Take (Need #2) (3 page)

I almost hiss like a snake at that comment. A straight-up cobra. “Dude, what the fuck is it with you and marriage?” But I’m fixated on that comment. He’d kill someone? I’d torture and skin them alive if something like that were to happen.

“Just stating the obvious.”

“Does Dana know you’re this obsessed with marriage?”

“Fuck you.”

Ah, sweet payback. I laugh again, my chest feeling so freaking light it’s almost disgusting. Then again, that’s what makes him my best friend, isn’t it? The fuck has always been good at picking me up when I fall.

“Dana got a reply. The girls are going shopping tomorrow at Kenwood.”

She couldn’t get me an exact time without looking too suspicious, but fuck it. I’ll wait all day there if I have to. I thank them again and rush to get him off the phone. Almost tripping to the room’s phone, I pick up the receiver and order enough food to feed a dozen people.

Gotta make sure I’m good to go bright and fucking early tomorrow.

As I wait for the room service, I sit on the bed and pull up Facebook on my phone. I’m a glutton for punishment, I know, but this is more necessary to me than even the food.

Kira’s status reads:
Thank you so much to everyone that wished me a happy birthday and came over to rock it with me. Party was effing awesome! So done though. #DyingToSleep

It’s only 1:30am. The party is over already? Did she end it? Kick everyone out?

Is she alone, or is Austin with her?

The thought is like venom flashing through my system. I close my eyes and push all of it to the back of my head.

I’m not going to say it doesn’t matter if she’s with Austin or not,
because it fucking does.
It matters more than anything.

It won’t be the end of us. She can be with him as much as she wants, as many times as she wants. The outcome of all this will still be the same.

I’m going to fucking kill him for it.

But not before I take her back.

April 19th, 2015

Challenge. A word with many definitions, most of them meaning the same thing. One of the main definitions? A task or situation that tests someone’s abilities. In other words: the kind of dare the human ego cannot refuse.

That’s what I’ve become to Brayden. I’m convinced.

But why? He can’t brag to anyone once he sleeps with me. Can’t go around town saying that he, too, got a piece of Kira. Unlike Austin, Brayden’s my stepbrother, so even if something were to happen between us
—
more than already has
—
who the hell would his ego show it off to?

No one, that’s who. So why, damn it? Why won’t he leave me alone?

“I hate you!”

“And I fucking love you.”

I slam my eyes closed and shake my head, as if doing so will actually dispel the memory of those words. I probably look like a crazy person standing here, in the middle of Victoria’s Secret, holding one of their huge black shopping bags, eyes shut and head shaking like I’m trying to invoke Jesus himself.

Funny thing is, I
am
a crazy person. Absolutely one step away from a total breakdown. That’s how I feel after hearing those words from him.

My heart twists viciously inside my chest.

I ignore it.

Opening my eyes, I focus on the lacy cream and black bra in front of me.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Eyes glued on the lingerie before me, I bring it out and unlock the screen. I read the text before I realize who it’s from.

If you’re going to buy that, I must BEG you to let me see you in it.

Son of a . . .

I whirl around right as Brayden comes to a stop in front of me.

He slips his hands into his pockets and gives me this wide, blissed-out smile. He stands there in his dark, low-slung jeans and dark blue T-shirt, the material stretched tight across his chest and shoulders.

On his neck, there’s this dark purple bruise.

A clear imprint of teeth.

He’s not even trying to hide the mark I left on him.

I hate him. “Why the hell are you smiling?”

There’s only one iced coffee in my system. Maybe two hours of sleep.

Austin tried to kiss me last night.

What did I do in response?

I turned my head and asked him to leave.
After
he spent almost half an hour hugging me, trying to cheer me up because this asshole over here ruined my birthday.

So yeah, I’m cranky.

And Brayden’s still smiling at me like the mere sight of me makes him ecstatic.

He doesn’t answer my question.

I raise my eyebrows and shake my head in a “
well?
”
gesture.

Brayden steps up to me. He tucks my hair behind my ear and leans down to kiss my cheek. “Hey, baby.”

Gah!

My toes curl inside my flats.

Fucking traitors.

I reach behind me for the bra I’d been staring at, fling it in his face, and walk away. Because I’m the queen of maturity today.

My heart races the whole time.

I don’t expect a bra to the face to deter him, so when he catches up to me, all I do is roll my eyes and make a sharp left.

Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll eventually go off and find another girl to flirt with.

Somewhere beyond my bitterness and cynicism, I know he’s not going to do that, and the thought alone is enough to give me pause.

He catches up to me and throws the bra into my shopping bag.

I scowl at him. “How do you even know if it’ll fit me, dumbass?”

His eyes drop to my chest. Their emerald shade darkens and flash with a bodily hunger.

Right on cue, my nipples perk up.

Running his thumb along his bottom lip, he murmurs hotly, “Kira, I
know
those tits.”

“You’ve barely seen or touched them,” I snap. Oh God, why did I say that?

His eyes darken even more. “Trust me, baby. The sight and feel of them is etched into my mind.”

My nipples tighten to the smallest points possible, straining toward him. I can almost hear the little fuckers begging for
him, him, him
!

I take a step back, honest-to-God frightened and too weak to sift through the lust and pain I feel.

“Kira, oh my God look at the size of this thong, girl . . . never mind. Look at the size of all that man meat. Hello, there.”

Marilyn.

“Yo, Lyn! Let me see that—Jesus-fucking-Christ.” Insert low melodramatic gasp that isn’t really that low to begin with. “It’s Brayden Hunt.”

Ashley.

“Well, hello, big, sexy, and yummy. Kira, introduce us to your hot-as-hell stepbrother,” Jenna says.

