Hard Tackle (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) (7 page)

Chapter Twelve

My mom whips a rag at me, catching me by surprise.
"Daydreaming again? Maybe I need to find some new help," she teases
me. "What have you been thinking about all day?"

"This story I'm writing…can't figure out what happens
next," I reply, grabbing a rag and trying to whip her back. She laughs,
and I grin, feeling like we're back in the old days, before Ray and his family came
on the scene. Though the truth is, I wasn't thinking about a drawing…I was
thinking about what delicious things Jack might do to me in bed tonight. So
maybe not exactly like the old days.

My mom does look good, though. She's glowing as she jokes
around with a customer, then returns to the kitchen window to put in an order.

"Your hair looks nice like that, by the way," she
says, nodding at my braid.

"Oh, thanks," I say, a little self-consciously.
"I saw it in a magazine." I've found myself caring a bit more about
how I look lately, and I can't tell yet whether that's a good or bad thing.
Sometimes I think that it's because Jack is paying such close attention to my
body, and it gives me a new awareness of it, like my relationship with my own
body is changing. 

"Fancy," she replies, wiggling her eyebrows. She
glances toward the door as it jingles. "Isn't that one of the kids from
your class?" she asks nonchalantly.

I glance toward the door. "Oh my god, he was right. He
came back."

"What?"

"That's Miles. We went to school together," I
murmur, turning my back to him as he walks over to an open booth.

"Yeah, I just said—Oh, you have a crush on him!"
she squeals, and I turn bright red.

"Mom! Sh!"

"Sorry, sorry." She glances back at him.
"He's here all by himself. Now that's interesting."

"He came last week, too," I reveal. "Also by
himself."

"So he likes you."

"No. Wait, really? Do you think?"

"Oh, definitely," she says nodding sagely, then
smiles. "I was wondering when you were going to start dating."

"Mom…" I sigh, though it is nice to be able to
discuss a boy with her. I can't very well bring up what's been going on with
Jack.

"Well, he's in your section," she says, handing me
a menu.

"On it," I reply, heading out from behind the bar
and over to Miles. I take a deep breath as I approach, but I actually feel much
less nervous than I used to. "You're becoming a regular," I say with
a smile.

Is it my imagination, or do his cheeks turn a little red?
"Oh, well, it's…um…" he trails off.

"No, I'm glad," I assure him. "We, ah, we
never really got the chance to talk very much in high school," I add,
feeling my confidence building rather inexplicably.

"Yeah, that was too bad," he murmurs, glancing up
at me.

"Well, it's never too late," I reply with a smile,
holding his gaze. Holy crap! Who is this brave new Bree?

He pauses for a moment, staring back at me. "You want
to go out sometime?"

"I'd love that," I say briskly, like my heart
didn't just skip a beat. "In the meantime, can I get your drink
order?"

* * *

"Bree has a date!" my mom crows as we walk into
the kitchen together after our shift.

"Mom!" I admonish her as Jack and Ray look up at
us. My newfound sense of womanliness comes crashing down as I squirm under
their gaze.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Ray asks.

"Just this guy I went to high school with, Miles,"
I answer as I walk over to drop my bag on one of the counter stools.

"Stud!" Jack says, reaching out to high-five me. I
slap his hand automatically, though I want to laugh at how surreal it feels.

"Sylvie left dinner on the stove," Ray says,
referencing their housekeeper and sometime cook.

"Oh, great," my mom replies. She told me she felt
odd about having a maid at first, but quickly realized the sheer size of the
house and her responsibilities at the diner would have made taking care of
everything way too much.

"OK, I'm headed out," Jack says, waving goodbye
and turning for the foyer.

"Where are you going?" I ask, then wince as I hear
myself. Did that sound needy?

"Dinner with Shaun," Jack answers.

"Try to stay out of trouble!" his dad calls after
him as he walks down the hall.

