Raging Hard: A Stepbrother SEAL Romance (With bonus novel Based!) (30 page)

“Does it hurt?” she asked, breaking the silence.

I shook my head. Typical Brie, saying exactly what she was thinking.

“Sometimes. I can handle it, though.”

I took a bite of my cereal while she watched me. It felt weird sitting at the table with her after all those years. Though we hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together before my mom and her dad found each other, we had gotten pretty close very fast. And then that night changed everything, or at least made it obvious what was happening.

“What do the doctors say?”

“They say a lot of stuff.”

“But, about your recovery?”

I stopped eating and looked at her. “What’s with all the questions?”

“I’m curious, I guess.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine.”

She looked surprised, and I instantly regretted the harsh tone. I knew she was just trying to engage with me, maybe even show a little concern in her own way, but I hated pity. I hated pity more than anything, which was why the wheelchair was so terrible. And the last person I wanted any pity from was Aubrie.

Before I could apologize, maybe cover my shitty reaction by talking about the PT, my mom made her typical, perfectly-timed entrance.

“Good morning, children,” she practically sang as she took a yogurt from the refrigerator and leaned up against the counter.

“Good morning, Jules.”

I nodded to her. “Mother.”

“And what are you two doing today?”

“The usual,” I said before Aubrie could chime in. “Exercising my crippled legs while some dudes stick a camera in my face.”

Mom smiled uncertainly, and I felt bad. I knew she didn’t get sarcasm and I should probably lay off.
What the hell is with me this morning?
I thought to myself. It was probably just the pain rearing its ugly head.

“Well, that’s nice, Lincoln,” she said.

Aubrie gave me a look. “He’s pretty cranky this morning,” she said.

I laughed. “Cranky? I’m practically chipper.”

“When are the cameras arriving?” Mom asked, cutting off what was bound to be an incredibly witty retort from Aubrie.

I looked at her. “About forty minutes or so.”

“Better get on my face.”

Aubrie laughed and I grinned. Mom wasn’t kidding one bit, but she gave us a sheepish smile anyway.

“By the way,” Mom continued, “about that charity thing.”

I glanced at Aubrie, assuming she knew what was going on.

“Yeah, about that,” Aubrie said.

“I have a task for you in mind, but I need to clear up a few details first. Do you mind just hanging around?”

I raised an eyebrow. Aubrie was helping my mother with her hundreds of different charity projects? That could be interesting.

“Okay, sure. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks so much, dear.”

“By the way, where’s Dad?”

Mom paused, which was odd. I had been wondering the same thing, but I knew better than to ask.

“Your father is in L.A. working on a new script.”

“Oh, okay. When’s he getting back home?”

“Soon. Very soon, I think.”

Aubrie paused and I shrugged at her. “I haven’t heard from him, so don’t look at me.”

She frowned but didn’t say anything.

“Well, okay, have a good morning.” And then Mom was gone, back up to her room to probably do another workout.

I looked at Aubrie. “Did she seem a little slower than usual?”

Aubrie smiled, focusing back in on me. “No, no more than usual.”

“I could have sworn I saw her hamster wheel spinning twice as fast.”

She laughed. “Oh, don’t be so mean to your mother.”

I held up my hands. “I’m never mean. Just speaking the truth.”

She laughed again and we lapsed into silence, finishing our cereal. Finally, Aubrie pushed back from the island and stood up, putting her bowl in the sink.

“Okay. I have some stuff to do. Good luck with therapy.”

“Sounds good, Brie baby.”

She rolled her eyes and was gone. I watched her walk out of the room, my eyes glued to her perfect, round ass, barely concealed by her thin cotton shorts.

Fucking Aubrie, back in my life. Maybe, if all things went well, I’d recover faster than expected, and my mom would keep her busy. Maybe we wouldn’t run into each other too much this summer.

Maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the next three months covering my hard-ons every time she bent over to pick something up.

I
watched the water in the pool reflect sunlight as I sent out another text, panic beginning to well up in my core.

