Chapter Two
Amy’s body was fucking gorgeous.
Good thing they weren’t really related by blood. Because his mind went straight to the gutter where she was concerned. He had this urge to bend her over the desk and—
He gritted his teeth. Probably a gold digger just like her mother, the way she’d claimed his house as her own. She hadn’t wasted any time, that’s for sure.
That cooled his thoughts.
He’d checked his email again after coming downstairs. His pops had sent a message while Hawke was in Mexico stating he’d invited his new young stepdaughter to convalesce at the family home. Which honestly would have been fine if she weren’t so fucking tempting.
He watched as she bit her bottom lip, her gaze flitting guiltily around the room before landing back on his. For a second, he thought he saw a matching awareness there before she blinked long, doe-like lashes and the expression was gone.
This had disaster written all over it. He hadn’t hooked up with anyone in months, focusing instead on work and expanding their dealership presence in south Texas, and now he was regretting his recent abstinence, given how his dick currently had a mind of its fucking own.
He’d never been attracted to a stepsibling before, so the taboo images currently parading through his mind of the things he’d like to do to his sister made him both hot as hell and uncomfortable. This was entirely her fault.
“Do you always try to take over a house where you’re a guest?” His voice came out rougher than she deserved, but this wouldn’t be the first time one of his steps had taken advantage. He was quick to set ground rules with new family members. If they didn’t like it, they could get the hell out.
She leaned back against the doorframe, so thin and fragile. Leave it to him to pick on the poor defenseless dancer, but he needed to lay down the law. “I didn’t— I had no idea this was your house. I thought it belonged to Mr. Vance, and, yes, he told me I could stay here for as long as I wanted. I mean, I wasn’t trying to take over, just make myself at home for the summer.”
His eyebrows shot up. As long as she wanted? His pops knew he was going to be staying at the house for the summer. His email had been vague on timeline, and Hawke had assumed she’d be there a day or two. But the whole damn summer? What the fuck was his old man thinking? He’d clearly never met his hot little stepdaughter who looked like she belonged on a pole.
Actually—his gaze roamed up and down her lithe figure—her breasts seemed a bit on the small side for a stripper. But still, he was pretty sure they’d fill his hands nicely. Besides, boobs didn’t matter when you had long, gazelle-like legs that could wrap around a man’s waist and pull him balls deep inside her depths.
And now his cock was hard as fuck. Lovely. He rolled his chair farther under the desk. Step. Sister. Mother fucker.
“I…will go. I don’t understand why he would say it’s okay if this is your place. I’m… I’ll go pack. I’ll be out of your hair in—ouch!” She turned quickly and then crumpled to the floor with a loud wail. “Merde.”
He was out of his chair in a flash. Was this some kind of act? She drew her knees up and put her head on them. Then he remembered she’d hurt her leg or something.
“I need a second.” She sniffed and then coughed, keeping her head turned away from him.
Is she crying?
Ah, hell. He couldn’t handle that crap. Made him feel like a bastard when a woman cried. Even if he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d just been trying to set the ground rules.
“You don’t have to go. I have this house set up so that family can come and go, and technically, you’re family.”
Which he clearly needed to remind his dick every five seconds.
“Thanks. But I’d rather go. I just forget that I can’t move quite like I did before.” Her back straightened, and she lifted her chin. The queen had returned.
“How did you hurt yourself?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
She cleared her throat. “I’m a ballet dancer. I hurt the ankle during a performance. And then the knee trying to get back to my dressing room on one foot.”
Ballet dancer? Well, shit. He hadn’t expected that.
“Like tutus and stuff?”
She turned and grinned at him. “Yep. Lots of tutus.”
That smile drew him to her like a moth to light. Before he knew it, he was bending down to scoop her up.
Her eyes popped wide. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.” It was the least he could do, since he’d been such a jerk. It wasn’t her fault he wanted to take her on every flat surface in the place. And probably against the wall, too. Do not think of her pushed up against a wall, breathing hard and moaning as you pound into her, over and over… And there it was, the image, Technicolor and with Dolby surround sound, punching him in the gut with desire. Think about engine parts, you dumbass. Throttle. Pistons. Spark plugs.
Not fucking helping.
He carried her into the family room attached to the kitchen. “Do you need some ice or something?” he asked as he put her down on the couch and pulled one of the ottomans close so she could prop her legs up.
“Uh. I’m okay. But thanks. Give me a bit, and I’ll go upstairs and pack.”
“Why did you pick a room upstairs with your knee and ankle so bad?” He saw it now, the ankle was in a boot, but the top of her foot and toes were black, green, and weird shades of purple. She really was hurt. Dammit. He was an asshole.
His protective instincts kicked in. If this had been any one of his other siblings, he’d be taking care of them. Making sure they had the proper medical care.
“The rooms down here were really big. I like smaller spaces.”