"Oh, you know I will!" Jack yells back. I frown.
He clearly wasn't being serious. And I met Shaun, and can't imagine he and Jack
are really going to have a quiet little dinner.

Pull it together, Bree
. I need to stop myself from
thinking these kinds of jealous thoughts now, before they become any more
serious. Besides, Jack is…Jack. I mean, the guy just high-fived me. The only
reason I feel jealous is because of our nightly shenanigans, not because of any
real feelings.

And Jack did warn me that this might happen. I'll have to
watch myself very carefully to make sure I trim any emotional attachment in the
bud.

Later, in bed, I find myself tossing and turning. I'm so
used to my day ending with a sexual release. I have too much energy! I drum my
fingers on my bare stomach for a moment, and then slide them down. I give up
after a minute. It's just not the same anymore, now that I know what Jack can
do.

I sigh and get out of bed. I wander over to my balcony and
open the French doors. The humidity tonight is stifling, so I don't much feel
like going for a run, but the glittering water of the pool looks inviting. I
head back toward my bureau, quickly pull on a suit, and head downstairs.

As I grab a towel from the linen closet on my way out to the
patio, I think about how used to these little luxuries I'm becoming. Midnight
swim in my private swimming pool? No big deal. I toss the plushy towel on one
of the lounge chairs and step into the shallow end, walking slowly down the
steps and then sinking into the water, letting the cool water envelope me.

I dolphin dive up and down the length of the pool, trying to
expend some energy, and then swim over to the side of the pool overlooking the
ocean. I can see the lights of South Tampa through the thick night air, but
there's also a light much closer. It moves, and I realize it's from a boat
anchored only a couple hundred yards off the edge of Ray's land. The light blinks.
Someone walked across it. The hairs on the back of my neck go up. Is that boat
watching the house?

"Psst," a voice whispers behind me. I jump and
turn around, my limbs splashing around in the water. "Shit, calm
down," Jack murmurs from the opposite edge of the pool.

"Fuck, you scared me," I swear, placing a hand
over my racing heart. I swim over to him. "Jack, I think there's a boat
out there watching the house."

"I should hope so," Jack says, stripping his shirt
off.

"Wait, what do you mean? You know about it?"

"Yeah, it's my father's private security. You think
he's just going to rely on some keypad alarm system?"

"I don't know, I—what are you doing?" I break off
as he drops his pants to the ground.

"Going swimming," he answers nonchalantly. He pushes
his boxers to the ground and walks over to the steps.

"Jack! Our parents' room looks down over the
backyard!" I protest as the water eases past his hips.

"Well, then you should be quieter," he tells me.
There's just enough light for me to catch the grin on his face. I sigh and swim
on my back away from him.

"Is there more security than just the boat?" I ask
him as I study the way the pool light reflects off his shoulder muscles.

"Of course. They cover the front of the house too, in
rotations. And his driver is former Special Forces. That's just what I know
about, though. He doesn't tell me everything."

"Jeez. I guess that's the drawback to being rich."

"It's not just that he's rich. I guess you don't read
the financial section."

I laugh quietly. "I can't say that I do."

"My dad's pretty ruthless when it comes to business,
single-minded…I think that's why my mom…" he drifts off.

I stop pushing the water at my sides, waiting for him to
continue. "Why your mom what?"

"It doesn't matter now. He is the way he is, and he's
not changing. That's why he and Lex don't get along. She keeps waiting for him
to change."

I nod, though I don't fully understand. "You think she
and I will be friends?"

"Sure. You want to be?"

"Yeah. I need a girlfriend. Someone I can talk about
you with, though, so I guess she's out." His arm jerks out and grabs me
around the waist, pulling me up and against him. I remember not to shriek at
the last second.

"Oh yeah? And what would you say?" he asks. I wrap
my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

"I'd say…I'm doing very dirty things with my future
stepbrother…is that such a good idea?"