For the past hour, after my little run-in with Lincoln in the kitchen, I had been sending out S.O.S. texts to all my friends from high school, hoping that someone else was home for the summer. As the minutes ticked by and I was getting only silence in return, it began to dawn on me that maybe I really was going to have to spend all summer seeing nobody my age except for Lincoln.

My stepbrother. Lincoln “Based” Carter. Even with that limp, he looked freaking incredible. When he had walked downstairs, leaning heavily on his cane, I had been able to see the muscles stand out through his thin white T-shirt. It made the colorful tattoos all over his arms pop. He gave me one look, part “I-know-you-want-me” confidence and part “I’m-God’s-gift-to-this-Earth” arrogance, and it made me absolutely furious and totally excited. My heart was hammering in my chest the entire time we went at each other verbally. And as he reached up to grab the cereal from the cabinet, there was a brief moment where I could see the cut muscles all down his lower back, and a hint of some other tattoo along his side.

What the hell was wrong with me? I had stared at him like he was a piece of meat and all I wanted to do was jump his bones. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was even capable of having sex, or whatever, since he was all injured and stuff. That probably didn’t matter to him.

I glanced down at my phone.

Crickets.

I groaned. This was a nightmare. I had barely managed to get out of the house before the camera crew descended on us, shoving their microphones and lenses in our faces and trying to get me to say nice things about Lincoln. I was absolutely not going to be a part of his documentary, or whatever it was. No way in hell. Not in a million years.

Frankly, I didn’t want to be another character in Lincoln’s glamorous life. He had plenty of groupies and hangers-on that would love to get a little bit part in his show. That wasn’t for me, never would be, even if I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since that night of the wedding.

I leaned my head back and let the memory take over.

––––––––

W
e pushed through the back door, a little drunk, a little giddy, and totally exhausted. Still, adrenaline was keeping me awake, the adrenaline that comes with dancing closely with your sexy-as-hell stepbrother all night, breathing in his smell and wanting to slip his cock into your mouth. He was too much, with a chiseled face and a body he clearly worked hard on.

“Shh, you’re going to wake them up,” he whispered.

“They’re not here, idiot,” I said, giggling.

He laughed. “That’s right. It’s their honeymoon.”

“No, their wedding night.”

“I’m sure they’re consummating it right now.”

I made a face. “Ew. Gross. I don’t want to think about my dad consummating anything.”

“And you think I want to imagine my mom doing that?”

“You brought it up.”

He laughed and pushed me playfully. Then he began to walk up the steps. I followed him, giggling.

“Want one last drink?” he asked me.

“What, you have alcohol?”

He grinned wickedly. “Small stash.”

“What a rebel.”

“Want one or not?”

I nodded, following him into his room. My heart was racing, and I knew what I was doing was probably a huge mistake, but I couldn’t help myself. Ever since Lincoln had come into my life, there was only one thing, only one mind-meltingly hot guy. It was him every time I closed my eyes and felt my soaked-through panties.

The thought of my stepbrother without a shirt on practically got me off. How messed up was that?

“Here we go,” he said, pulling a bottle from his closet.

I giggled again. “What’s that?”

“Vodka. Vladimir’s Vodka. Only the finest Russian blend.” He walked into his bathroom and returned with two paper cups, pouring two shots. He held his up. “To our parents’ marriage.”

“To family.”

He grinned and threw his drink back. I followed suit and nearly gagged as the sharp, biting taste of cheap alcohol overwhelmed my stomach and throat. I began to cough and he laughed.

“Not funny,” I croaked.

He laughed and walked into the bathroom, returning with some water. I drank it gratefully.

“Is that stuff meant for stripping paint?” I asked incredulously. I couldn’t believe people drank it.

“It comes in a big plastic bottle and costs about ten bucks.”

“It’s horrible.”

“Yeah.” He smiled huge, clearly loving my discomfort. “It really is.”

He poured out two more shots and walked over to his balcony, pushing open the French doors and walking outside. I followed him, making a face at the horrible drink in my hand. There was no way I would put more of that terrible swill into my body. I was pretty sure the first shot was already starting to eat its way through the lining of my stomach.

