust.

“No, why would I do such a thing? After all, you can’t seem to keep your eyes off my cock,” I teased.

Phoebe’s cheeks ignited, and I resisted the urge to smile at her.

I locked eyes with her and started to advance toward her. She narrowed her eyes at me and gulped. I was getting to her.

Her back hit the wall, and she had nowhere else to go as my body hovered millimetres from her.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

I braced my hands up against the wall on either side of her head and leaned in close.

“Is this what you came for?” I whispered, my mouth barely an inch away from her ear. My cock pulsed at the thought of ripping her clothes off and taking her, but flashes of Aimee interrupted, reminding me what a terrible idea that would be.

“I could peel away each layer of your clothing, and you would let me, wouldn’t you?” I asked.

Her breathing hitched and became increasingly rapid the longer I stood over her.

“Lex?” Phoebe angled her face up, and the tip of her tongue made a slight appearance as it whipped across her bottom lip. Her hands continued to press hard against the wall, not daring to touch me.

“You want this, huh?”

I arched an eyebrow and looked deep into her longing brown eyes, ready to make my move. I knew her game, but I had my own to play.

Phoebe was definitely not my type, but I knew exactly what she wanted me to do, and I can’t say I wasn’t tempted.

As I pushed my arms against the wall in a horizontal push–up, my lips almost grazed hers, but at the last moment I sprang back and walked towards the couch.

“Well, tough,” I said answering my own question. “You know full well I’m not on the market.”

Phoebe stood breathless against the wall; her quest to trap me was in tatters.

I wrapped a blanket around my waist.

“Now, if you’re quite done playing games, you can either tell me what’s going on or leave; you know where the door is.” I extended an arm in the direction of the exit.

“Jerk!” she said as she stormed towards the door, her face crimson and probably angrier than she’d been when she arrived.

“Oh, and I’m not a womaniser – you only see what you want to see. You all do!” I yelled after her.

I shook my head and chuckled. That would probably come back and bite me in the ass, but it had been worth it.

Crumpled on the floor, where Phoebe had stood only moments ago, lay the abandoned sheet of paper. Curious, I took it and studied the page.

No wonder she was so mad – overheated on Aimee’s behalf, like a best friend should be. It was a print–out from a tabloid website, including yet another photo of yours truly, taken last night with – there’s no denying it – a young and sexy woman wrapped around me and with lipstick smeared across my cheek. Dammit, Adrianna. It was taken without my permission, and all out of context, of course.

The fucking paparazzi love catching me in vulnerable moments like this. What the hell am I supposed to do when women literally throw themselves at me? I can’t exactly shove them away, can I? Or I’d be done for bloody assault.

And Aimee wonders why I need to keep her out of sight, away from the bottom–feeders, and why we can’t be seen together. Any whiff of a scandal, and they’d all be knocking at our door. Definitely not good for my business, or for my father’s legacy, for that matter. I crumpled the sheet and dumped it in the bin. Aimee didn’t need to see that.

Chapter Three

“L
ex?” Aimee busted through the door. “Where are you?” Her voice was pinched, panicked.

I looked over to her from my position on the couch, where I’d been catching up on some emails. Her face was distraught. Streaks of black mascara ran down her chilled pink cheeks.

I went to her immediately. “What happened? Who hurt you?” My mind raced, thinking the worst. Had Phoebe told her of my wicked ways?

She buried herself into my chest, and I held her tight. I gave her a moment of comfort before demanding answers. My protective instincts skyrocketed; whatever or whoever had caused her pain would pay dearly for it.

“Aimee,” I said as I stroked her hair, trying to calm her down, “tell me what happened.”

She took a deep breath.

“God, it was horrible.”

“What was?”

“They were asking me all these questions. They cornered me as I came out of the lecture hall,” the words spilled from her mouth in rapid succession.

“Who did?”

“I didn’t know what to do, they kept following me. So I just ran back here.”

“Aimee, stop. For heaven’s sake. You’re not making any sense. Slow down, and tell me exactly what happened.”

Aimee nodded, and I led her to the couch. I’d never seen her that frightened before.

I clenched my jaw and waited patiently for her to continue.

“Start from the beginning,” I encouraged when she said nothing.

I took her hand and slipped my fingers between hers.

“I think they were reporters,” she said timidly.

My blood began to boil as her words started to make sense.

“They started asking all these questions about you. Wanting to know where you were. I told them I didn’t know, like we agreed. But they kept asking and asking. Then they started asking about me… personal questions. I tried to tell them to go away, but they wouldn’t stop. They cornered me.”