I feel his hand slip under my ass, pushing my bathing suit
aside. "And what would this hypothetical friend say back, do you
think?"

He slides one finger inside me and I gasp. "Hell if I
know."

"When's your date with Miles?"

"Don't know yet," I manage to say as he slips
another finger in and circles them around.

"Think he'll be able to make you feel like this?"

"Jack! That sounded a lot like jealousy talk to
me," I whisper, laying my head on his shoulder.

"Just an honest question," he replies, moving his
index finger over my clit.

"Guess I'll have to wait and find out," I gasp as
pleasure swells over me. "How was your dinner?"

"Oh, uneventful," he replies, but I can't tell if
he's joking or not. If he didn't have his fingers inside me, maybe I'd have the
presence of mind to ask more questions. He walks over to the side of the pool
and lifts me up, placing my butt on the cool stone edge and leaving my legs
dangling into the water. He stands on the bottom of the pool in front of me,
his shoulders cresting over the surface. I shiver at the intensity in his light
eyes as he stares at me. Is that possessiveness I see? Is that an emotion Jack
Stratton is capable of feeling?

He pulls my knees apart and reaches for the bottom of my
suit, pulling it roughly to the side. His head dives down and I moan as he
takes a deep lick of my clit. My back arches and I stick my hands behind me,
leaning back as he presses two fingers inside me, kneading against me from the
inside. I know why he's doing that…he wants to make sure that I'm prepared for
his size when we have sex.

I reach one hand forward and grasp the back of his neck,
feeling his hair drip over my fingers. I hear the waves of the ocean crash
against the dock and feel somehow suspended in this moment. But Jack's tongue
brings me back to reality with a hard flick.

My orgasm hits me out of nowhere, and I feel his face
pressing me down as my hips want to fly up. He circles his fingers inside me a
few more times and then gently replaces my swim suit and lifts me back down
into the water. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and slump against him,
exhausted. He begins to walk backward in the water, and my legs float uselessly
behind me as he carries me.

Chapter Thirteen

I glance back at the SUV trailing Ray's Bentley. Now that
Jack pointed out the security detail, I see them all the time. Jack reaches
over and flicks my bare leg, just below the line of my dress. I slap his hand
away.

"What are you two doing back there?" my mom asks,
turning around from the passenger side front seat. I see Ray glance in the
rearview mirror.

"Nothing," I say, shooting Jack a dark look.

"Reminds me of when I had to take you and Carter with
me everywhere when I was getting the diner set up," my mom laughs.
"He was always so active. He'd start fussing, and eventually he'd take it
out on you."

"He ever give you a wet willy?" Jack says,
reaching his hand over threateningly.

"Jack, don't you dare!" I say, jerking away from
him. He grins, and I reach my leg across the back seat and kick him in the
shin. He loves to play up the brother-sister stuff in front of my parents
because he knows it weirds me out.

We pull up to the restaurant and I sit confused as everyone
else gets out. We can't be parking here, right out in front. The valet hops
into the back seat and looks back at me expectantly.

"Oh, right," I murmur, and hop out of the car.
I've never used valet service before, or actually been to a place that has it.
My mom, Ray, and Jack are already headed inside and I hurry to catch up with
them. The restaurant is a modern mix of glass and steel, with a second story
circled around the open first floor atrium. The hostess leads us up a flight of
stairs that are suspended in mid-air by metal ropes and I self-consciously tuck
my dress against my legs, worried that someone below us could see through the
gaps of the steps and up my skirt.

The hostess stops at a table overlooking the water. I look
around. It's probably the best table in the place, with completely unobstructed
views of the ocean. I might have been more impressed a couple months ago, when
I didn't live in a bedroom with the same view. Uh-oh…I'm becoming jaded, which
must be one of the worst traits for a writer. I need to make sure I see
everything with new eyes, or I'll never produce anything worthwhile.

