Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (5 page)

We stare at each other, unmoving, unspeaking. That is, until
a wide grin starts to bloom across Finn’s sculpted face.

“Damn,” he whistles, his voice low and rich, “You sure know
the right way to welcome a guy home.”

All at once, I lurch out of my paralyzed state as if
electrified.

“What the—why are you—get the hell out of here!” I shriek,
grabbing hold of the nearby comforter and draping it sloppily around my nearly-naked
body. “What, is sneaking up on people just a hobby for you?”

“Like hell,” Finn replies with a rough laugh, taking a
swinging step forward, “This is my bedroom, kid.”

“My name is not ‘kid’. It’s Annabel,” I tell him sharply,
mustering up as much dignity as I can while wrapped in a fluffy blanket. “And
what do you mean this is your bedroom? Your dad said all the rooms were up for
grabs.”

“Not this one,” Finn says, his grin growing wider. “This
one’s mine. Always has been.”

I can feel my skin flushing brightly as he takes in the
sight of me, half naked in his childhood bedroom. Any other guy would have
excused himself to let me get dressed, but not Finn. Maybe he’s so used to
groupies tearing off their clothes backstage that this is no big deal for him?

Well, it certainly is for me.

“Do you maybe want to give me three seconds to get some
clothes on?” I ask, hobbling awkwardly over to my suitcase. This is definitely
not the first impression I had intended to make on Finn, that’s for sure.

“What are you, shy or something?” he laughs, “I already got
an eyeful of your—”

“Fine,” I snap, straightening my spine and letting the
bedspread fall from my barely-clad body, “Just drink it in then, buddy. See if
I care.”

I lift my chin defiantly, marching across the room in my bra
and panties to fetch some clothing. Finn’s gaze is hot on my bare skin as I
rifle through my clothes, hoping he can’t hear the frantic hammering of my
heart. I’m having trouble stringing my thoughts together. Part of me wonders if
I’ll even remember how to dress myself with Finn Hawthorne looking on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Finn swings the door
closed behind him, crossing his thickly muscled arms as he watches me from
across the room. I guess I did give him permission to “drink it in”, I just
didn’t think he’d take me up on it. This is not a guy who shies away from doing
exactly what he wants, it would seem. And if I’m perfectly honest, that
seriously turns me on. I actually
like
the sensation of his gaze on me,
even now, during this chance encounter.

Imagine how great it would feel if it was on purpose…

“So, I guess you found the house all right,” he says,
leaning against the tall wardrobe.

“No thanks to you,” I shoot back, hopping on one foot as I
step into some shorts, “Would it have been so hard for you to point me in the
right direction yesterday?”

“Not hard at all. But no fun either,” he says, amused by my
awkward attempts to dress myself. “You could have just said you were lost.”

“I didn’t want to look like an idiot,” I admit, before I can
stop myself.

“Yeah,” Finn drawls, cocking an eyebrow as I stick my head
through the arm hole of my tank top, “That would have been a real shame.”

Flustered, I straighten out my top and pull it down firmly
over my torso. My white blonde hair is a tousled mess, my cheeks are flushed
pink, and my breath is coming hard and fast. Is it just embarrassment that has
me tied in knots, or is it the proximity of Finn that’s making me act like a
lunatic? I dare to meet his unwavering gaze, almost unable to believe that he’s
really here. That
we’re
really here, alone together.

“Well?” he says, striding slowly across the room toward me,
“Aren’t you going to march out of here in a huff or something?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I reply, my breath coming hard
and fast as he moves closer.

“What, you’d rather stay here with me?” he shoots back,
coming to a stop before me. There’s not a foot of space between our bodies,
now. I can feel the warmth of him, just inches away. Close enough to touch…

“What’s stopping
you
from leaving?” I reply softly,
surprised by the tremor in my voice.

“I’m sure you can guess,” he murmurs, shifting his broad,
muscled body forward.

The scant space between us is crackling with electric tension.
I feel my face tilting up toward his, moving subtly forward as if magnetized by
his full, firm lips.
Oh my god,
I think to myself, as we stand locked in
this near-embrace,
oh my god, is this really happening? Is Finn Hawthorne
about to kiss me?
Now?!