I want to kill them all. My only friends. Just because they’re drooling over Brayden.

“Not now,” I tell them, struggling to hide how annoyed I am. Not stopping to analyze the impulse, I walk up to Brayden and tug on his sleeve to get him away from them.

He doesn’t budge.

“Besides—” I tug some more “—he’d try to flirt with all three of you at once. Total sleaze like that.”

“We wouldn’t mind,” they answer as one.

The vein in my temple almost pops.

Are they fucking serious right now?

Of course they are. It seems that almost every living, breathing female wants a taste of Brayden Hunt.

I renew my efforts to pull him away from my friends before they get any more ideas.

“Sorry, ladies,” Brayden says, finally walking backward as I continue to pull on his sleeve. “I’m a one-woman man now, and that’s not going to ever change.”

What he just said doesn’t register until we’re by the dressing rooms.

I let him go as if burned.

My heartbeat’s in my throat, choking me . . .

His smile is so wide now—the epitome of cockiness—and I just want to smack him across the face with my shopping bag. “
What
?”

Back into his pockets his hands go, and . . . is he rocking back and forth on his feet like an excited kid?

He is! This motherfucker is downright giddy.

“What?” I ask again.

“Nothing, baby.”

“Stop. Calling. Me. That!”

That smile remains fixed firmly on his face.

I shove him away. “You can go now.”

Brayden grabs my hand.

Gasping under my breath at the way my entire body heats up, I rip my hand out of his grasp. My mind twists and twists, spiraling into the memories of last night.

Him, on his knees, his mouth on my aching cunt, licking me until I had no choice but to come on his tongue.

Him telling me that he loves me.

“No. We’re spending the whole day together.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“You can’t. I’m hanging with my friends today.” Must get away. Must get away.

“I’ll tag along.”

“The hell you will. You can’t.”

“Sure I can.”

Desperate for an escape, I look around.

The dressing rooms. No way dipshit can follow me in there, and even if he waits for me, I’ll have a few solid minutes to regain some control. To remind myself why I can’t want him the way I do.

Because years of constantly reminding myself have worked out really well for me so far. Right.

Still, I bolt straight into the dressing room. There’s no one back here to count how many items I’m trying on.

Fuck it.

I dart behind a curtain all the way at the end, panting.

I’m alone. Thank God. Unfortunately all the privacy in the world can’t erase the images in my head.

Or the hungry pounding of my pussy.

Or the fact that there’s no way I can try on any of the panties I picked out. I’m fucking soaked, thanks to that asshole.

I grind my teeth, infuriated by the never-ending lack of control—

A head of black hair appears above the curtain.

Then a face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss, glaring up at him.

He’s so tall that he has no problem looking into the stall and smiling down at me. “You look fucking adorable when you’re angry. You know that?” The curtain starts to move.

I snatch it out of his hand. “You’ve been telling me that since we were kids. It’s still not a free pass to piss me off all the damn time!” Too late I realize what I’ve admitted, the memories it dredges up.

Any wider and that smile is going to burst open his face.

One could only wish.

“You need to get out before someone sees you,” I say, holding the curtain in place.

He pulls on it lightly, his eyes dropping to my chest. “A chance I’m willing to take. Let me see you try on that bra.”

How can a request like that make my clit literally tremble as if stroked?

“What on earth makes you think I would do that?”

Molten eyes meet mine, focused. Intense. I feel like I’m being eaten alive by that stare. “Because you
want
me to see you in all that lingerie, Kira,” he rasps.

My mouth goes dry. “Idiot, you’re my stepbrother. What if one of my friends come back here and see you standing there like a psycho?”

“Willing to risk it.”

Staring up at the ceiling, I wonder what the fuck I ever did to deserve any of this. Even worse, his obnoxious, demanding way of flirting is getting to me. All I feel is that yawning chasm of hunger for him, the soul-deep ache that wants to connect with his body.

No, not “connect.”
Fuck.
It always comes down to the sex with him. I refuse to attach feelings to it any longer. I’m just horny for him and frustrated because I can’t have him.

Nothing more.

Annoyed, I yank open the curtain.

And come face to face with that massive chest. “Excuse me.”

He doesn’t move.

Not surprising.

“Brayden.”

His hand shoots up, cupping my jaw. His thumb skims along my bottom lip, parting my mouth open slowly. The look in his eyes makes me tremble harder.

“Fuck, baby. You’re practically vibrating for what I’m dying to give you.”

I can’t help but moan quietly at his statement. Miserable due to my weakness, I jerk my face out of his grasp. “Please move.”

With a low sigh, he does.

Another pause on my part, and I’m reminded of last night again. I’m used to Brayden doing what he wants, whenever he wants. Him actually acquiescing to a request of mine is utterly new to me.

I blink up at him, taken aback.

He glowers at me.

I wonder . . . biting the corner of my lip, I decide to give it a shot. “You can go now.”

“You’re pushing it, baby,” he says, eyes on my mouth.

Fuck me. I swallow hard. “I want you to leave.”

“I already gave you that last night. Today? I’m sticking around. For a little while, at least.”

So much for acquiescence. “Brayden, I can’t afford to argue with you about this with my friends around.”

“Then don’t.”

I resist the urge to jam one of the hangers into his eye. Regardless of my feelings toward him, it really is a very pretty eye. “What can I say to get you to leave me alone?”

Brayden gives me a sheepish smile and shrugs. “Absolutely nothing. Short of forgiving me and admitting you’re mine, of course.”

“I’d be lying if I said any of that.” I stomp out of the stall. I’m almost at the entrance to the dressing rooms when it occurs to me. “You can’t exit at the same time as I do. What if my friends see you?” There’s no plausible way to explain why my stepbrother is in the dressing room with me.