"Let Arthur know we're here," Ray instructs the
hostess. I recognize the name from the car ride. He's one of the investors in
this swanky new restaurant, and apparently he owns places all over town. And of
course he's one of Ray's close, personal friends.

Ray orders champagne for the table and I look at my mom
questioningly as the waiter places a flute in front of me. No one's asking for
my ID, but I want to make sure it's OK. She nods, and I smile up at the waiter
as he pours.

I scan down the menu, which is freshly printed on fine paper
and ensconced in leather, not laminated like ours at the diner. "What's
ceviche?" I lean over to whisper to my mom. I see Jack try to cover a
smile and flush.

"Raw fish that's drizzled with lemon, or lime or
something. The acid in the juices cooks it," she replies quietly.

"Right," I whisper, sitting back in my chair.

"I might need to go to Spain in a couple weeks for
business," Ray casually mentions to my mom. "You should come. We
could take a couple extra days in Ibiza, or maybe rent a yacht and sail
around…"

My mom laughs. "Sounds lovely, but I've got a
restaurant to run."

"Just sell it now," Ray says, taking a piece of
bread from the basket in the middle of the table. I glance sharply at my mom.
Is there something she hasn't been telling me? Were Andrè and Silvio's concerns
well-founded? But she looks as surprised as I do.

"What do you mean
now
? As opposed to
later?" she asks. Her voice sounds quiet, a bit restrained.

"Well, yes," Ray replies, tearing off a bit of
bread and dipping it in olive oil. "You obviously don't need the money
anymore."

There's a short silence. "I built up that restaurant
when I had nothing," my mom says, her voice rising slightly. She takes a
deep breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is more controlled. "I
made the mistake of being dependent on a man before, and I had to start from
scratch. I'm not prepared to do that again."

Ray shrugs. "All right, I just thought you might enjoy
a little more freedom. The value of the surrounding real estate—"

"No, Ray," my mom cuts in, taking a sip of her
champagne. "So, Bree, when's your date?"

"Um, day after tomorrow," I reply, surprised by
the abrupt and awkward change of subject. I glance quickly at Ray, but he looks
as unruffled as ever.

"Do you know where you're going yet?" my mom asks.

"Not yet," I reply, wracking my brain to try to
think of something more to say. The conversation feels so stilted now, but I
can't think of anything to add. Thankfully, the waiter reappears, and Ray
orders the appetizers for the table but leaves the entrees up to us. I go for
something safe, something I know will be cooked in the traditional sense, and
order the salmon.

When the appetizers arrive, the waiter places them in the
middle of the table, as Ray ordered them for everyone. I glance at the plates
and quickly realize I'm not interested in any of them, but take some vegetables
from the plate of octopus tentacles and nibble at those.

I'm not that hungry anyway. As out of place as I feel at the
mansion, I feel even more like an outsider at this restaurant. And even though
my mom and Ray are starting to talk more naturally again, I begin to quietly
fume over what seems to me to be Ray's presumption. How could he assume that my
mom would sell a place that was her lifeline, that she spent years building up
so that it could sustain our family after my dad's alimony checks stopped
coming? He has no idea what our life was like then, in the days of hearing my
stomach grumble from hunger and knowing there was nothing to do about it.

When our entrees arrive, I'm glad to see a normal-looking
fish in front of me, and happily pick up my fork. We all begin to eat, and with
our mouths full the tension begins to ease a bit. About halfway through the
meal, the waiter comes over with another bottle of champagne.

"Excuse me," the waiter says, addressing Jack
rather than his father, "but that table over there sent this over for you.
It's not quite as good as the one you ordered…" he adds, turning to Ray.

"We'll still drink it," Jack says with a smile. We
all glance over at the table that the waiter indicated. Six women are seated
around it, all done up and beautiful. They look like they're out on a girl's
night, and quite excited to have run into the famous, and famously
good-looking, Jack Stratton.