I let my eyes flutter closed as Finn reaches up to cup my
face in his strong hand. Only, I never feel his fingers brush against my skin.
I stand still, waiting for our embrace to commence, to feel the pressure of his
mouth against mine. But no dice. Confused, I open my eyes to find him standing
at arm’s length away again, smiling at my expense. I’ve been standing here like
an idiot with my eyes closed, waiting for a kiss that was never going to come.

“You sonofabitch!” I exclaim, giving him as hard a shove as
I can. He doesn’t even move an inch—in fact, I’m the one who staggers back a
step.
Super
intimidating, I know.

“Man, you’re fuckin’ gullible aren’t you?” he laughs
uproariously.

“I’m just a huge joke to you, huh? Is that it?” I fume,
pounding his rock hard chest with balled fists.

“Hey,” he says, catching me easily by the wrists, “Easy,
kid. Don’t tucker yourself out.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” I breathe, enjoying the
feel of his hands on me, despite myself.

“Well, aren’t you one?” he asks, letting go of my wrists,
“You look about seventeen.”

“I’m nineteen, thank you very much,” I reply, crossing my
arms tightly.

“Oh, yeah. That’s much different,” he laughs, stepping
around me toward the closet.

“You can’t be much older,” I shoot back, spinning around to
face him. Why the hell can’t I just make myself leave this room? He clearly
doesn’t see me the way I see him—as a veritable sex god, that is. Why don’t I
leave well enough alone?

“Three years older,” he replies, not even looking at me as
he rifles through the closet.

“That’s nothing,” I shrug.

“That’s plenty,” he shoots back, “A lot can happen in three
years, you know.”

“Thanks for the life lesson, but I’m perfectly aware of
that,” I say hotly, annoyed as hell by his condescending tone. “You don’t know
anything about my experience, Finn.”

He glances over his shoulder at me, eyes gleaming wickedly.

“Huh. You already know my name,” he observes, “I don’t
remember giving it to you.”

I avert my eyes, remembering my frantic online research
yesterday. If only he could see my internet history—then I’d really have some
explaining to do.

“Your dad mentioned it,” I mutter, “Your dad who, by the
way, is not exactly the nasty old fucker you said he was.”

“Just give him time,” Finn laughs coldly, “I’m sure he’ll
show his true colors soon enough. Now, could you do me a favor and get the fuck
out of my room already? Unless you’re gonna try and jump my bones again.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t—” I splutter.

“Jesus Christ, I’m
kidding
,” he says. “About jumping
my bones, anyway. Not about getting the hell out.”

Too flustered to come up with a decent comeback, I turn on
my heel, gather my belongings, and march out of the room with as much of my
dignity as I can muster. Which I’d guess is about an ounce, give or take. I
hastily drop my things in the last available bedroom and race back to the
ground floor of the house, mind reeling.

I never get all nervous and jittery around men I find
attractive. Back in Vermont, I had boyfriends all through high school, many of
whom were older and more experienced than me. But no matter what went down with
them, I never lost my cool. Not because I was playing at being more mature,
they just never got me riled up. Not the way Finn did with nothing more than
some bantering conversation.

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I give myself a minute to
catch my breath. What the hell was that, up there? Sure, Finn was fucking with
me there at the end, but what about the moment he walked in the door? When he
spotted me in his bedroom, wearing next to nothing, I saw something pass
through him, too—something that looked very much like want. Want of
me
.
Was I just imagining that to make myself feel less embarrassed?

“I don’t think so,” I mutter, glancing back up the stairs
toward Finn’s bedroom. Maybe I shouldn’t have backed down so easily. I’ve
thought of little else these past couple of days besides how badly I want him.
Perhaps it would be better to just…let him know?

“Anna, is that you?” Mom calls from the kitchen, “Come on,
we’re getting started on dinner in here.”

Right. That’s why I can’t just throw myself at Finn. The
whole our-parents-are-probably-banging thing. I wonder if that’s why he’s
treating me more like a little kid than his peer. Well, I suppose he could also
just be an egotistical, arrogant asshole. It wouldn’t be the first time in
history a super attractive man turned out to be something of a dick.

“I guess time will tell,” I sigh, setting off toward the
kitchen to give my mom a hand.

