Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (25 page)

“You know something?” I gasp, reaching to run my hands along
that hard, pulsating length. “I think I could get used to this one night stand
thing…”

But my words cut out as he slips my panties down over the
rise of my ass and lowers himself to me.

“Maddie,” he rasps, “I’m gonna make you wish for a whole lot
more than one night…”

I let my knees fall apart, opening myself to him. I can feel
the swollen tip of him pressed flush against my wetness. I’m holding onto his
broad, muscled shoulders for dear life, craving the feel of him deep inside me.
But instead of driving his cock into my very core, he starts kissing along my
neck, between my breasts, over the valley of my taut stomach, further and
further down, until—

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I gasp, raking my fingers along his back
as I feel his warm breath against my slick sex.

“Told you,” he growls in the dizzying darkness—his last
words before I feel his expert tongue running along the length of me.

If this is what random hookups are like
, I think in
my blissful delight,
I’ll stick to them for the rest of my life.

“Shit, shit…” I mutter, as my phone begins chirping
incessantly from the other room.

Still clutching the tangled motel sheet to my naked body, I
dart out of the bathroom and snatch up the noisy device. I'd totally forgotten
that I set an early alarm. Blinking blearily at the bright screen, I hurry to
silence the thing before it wakes up my unexpected roommate.

I hold my breath as Cash rolls onto his back on the narrow
bed, but his own breathing remains slow and shallow. He’s still fast asleep. My
gaze is arrested as I catch sight of him in the early morning light. Try as I
might, I can’t look away from the rise and fall of his sculpted, ink-covered
chest. Two rows of perfectly formed abs roll like hills along his torso, giving
way to the muscular
“
V
”
of his waist. And
just below that…

“Oh my god,” I squeak in a whisper, my eyes going wide at
the sight of his prodigious morning wood, holding up the motel comforter like a
tent pole. “Oh my god, oh my god…”

I dash back into the bathroom and close the door behind me,
chest rising and falling like mad. The full weight of what happened between me
and Cash last night is finally hitting me. This is far from the first time I’ve
slept with someone, but it is the first time for
multiple
other things.
Or rather, multiples of one very wonderful thing. Why didn’t anyone tell me sex
could be like that? I would have been having much more of it this whole time!
With, admittedly, far more skillful partners.

My cell buzzes in my hand, and I glance down to see that I
have a new text from Allie.

Allie: Miss you already!
Good luck on your mission xx

I swallow a laugh and text back.

Me: Too late ;)

Allie pounces on the bait at once…

Allie: What do you mean,
too late???

With my heart lodged in my throat, I peek around the
bathroom door. Cash Hawthorne is still fast asleep in my bed. Allie will never
believe that I’ve actually spent the night with him…unless I offer her some
proof. I raise my phone and snap a pic of his slumbering form. Not exactly good
morning-after etiquette, I know, but I can always plead ignorance of the one
night stand rules of engagement if pressed. I send the pic to Allie in a
message, and receive an immediate, and exuberant, reply.

Allie:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Yep. Mission
accomplished :)

Allie: I’ve never been so
proud of you. Ever.

Me: Thanks? I think?

Allie: Who is he?!

Me: Oh, just some handsome
stranger I picked up at the bar last night…

Allie: STFU WHO ARE YOU
EVEN

Me: I don’t know what to
tell you, lady.

Allie: Oh, only EVERY
SINGLE DETAIL.

Me: I will, just as soon as
I figure out what to do about the babe in my bed.

Allie: I have a few
suggestions…

Me: Oh, I’m sure. Talk to
you soon, you terrible influence.

Allie: Love you! Have good
sex!

I shake my head at the phone and creep back into the motel
room proper. As quietly as I can, I weed my clothes out from Cash’s and slip
back into them. My plan was to get on the road first thing in the morning
today. I wasn’t expecting to factor a little morning-after discussion into the
schedule.

My stomach flips as I try and figure out what I should even
say to Cash before I go.
“Thanks for the awesome fuck, see you never”?
“Gotta go, have a nice life with your incredible cock”?
Nothing I can think
of quite does the trick. Maybe I should just duck out before he wakes up and
spare us both the moment of awkwardness? I’m sure I’ll just say the wrong thing
and ruin what was an incredible night. What I really want is to see him again,
but I can’t tell him that. I’ll just seem needy and clingy—anathema to a lone
wolf type like him, I’m sure. One thing is certain—I need to decide on a course
of action before my gorgeous bedmate wakes up.