Jack gives them a nod, and I feel my jaw clench. Why didn't
they assume that he was here with me? Or maybe they did, and just don't care. I
glare at them, but they only have eyes for the NFL star sitting next to me.

Ray and my mom shake their heads, smiling, and it looks like
any tension between them has been eased. They chat for the rest of the meal,
and I contribute every now and then, though I'm distracted. As Ray puts his
Black Amex card down for the check, Jack stands up.

"I'm just going to go say hello," he announces.
"It's only polite." He walks off toward the table of women, who are
enjoying some post-dinner cocktails, and are positively giddy about his
approach.

"Ah, to be young," my mom sighs, and Ray laughs. I
try not to stare as Jack sits at the table, casually draping his arm around one
of the woman's chairs.

We are not in a relationship, we are not in a relationship,
we are not in a relationship
, I repeat to myself over and over. As Ray
signs the receipt, I steal another glance, and watch a woman place her hand
midway up Jack's thigh and slide a napkin across the table to him. Ray and my
mom stand up, and I follow suit. Jack sees us rise and tucks the napkin into
his inside blazer pocket. The woman's phone number. I know it.

When we get back to the house, I
hurry to my bedroom and shut the door behind me with relief, feeling exhausted
from the effort of having to hide my true emotions. I ball my fists at my
sides, unsure if I want to cry or stomp my feet. I pull my pretty cotton dress
off, and find my old, stained workout clothes.

The feeling of my legs pumping the pavement underneath me calms
me down. I run without music, like I always do. The sound of my breath is
almost meditative to me, and I lose track of time. I think I've logged six or
seven miles when I finally reach the house again, based on the markers I pass
around the neighborhood and the way my legs and lungs are burning.

I head into the kitchen and fill up a glass of water, then
ascend the stairs to my bedroom. My knees begin to shake and I worry I overdid
it on my run. I pause just before my door and frown. There's a light coming
from under it, but I don't think I left any on. I take a long gulp of my water,
and then slowly push my door open and poke my head in.

Jack is sitting on my bed wearing only boxers. He leans back
against my headboard and stretches his long arms out across my pillows.

"Are you nuts?" I hiss as I hop inside the room
and shut the door behind me. "What if my mom came in to check on me?"

"I get hit in the head a lot…I guess I'd just say I
ended up in the wrong room," he says with a grin. Maybe I might normally
smile, but his arrogance is just needling at me right now.

"You and your dad are really cut from the same cloth,
huh?" I snap. Fuck. As soon as it comes out of my mouth I know it was too
much, but it's already out there.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, his eyes
narrowing.

"I just…" I whip off my damp shirt and toss it in
the hamper. Now would be the time to change course, but my pride isn't going to
let me. "You two both think the world was made just for you. I mean, why
would he assume my mom would sell the restaurant?"

Jack swings his legs off the bed and pulls on his clothes.
"I don't know, but maybe you should bring that up with him, Bree." He
stalks over to the door and reaches for the handle.

"Guess you'll have to get that woman from the
restaurant to keep you warm tonight," I mutter.

He spins around. "Oh, so that's what this is
about."

"No, I was just saying…" I backtrack. But he's
right. I can feel it in my gut.

"If you're jealous, just say so, but don't bring up
some other bullshit to pretend you're mad about. I knew you'd get
attached."

"I have a date on Friday!" I remind him huffily.

"Great, have fun," he says with a shrug. He stares
at me for a moment before shaking his head and walking out of the room.

Almost immediately, a wave of guilt and sadness hits me. Why
did I just pick a fight with him? He's not responsible for his dad's actions,
and we both decided upfront that we could both pursue other people.

But the fact remains that I care that he just walked out of
the room. I want him to be here right now, and he's not because I pushed him
away. Do I have real feelings for him, or is my brain just tricking me into it
because we've been getting physical so often?

I push the door shut. Even if it's the former, it wouldn't
matter anyway. Jack Stratton doesn't do relationships.