That made no sense. “You really don’t have to go.” That was a lie. He needed her to go. He wasn’t sure how long he’d last with her around wearing that sports bra and those tight little pants. Did the woman not own any clothes?
“I, once again, feel like an idiot. I came here because one of the best physical therapists for my type of injury lives here. When your dad said I could use the house until they got back from their honeymoon, I didn’t think about someone else being here. First, I swim naked in your pool, and then I accuse you of being a robber. You must think I’m the biggest idiot. This has been a day of mortification. Actually, the last couple of weeks has been one long crapfest.”
No. She wasn’t dumb. That was the last thing he was thinking. His thoughts were more along the lines of wondering how tight her body would fit over his—
Shocks. Cylinders. Push rod.
Again. Not fucking helping, dipshit.
“Why were you naked in the pool?” He’d been curious since he’d seen her swimming around like some siren sending out a mating call with her supple body.
“No bathing suit,” she said simply.
Sounded like a valid reason to him. She said she’d had a bad week. That wasn’t really his problem, but she was hurt. Why couldn’t he shake the pictures of her mouth around his—crankshaft, gas tank… Nope. Motorcycle parts were not cooling him down at all.
He turned abruptly and strode to the window overlooking the river before she noticed the raging hard-on he was clearly incapable of reining in. He raked a hand through his hair. Hawke loved this place in the summer. Too bad he was going to have to miss it this year. No way could he share a roof with this ballerina and not get her naked.
“Not an idiot. Like I said, this house is open to my steps. I guess you’re the newest one.” He turned back to her and shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets. “Welcome to the family.”
That was some lame shit. She was probably no different than her mother. Apples didn’t fall far from trees. That was one reason he’d never marry. And he’d never put a kid through the parade of stepmothers he’d experienced over his lifetime.
Her boobs started vibrating and then ringing. Not that he was looking at her tits.
But you are.
She was wearing just a bra; how could he not?
She rolled her eyes as she pulled a phone from out of her bra. “I stuck it in there so I could use both hands to get down the stairs.” She glanced at the screen. “Can you excuse me for a second?” She tried to get up.
He waved her down. “I’ll go in the other room.”
He headed back to his father’s office, but he could still hear her.
“Bo? What’s going on?”
Who was that? A boyfriend? A boyfriend would certainly throw a bucket of ice on his dick. He didn’t play in another man’s yard.
He should have shut the door, but he was already sitting down in the office chair. He grabbed the will, but he was too distracted by her conversation to read.
“Yeah. I have a job with the ballet company in Paris, dancing in the corp. Or at least, I did. I hurt myself.” There was a long pause. “No, um, we have the summer off.” Something changed in her voice, as if maybe that last part wasn’t the truth, or she was leaving something out of her story.
So she really was that kind of dancer. That explained why there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her. Not that he minded. When it came to women, he liked them in all shapes and sizes. Variety, without a long-term commitment, was the way he preferred to live his life.
A boyfriend would have known where she worked, so who the hell was on the phone?
“No. Dancers don’t make much. I understand, but I don’t have that kind of money. No. Not till I—no, I can’t ask her again. She told me last time was it. I’m sure, but I just don’t have it. I can’t touch that until I’m twenty-seven.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need more time than that. Just be patient, and I’ll get it for you.”
She owed Bo money. And it sounded like he was tired of waiting on it.
He glanced down at the will.
“I’m not really—no, I get it. I’ll see what I can do. Can I call you back on this number? I promise. I’ll try. I just—that’s a lot of money, and I don’t have it. But I’ll figure something out.”
A few minutes later, he heard her making her way upstairs. He wondered how much was a lot to her. Was she like her mother? Another gold digger? She didn’t seem the type, but then neither had stepmother number five. She’d helped cure his first hangover and hadn’t told his dad. Then she’d tried to take the company from the family in the divorce.
He glanced down at the will again.
The kernel of an idea was forming in his head—a crazy as fuck idea—but one his dick was completely on board with.
She needed money. He needed a wife to gain control of his mom’s shares in the company. And she was leaving for Paris in two months, so she wouldn’t be sticking around and wanting to play house for the two years he had to stay married to get control of the shares. The plan could work.
Plus, if she were his wife and not his stepsister, he could totally fuck her out of his system. He liked that part of the plan best of all.
Now he just had to convince her to take the bait.
…
Stretching. Barre work. These were the things that calmed her. Routine. Repetitive movement. She craved it most days. The tendu, plié, and développé were such a part of her daily routine that she was angsty when she didn’t get her workout in.
She held on to the small chair by the desk in her room. She couldn’t put weight on her foot or plié because of the knee, but she could do some Pilates exercises to help her.
Sitting in the chair, she scissored her legs straight out from her body, holding her core tight.