Before I can overthink this any further, I grab the
complementary notepad and pen from the bedside table and scrawl the first thing
that comes to mind:

Cash—It was
wonderful to meet you. Take care. MP

And with that, I grab my suitcase and head for the door. I
grant myself one last look at Cash Hawthorne’s gorgeous sleeping face before
going. I don’t know much about one night stands, but I know there’s no way I
should be feeling this attached to mine. Maybe I should stay after all? Grab
some coffee with him, trade numbers?

No
, I think resolutely, forcing myself out the door,
Leave it be, Maddie. Don’t try to make this into something it’s not. It’ll just
hurt when he doesn’t feel the same way.

I slide my keycard into the drop box outside the office,
hurrying away before the blue-haired sentry reappears. The last thing I want to
do is explain to her why housekeeping is going to find a man among my bedsheets
later today.

My sex-scrambled brain gets turned around more than once on
the second leg of my road trip, adding four whole hours onto my drive. By the
time I get my bearings and turn onto the long, dusty road leading off to the
address my mother provided me, it’s late in the day. My stomach cramps with
hunger and my hangover pounds away at my skull. At least my physical discomfort
distracts me from the curious pangs that keep tugging at my heartstrings. It
must just be because I’m unused to sex outside of a relationship, but I already
feel myself starting to miss Cash…which is
insane
, I know. Not to
mention lame as hell. But what’s a girl to do?

I steer my ancient Honda down the winding road as tall,
leafy trees arch overhead. I’ve never seen this alleged lake house before, or
even visited my mom’s old hometown. I have no idea what to expect…but it’s
definitely not what’s actually waiting around the bend, that’s for damn sure.

My jaw falls open as a huge, gorgeously built home appears
in my field of vision. A wide, shaded veranda encircles the three-story wooden
home, and the turquoise blue water of a pristine lake filters through the tree
line behind it. A sprawling lawn has been cleared around the house, dotted with
vegetable and flower gardens, bocce and badminton courts, and a hot tub and
outdoor shower. Green shutters and dark stained wood lend an air of gravity and
class to the rustic paradise—all told, this place is absolutely incredible.

The only question is…what the hell is my mom doing, renting
out a palace like this? She doesn’t exactly rake in the dough as an artist.
Something’s off, here.

I spot a few cars lining the driveway and park mine behind
them, filling my lungs with crisp lake air as I step outside. Blinking into the
bright, dappled sunlight, I make my way toward the front door of the impressive
house, climbing the flight of wooden steps that lead up to the porch. I’m just
about to close my fingers around the doorknob, when a flutter of motion catches
the corner of my eye.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelp, falling back against the door. A
lithe, contorted body is pretzeled there on the porch, halfway hidden by the shadow
of the house. And upon second glance, I see that it’s a very familiar pretzel,
indeed. “Sophie, you scared the shit out of me,” I gasp.

“Oh. Hey, Maddie,” replies my middle sister, glancing up at
me from her elaborate posture. “One sec, I’m just finishing up my practice.”

“What are you practicing, exactly?” I ask her, cocking my
head, “How to fit a corpse into a suitcase?”

She untangles her limbs with a sigh, and comes to sitting on
a muted red mat. Her wavy caramel blonde hair is pulled into a bun, her long
limbs glistening with the exertion of her exercise. I’m suddenly feeling very
self-conscious of my smeared makeup and slouchy clothes—but that’s always sort
of the effect that the effortlessly gorgeous Sophie has on me.

“It’s yoga, Maddie,” she says now, already bored with me,
“Surely you’ve heard of it.”

And just like that, my little sister and I are off to a
shaky start. As per usual. Sophia has always been the most serious Porter
sister, and my constant efforts to lighten the mood only ever seem to make
things worse. And what with my pounding hangover and baffled heart, I can’t
really muster up the energy to keep our interaction sunny.

“Did you know this place was going to be a mansion?” I ask
her, crossing my arms, “There’s no way Mom can be affording this easily.”