“I’m so sorry, Aimee,” I said and held her tight.

“Who’s Adrianna?” she suddenly asked.

Shit, that was all I needed, I thought.

“No one.”

“Then why were they asking about you and her? Wanting to know if you were a couple.”

“How should I know? Why don’t you go ask them?” I snapped.

“I’m asking you.”

Hell, I thought, this was going to go either of two ways, but I promised myself I would never lie to her.

“She’s my ex.”

“Oh,” she said, and looked away, pulling away from me. “I thought you didn’t do relationships?”

“I don’t. I mean, I didn’t.”

She chewed on her lip, thinking. Driving me crazy, more like it.

I wanted to start this whole day over.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave this morning,” I said, almost wistfully.

Aimee smiled, but her normal bright demeanour was absent.

We sat in semi–awkward silence before I remembered her earlier words. Her fingers in my hand were fidgeting, trying to get free.

“Wait. Did you say they followed you? Are they here?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Reluctant to let her go, I got to my feet and walked cautiously to the bay window and peeked around the drawn curtains.

Bastards. Bottom–feeding bastards!

There they were, bold as brass, cameras and notebooks in hand, just beyond the railings of the apartment block. Three men looked hesitant, glancing up and down the street, as if they weren’t sure which apartment was Aimee’s.

“Pack some things, Aimee,” I said while making sure the reporters couldn’t see me.

“Why?”

“Just do what I tell you!” I said, not really meaning to lose my temper. I wasn’t angry at her, of course, so why was I taking it out on her?

I scolded myself. Calm down.

Aimee bolted from the couch and slammed the bedroom door behind her.

“Aimee, I’m sorry. We can’t stay here.”

“I’m not leaving!” she yelled through the door.

I paced outside the door and counted to ten. God, did she know how to push my buttons.

“Aimee,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster, “open the door for me, please.”

“No!” she replied immediately like a little brat.

Fine. I reached for my phone and quickly pushed a number on speed–dial.

“Steve. Bring the car around,” I said into the receiver.

“When for, sir?”

“Right away.” I hesitated before hanging up. “Make sure you pull up as close as you can to the house, then speed away and go around the block again. You’ll see why,” I said.

“Rightio, then,” Steve replied.

***

“Aimee, this is your last chance.”

“Are you seeing her again?” she yelled.

“What?” I was momentarily thrown off by the question.

“Are you fucking Adrianna?”

“No, Aimee. Now open the door. We have to go.”

“Where were you last night, then?”

“I’m not having this bloody conversation through the door, Aimee.”

I took a step back and launched my heel at the side panel under the handle of the door. The wood splintered, and the door flew open, revealing Aimee with her hands over her face, in shock.

“What the hell did you do that for?” she demanded, staring at the damage.

I ignored her; I wasn’t about to get into another argument with her right then. Tires screeched outside, and I knew we’d have to be quick if my plan was to work.

I took the final two steps towards her, picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. Her skirt floated around my head as my hand clasped hold of her perky butt. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Put me down!”

“Nope. You brought this on yourself.”

I moved back into the living room and, keeping a tight hold on her as she wriggled, I picked up Aimee’s forgotten phone and shoved it into my pocket. She wouldn’t forgive me if I left that behind. Clothes we could always buy, but her whole life was in that phone.

“This isn’t funny, Lex. Put me down.”

“Shh! Be quiet.” To my surprise, her mouth snapped shut as I strained to listen for an approaching car through the thick front door.

I unlatched the lock and cracked the door open. As soon as I heard the rumble of an engine approaching, I flung it open and ran towards the pavement. With a quick glance to my left, I saw that the reporters were already on their journey back from their little jog. Steve had successfully lured them, letting them believe I’d been in the luxurious car.

As Steve slowed to a stop, the reporters started yelling from down the street; they ran toward us, their cameras swinging from side to side around their necks.

“Aimee! Are you hurt?” they shouted.

“Lex! Lex! What’s the story with you and Adrianna?”

“Why are you carrying Aimee? Is she hurt? What did you do?”

The questions rattled off like bullets from an unrelenting machine gun.

I pulled the car door open and slipped Aimee inside. She wasn’t fighting me any longer; her own encounter with the reporters earlier had her spooked.

I stood for a second, debating whether or not to turn and face them, but then I remembered Aimee’s distraught face when she’d come home.

“Lex, get in the car!” she yelled.

Her face peered up at me, her hand outstretched, begging me to get in. Begging me not to do anything I’d later regret. God, I’d do anything for that face.