Stepbrother Billionaire(7)

“No!” I screech, my stomach dropping at the thought of him getting an eyeful of my cooch from down below.

In a desperate, unthinking moment, I try and smooth down my skirt, losing my grip on the flimsy trellis. I feel my body pitching backward, plummeting through the air. I brace myself for the impact, waiting to hear my bones crackling as I hit the ground. But in the next moment, I feel two thick arms wrap firmly around my small body. I blink up at Emerson from where I lay cradled in his grasp. He didn’t even stagger when I fell into his embrace, he’s that much bigger than I am. For a moment, it’s all we can do to stare at each other in wonder. We’re closer than we’ve ever been before. So, so close...

I glance down at my legs and see that one of Emerson’s hands is gripping my bare ass, full on—the tips of his fingers dangerously close to my exposed sex.

“Oh,” I say faintly.

“Oh...” he replies, realizing what it is that he’s got a handful of.

He lowers me unceremoniously to my feet, brushing himself off brusquely. Am I crazy, or is that a slight blush creeping into his cheeks?

“Let’s get out of here,” he says gruffly, shoving my panties back into my hands and taking off at a jog.

I stare at his retreating back for a long moment before coming to. With trembling hands, I step back into my lacy underwear and set off in his wake. No way is he going to wait around for me—I should know that much by now.





Chapter Two





We spend the next hour darting through the thick, shadowy woods that blanket the town, slowly making our way home. Barely a word is spoken by either of us as we make our way along, pausing whenever we hear a siren in the distance. By the time we stumble through the brush and land in our backyard, I’m covered in scrapes and dirt. Emerson, for his part, seems to be mostly unscathed. But of course he is.

The lights are all out as we tiptoe into my childhood home—a stately but relatively modest Tudor house. Dad and Deborah must be asleep by now. It is, after all, past two in the morning. Hopefully Dad won’t ask too many questions about what I’m doing home in the morning—I told him I’d be sleeping over at Riley’s. But he’s not exactly the type to check up, and I doubt that Deborah even goes through the motions of keeping tabs on Emerson anymore. With a little bit of luck, we’ll be in the clear.

Emerson and I slip through the back doors and plod up the carpeted staircase, skipping the creaky stair, coming at last to the second story landing. There are three bedrooms in my dad’s house: the master bedroom just off the landing, which he and Deborah are sharing now, and two smaller rooms at either side of the hall. My room is down to the right, Emerson’s is to the left. He doesn’t even bother saying goodnight before turning away and slipping into his room. With a sigh, I trudge back to my own quarters at the opposite end of the hall.

Closing the door gently behind me, I belly flop onto my bed, burying my face in the fluffy pillow and fighting the urge to scream. I can’t sort through everything that happened between Emerson and I tonight. Between the tense moments during Seven Minutes of Heaven to his accidental but steamy caress after I took a tumble off the trellis, I’m totally at a loss. Tonight was the first time we’ve seen each other outside of school and home since he and Deborah moved in. And it’s certainly the first time anything so...charged has passed between us.

I flip over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars I put up as a kid still hang overhead, despite my near-adult status. With a pang of heartache, I realize that Emerson and I are bound to part ways once we turn eighteen and graduate high school. I’ll never know what could have been between us, if our parents hadn’t ruined everything by getting together. Then again, he probably never would have even learned my name if not for them. So I guess I should be somewhat grateful. Emphasis on somewhat.

Knowing that I’ll never fall asleep with all this tension built up inside of me, I roll over and slide open the top drawer of my night table. There, hidden among a jumble of makeup and jewelry, is a tiny device disguised to look like a tube of lipstick. Its actual purpose is a whole lot more in line with what I need right now.

I press a hidden button on the little bullet and smile as it whirs to life. My reliable vibrator—the best battery-operated boyfriend around. Laying back, I bring the vibrator down between my legs, slipping it beneath the lace panties that Emerson held in his hands not hours ago. The mere thought of his broad, capable hands is enough to get me off almost at once. Swallowing a low moan, I come into that black lace g-string, with Emerson’s face suspended in my mind’s eye all the while.

“Hopefully that won’t make breakfast too awkward,” I whisper to myself, savoring the relaxing wave that washes over me as I drift into a deep, satisfied sleep.





The silence that first fell between Emerson and I after he saved me from breaking my neck persists for the better part of the next two weeks. My handsome housemate may as well be a ghost, for all I see of him. He leaves for school early in the morning, stays out late at night, and generally avoids me like the plague. Did I totally wig him out that night at the party? I could have sworn that he was sending me some flirtatious signals, but maybe I totally misread him. Maybe he just thinks I’m an incest-loving freak show now.

I’ve never been the best flirt, I guess.