“Since when has Mom ever bothered to run anything past us?”
Sophie shrugs, rolling up her mat. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

My mouth turns down at the corners. Why am I always the only
one worrying about the big picture around here? I’m about to keep pressing for
details when a flutter of ash blonde hair—nearly white in its lightness—appears
between the trees at the edge of the yard, catching my eye. Speaking of
pictures…

“Is that Anna?” I ask Sophie, squinting across the grassy
expanse.

“Who else?” she replies, following my gaze in the direction
of our youngest sister. “She’s been wandering around the woods with her camera
for hours. I don’t think she’s said three words all morning.”

“Sounds about right,” I say, watching as Annabel’s willowy form
crouches down to snap a shot of some Queen Anne’s Lace. Of all us Porter women,
Anna’s the quietest. In fact, I’d say she’s the
only
quiet one among us.
It isn’t that she’s shy, necessarily—just a girl of few words.

“Hey, Annie Leibowitz!” Sophie calls, shattering the serene
afternoon silence, “Look who’s finally here!”

Anna looks up with her enormous blue eyes, looking for the
world like a startled deer. Sometimes I think she forgets the rest of the world
exists when she’s peering through her camera lens. She turns and lopes toward
us across the yard, a placid smile on her face.

“Hi Maddie,” she says, climbing the porch steps two at a
time. Her pale legs go on for miles. When did she go from being my scrappy,
scabby-kneed little sister to a grown woman? “Did you get lost or something?
The day’s half gone.”

“Probably just dragged her feet all the way here,” Sophie
mutters, “Not that I blame you.”

“Uh-huh,” I reply, refusing to engage in her bantering. I’m
here because Mom asked me to come, and because my bosses forced me to finally
take my saved-up vacation days, not to bicker with my little sisters for two
weeks.

“Some place, right?” Anna says, beaming around the property,
“I can’t believe we get to stay here.”

“The question is
how
do, we get to stay here,” I
reply, planting my hands on my hips. “I know we’ve never necessarily been
hurting for money, but this seems a little exorbitant for four people. Don’t
you think?”

Sophie’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Oh, it’s not just four
of us,” she tells me.

“What do you mean?” I shoot back.

“You don’t know?” Anna asks.

“Of course she doesn’t. Mom didn’t say anything about it to
us,” Sophie replies.

“Guys. What is it I don’t know?” I ask, exasperated.

“Ask Mom,” Sophie replies, “I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”

“Sophie, what—” I press, but don’t get any further. Right on
cue, the front door swings open, and I find myself wrapped up in the airy but
ardent embrace of my mother, Robin Porter.

“Finally! All my girls are here,” she gushes in her light,
bell-like voice. Thick golden blonde curls fly every which way as she greets
me, the gold-flecked blue eyes she passed along to her daughters shining with
happy tears.

“Mom, Hey,” I reply, returning her hug, “Sophie and Anna
were just telling me—”

“Just look at you,” she cuts me off, holding me at arm’s
length for inspection. “I love the short hair! So becoming, Maddie. Have you
lost a little baby fat since the last time I saw you? Oh, you must have. And
there’s something else different, too. A sort of
glow
. I can’t put my
finger on it…”

I step away from her, hoping that the “something else” isn’t
the lingering sexed-up flush of last night’s escapades. Just in case, I change
the subject as quickly as I can.

“Mom, Sophie just told me it isn’t just us staying here.
”
I cut to the chase,
“What is she talking about?”

“Come inside, let me show you around,” my mom trills,
seeming not to have heard me. I swallow down my annoyance with her habit of not
listening when other people speak. After 24 years, I’m pretty accustomed to her
talking right over everyone else. Like little ducklings, my sisters and I fall
in behind our mother as she glides into the impressive house.

A huge great room opens up before us, its far wall an
enormous window that looks out onto the deck and lake beyond. I’m struck dumb
by the gorgeousness of the view, and the fine craftsmanship that’s gone into
every detail of the home’s decor. Midcentury modern furniture and fixtures
populate the high-ceilinged space, which includes a fully stocked kitchen, breakfast
nook, and fireplace. The combination of rustic and sleek touches is truly
striking. There must be at least half a dozen bedrooms upstairs, judging by the
size of this place. But then, who’s occupying them besides us?