Hawk (A Stepbrother Romance #3)(56)

"Alex," he whispers.

"Yeah."

"I love you."

I suck in a breath, startled.

He takes a deep breath, drawing in my scent.

"Even if you stink," he adds.

I elbow him in the stomach and he slowly draws out of me, then rolls onto his back. He stands, yanks the blanket out from under me and pulls it over my body, tucking it under my chin, and dresses. I watch him tug on his clothes, lace up his boots again, and stoop to the floor. He rises with my underwear with his hand, buries his face in it, and takes a deep breath.

Then he sticks them in his pocket.

"Hey," I whisper, sharply. "Give those back."

He crawls over the bed and pulls the window up again, and swings his legs out.

"You'll have to take them from me," he says, and drags himself up the side of the house.

I sit up, clutching my blanket to my chest, and pull the sash down.

With a sigh, I collapse back into the pillow and stare through the glass into the dark. "I love you too," I whisper.





Hawk





Now





I can't stand much more of this.

It's been three days and I'm losing my mind. I stand in the kitchen, ready to head out on a morning run, and Alexis comes down the stairs, stockings on her long pale legs, a tight pencil skirt and a sleeveless blouse, her hair done up, full makeup. She looks like somebody's sexy secretary fantasy. I wouldn't mind, except it's not my fantasy, it's my f*cking father's.

I know what she means now by him making her dress up to his tastes like a goddamn doll. She gives me a mournful look before her face goes still like a porcelain mask and she knocks on the office door. My father opens it and stands over her, smiling a wolfish smile and appraising her openly, focusing especially on her legs. She doesn't show much else; Alex never dressed provocatively, but the neckline of her top is conservative, even for her.

Like a perfect gentleman, he sweeps her inside, which gives him a nice view of the back. I slip out of view before he turns to look at me and walk out onto the back porch, into the heat. Sweat beads on my back as soon as the sunlight hits me. It'll top one hundred today and the humidity is off the scale; it goes any higher and I'll be pushing fish out of the way to walk down the sidewalk.

I have to do something physical, burn some energy, because if I don't, I'm going to walk back in there, rip my father's face off, throw Alex over my shoulder and carry her out like a goddamn caveman. If somebody wants to stop me they better bring six more guys and a bag lunch, because I'm ready to go all day. If he touches her, I swear I'll skin him alive. Alexis tells me he never puts a hand on her-maybe a pat on the shoulder now and then, but he's never gone beyond that.

I made her tell me ten times, and still a little voice whispers this will be the day he takes it a step further.

She's mine. Her silky skin, her soft hair that always smells like lavender, her rich lips and the lush curves of her body, the heat of her as she pulls me close. I should be making up for lost time and here I am standing out in the summer heat raging and horny, fighting the urge to barge back in there and put this shit right.

My hands curl into fists. My forearms bulge, the veins standing out, cutting lines through the tattoos. What good is all this power if I can't use it?

Need air, need to move.

I walk out of the yard, jog down the street, and break into a run. I should be watching over Alex, but if I hang around her neck every second, my father will get suspicious. I'm sure he already knows I'm here for her, why else would I come back? It's not to see him or my brother. As I run faster, the shock of the pavement jolts up my legs, drives me to surge ahead and put on even more speed until my legs are on fire and every breath is like hot coals. It's so f*cking hot.

I thought Afghanistan was hot, but it wasn't close to this, the air pressing on your skin, sweat running in a waterfall down your back. I should have remembered, but it never seemed so hot when I was a kid. Hiking with Alex, it was always hot out and sweat would soak through our clothes, but neither of us ever seemed to care. I used to bump into her and her skin would be sticky, cling to mine for a moment just from the touch.

Out in the game lands there's a swimming hole-a broad clear pond, if it's big enough to be called a pond, no more than maybe ten feet deep in the middle. Everyone went there, and half the time jumped in with their clothes on. Alexis never bothered with a bathing suit, she'd just leap in wearing a t-shirt and shorts, leave her shoes on the back and get her feet all muddy. Then when the sun dipped and the mosquitoes came out, she'd come striding out of the water, mud up to her knees, water streaming from her hair and hands and clothes, her t-shirt glued to her skin.

I can see it as clearly as I see the road in front of me now, hear the peeper frogs in the distance crying out in unison as the day grew long. By the time we walked back to town, we'd just be damp and snapping and swatting at mosquitoes, enough mosquitoes to carry you off. Then the next week I'd be itching at a dozen bites. Alex never got one, like she was too pure to by sullied by the proboscis of an insect.

Proboscis. Alexis made me memorize that one for a tenth grade biology test and for some reason it's stuck in my head all these years later. She was sitting on her bed with the giant textbook propped open in her lap, quizzing me on the vocabulary terms for the test. I learned plenty of math and anatomy and shit later, in corps school, but back then I only cared so much because she was insistent I learn it.