It’s surreal, standing around the kitchen of the lake house
with Mom and both my sisters. Robin may have just insisted to Sophie that our
lives aren’t a play, but this little gathering feels staged as hell. All four
of us go about the motions of prepared dinner, saying little. Every one of us
is off in her own world. Maddie looks shell-shocked as she peels vegetables,
Mom is floating away on cloud nine, and Sophie is hunkered down at the kitchen
table guzzling Merlot like it’s her job. All in all, we’re looking like a hot
mess.

There must be something in the lake water
, I think to
myself, shaking my head.

Maddie and Sophie are dispatched to round up the boys for
dinner, and I feel my stomach do a somersault. This is the first time all eight
of us will be in the same room, and something tells me it might not go as
splendidly as my mother thinks it will. She hums a happy tune as she sets the
meat-and-potato-heavy meal out on the table, looking for the world like a
love-struck girl.

“So, is this what you’ve been up to all summer?” I ask her,
plunking a bowl of dinner rolls onto the table, “Cooking, and cleaning, and
playing den mother for these Hawthorne boys?”

“Of course not,” Mom laughs, unperturbed, “John’s boys don’t
live here anymore. They’re just visiting for a couple of weeks. Like you and
your sisters.”

I narrow my eyes at her across the table.

“Why arrange it so that we’d all be here at the same time?”
I ask her, “I mean, you and John are just old friends, right? He’s just letting
you crash here for a while? Why go out of your way to get all the kids in one
place and—”

“Annabel, please,” Mom snaps suddenly, a flash of anger
illuminating her blue eyes, “Stop with the conspiracy theory bullshit. Let’s
just try and have a nice night, OK?”

I was wondering when Mom’s mean streak would come out to
play. She may be a happy-go-lucky flake a lot of the time, but the second Robin
Porter doesn’t get her way, or feels challenged in any way, the claws come out.
I back off, not wanting to incite a screaming match before dinner. No one wins
when one of Mom’s dark moods rolls in.

“This all looks great,” I hear John’s gruff voice say from
the doorway. The brawny man looks as neat as I’ve ever seen him in a green
flannel shirt and blue jeans. He’s even combed his hair and gone without a
baseball cap for this occasion. We must
really
rate.

“I’m just glad we all get to finally sit down for a meal
together,” my mom says brightly, making a 180 from her bad mood of three
seconds ago. “This will be such fun!”

“Fun is one word for it,” I mutter under my breath, bracing
myself as the kitchen door clatters open.

The middle Hawthorne brother, Luke, strides across the
threshold first. He’s the one I spotted in the woods with Finn yesterday. Of
the three boys, Luke is by far the most clean cut, with cropped brown hair, no
tattoos, and barely any stubble on his sharp jaw. His dark hair is wet with
lake water, and he pulls on a dry shirt as he enters the house. I guess the
Hawthorne’s aren’t much of a dress-for-dinner family. He’s just as tall as his
brothers, and ripped as hell to boot, but moves with the sort of practiced
athleticism I don’t find super attractive. He seems like a bit of a tight ass,
to be honest.

Sophie scampers through the back door in Luke’s wake, white
as a sheet. She makes a beeline for the open bottle of wine and refills her
glass almost to the brim. What the hell happened out on the dock that has her
so addled? I try to catch her eye, but my sister has retreated far inside
herself. I’ll have to check in with her later.

My chest tightens as Finn steps over the threshold next. I
brace myself, expecting some taunt or quip from him. But to my surprise, Finn
doesn’t say a word as he walks right past me. In fact, his entire demeanor
seems to have changed. His easy, rakish smile is nowhere to be seen, and he
barely gives anyone a passing glance as he makes his way to the table. He’s
totally stoic, seemingly disinterested. I can’t believe this strong, silent man
is the same person who took so much pleasure in fucking with my head earlier
today. He looks cool, collected, and totally immovable as he sits down at the
food-laden table. What the hell gives?

Maddie and Cash bring up the rear, and at last we’re all
met. My mom beams around at the lot of us, looking fit to burst with
excitement. But she’s the only one who seems to be happy about this shindig.
Everyone else looks like they’re being led to their own executions as they take
their places around the long wooden table. I bite my lip as I see that the only
open place for me to sit is directly next to the transformed Finn.