I leaned up against the railing, looking out over the lawn and into the trees. He took a deep breath and let it out.

“Decent night,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s pretty.”

We were standing close, lit only by the moon. I could feel his chest rise with each breath. I wanted to touch him, wanted to do more than just touch him. But the word “stepbrother” kept ringing in my ears, over and over.

He leaned on one elbow, his face close to mine.

“What now?” he said softly.

“I don’t know. Bed soon, I guess.”

He reached out and tipped my chin toward him. Chills ran down my spine and my heart began to race even faster, if that was possible. I looked at his full lips and into his intense gaze, completely entranced. I wanted this, wanted it badly. I was terrified.

“Not what I meant.”

And then he kissed me. Desire flooded through my body as his lips pressed against mine, sending deep traces of hunger into ever part of my torso.

I pulled away. “Wait. We can’t.”

“Sure we can. We’re not really related.”

“I know. But I can’t. You’re drunk.”

He laughed. “So are you.”

“Exactly. I’m sorry.”

He straightened up. “Fine. That’s cool.”

I tossed the cup I was holding off the balcony and watched it drop through the blackness, disappearing into the night. I turned away and walked quickly inside, cursing my idiocy, angry at myself for backing out when really I wanted him more than anything.

“Sleep tight, Brie baby,” he called after me.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t see him again for three years.

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T
hat was it. A few hours of dancing, a few hours of flirting, and one kiss. That was the extent of our relationship, unless you counted the small talk before the reception started. The marriage happened really suddenly, and we didn’t have a chance to get to know each other very much before being thrown together that night. I couldn’t have known what he would do to me, what he would make me feel.

I had spent hours agonizing over that moment. Throughout the years, I drifted between believing I did the right thing and being convinced that I had made the biggest mistake of my whole life. I never got a chance to find out, because Lincoln disappeared from the house early the next day and ended up moving out to Europe two days after that.

I had my own stuff. I had school. I had friends and one or two boyfriends and hours spent in the lab. But always in the background was Lincoln and his career, exploding into stardom in the last year and a half.

I sighed, shaking myself out of the memory. I glanced down at my phone and checked Facebook, but there were no texts or messages or wall posts or anything to suggest that someone would be my savior.

Someone other than Lincoln, of course.

As if on cue, the back door to the house pushed open and there he was, limping on his cane out toward me, followed by Jessica and the camera crew. I sighed and rolled my eyes at him, and he grinned. Something lanced through my chest; I couldn’t tell if it was annoyance at the cameras or desire for his slightly-sweating body.

“Hey, Brie,” he said as he got closer.

“Hey yourself. Cameras follow you everywhere now?”

He stopped and looked back at them. “Guys, cameras off.”

There was a moment where nobody moved. Jessica took a step closer and looked like she wanted to say something. Lincoln raised an eyebrow at her, and she thought better of whatever protest she had in mind. She gestured at the crew, and they shut off their equipment.

Lincoln looked back at me.

“Sorry about that.”

I looked nonchalant. “Not a big deal.”

He limped over and sat down slowly on the chair next to mine, obviously trying not to let me see how much it hurt him. That was typical Lincoln, blocking out anything painful and pretending like the world was just fine. Even with two broken legs and a cane, he was the strongest man I knew.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Can you guys take five?” he asked Jessica.

“We have a schedule,” she said, frowning.

“I know. But we agreed Brie won’t be in any shots until she wants to be. So let me talk with my stepsister, and you guys take a break.”

Jessica sighed, obviously annoyed. “Okay, fine. Be fast, though. We have some interviews to shoot.”

She turned and stalked back up to the house, and the camera guys followed, smiling sheepishly at me, almost apologetically.

“Trouble in paradise?” I asked him.

“Not really. She can be a little uptight sometimes.”

“She is supposed to be in charge of your thing, right?”

“I guess. It’s my life, though.”

I nodded. That made sense. “Well, thanks. I appreciate it.”

He grinned at me. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m actually here to talk to you about the cameras.”