Her stepbrother Bo needed a lot of money. Again. She’d given him all she had once before, but this time he was actually in trouble. He needed fifty-thousand dollars or he might go to jail for fraud. Her stomach sank at the thought of her clever and sweet-natured stepbrother going down such a bad road. His father had not been a kind man. Her mom had only been married to him for six months before she’d left him and his temper, taking his only son with her. Bo just needed to believe in himself as much as she and her mother did.
A knock on the door made her shoulders jump. Oh crap, she was supposed to be packing. Just one more crappy thing to add to her list. She needed to find a new place to live because staying with Hawke was not an option. Just looking at him did wicked things to her body.
And technically, they were family now.
So wrong.
Oh yeah, and he definitely wasn’t reciprocating on the vibes. When he’d found out who she was, he’d stared at her like she had some communicable disease.
“Come in.” She drew her knees up to her chest as the door swung open.
“How’s the knee and ankle?” He was so big he filled the room. He sat down on the edge of her bed and faced her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“About the same. I was about to start packing.” Well, she’d at least thought about it.
“Look…” He shoved hand through his hair. Those dark waves were impossibly sexy. And that jawline. What would it feel like rubbing against—
“I’m not sure how to say this.”
Pay attention.
She glanced to the window on her left, hoping he didn’t notice her cheeks heating with embarrassment at the thoughts dancing through her head. “Say what?” She tried to focus on the beautiful backyard with the pool and the Jacuzzi. She’d so been looking forward to working out in the pool. Now she had to leave.
“Who is Bo?”
She zeroed back in on his rugged face. “You overheard?” She frowned. Nosy bastard.
“And you owe him money?”
What the hell? Where was he going with this? “Uh, I don’t want to be rude, especially the way this day has gone so far, but that isn’t any of your business.”
“What if I make it my business?”
This guy was unreal. He might be hotter than heck, but he was slowly turning out to be a first-rate jerk. He’d made her feel about as unwelcome as a person could get. She understood why he’d been angry when they first met, but she’d only said that it was her place because she didn’t want someone stealing from her new family. No way in hell would she let on about her problems. Not to this guy.
“Like I said, I’ll be out of your hair soon. No reason to get involved with my…business.”
“Didn’t sound like you have enough money to pay him off. And with your accident, you probably aren’t drawing full pay. Am I right?”
Forget jerk. This guy was a straight-up asshole. It irked her that he was right. How about no pay? Not after what happened.
I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t have to sit here and listen to his bossy crap. I don’t owe him anything. Except maybe some sandwich meat.
She straightened out her legs and used the chair to help herself up. She limped to the closet where she grabbed her duffle. After opening the drawers to the dresser near the bathroom door, she tossed the folded clothes into the bag.
“I said you don’t have to go.”
She glared at him over her shoulder. “And I told you I don’t want to stay.”
“Where will you go? You mentioned it was a lot of money, so how much?” He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. Hell. If anything, the disheveled look was even more appealing.
Stepbrother. Ugh.
“Look, like I said, not your business. I’m not borrowing money from you. Sort of family or not. I don’t need your help. I’m pretty good at figuring things out on my own. I’ve been doing it since I was fourteen.” Lately she’d been a mess, but he didn’t need to know that. Her life was one giant toilet bowl at the moment. “But thanks.” She hoped that would get rid of him.
He stood and crossed the room. He glanced down at the red thong she held in her hand and shoved his hands in his pockets. Why did he look so angry? She was leaving.
“It’s not really borrowing. I’m willing to give you the money. No strings. Well, there are strings, but they might benefit us both, at least for a little while.”
What was he doing?
His eyes were still fixed on the thong. She tossed it into the bag.
“Really? You just have fifty-thousand dollars sitting around to give me?” she challenged, thinking the amount might finally shut him up. This guy was unreal.
“No.” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “I’d have to go to the bank, but I can have it transferred to your loan shark, Bo, later today.”
Just like that? Who had her mother really married? She thought the guy owned a place where they fixed motorcycles and stuff. Did those guys make this kind of money? Or maybe they were actually drug dealers.
Crap, Mom. Your taste in men. And everyone thought Amy was the too-trusting one. “Uh. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Don’t you even want to hear what the string might be?”
She was curious. But she shook her head.
His eyebrow rose again. Damn him. He knew she was curious as hell.
“Fine. What is the string?”
“Marry me.”
…
After she put the duffle on the floor, she filled her backpack with her toiletries. The idiot had gone downstairs. Her mother had once again married into a crazy family.
Her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter.
“Sorry, sis. I feel terrible. But this is serious shit.” He texted her a pic of some official document from the FBI.
She leaned on the counter for support. Much like herself, Bo had trusted the wrong person. Now he was in deep shit. Funny that they weren’t related by blood, because they both seemed to have a lot of drama going on.
She hated drama. Hated that Paris had nearly broken her in the very worst way. Then came the injury. Now she was homeless and broke.
I can transfer the money to your loan shark today.
No. She couldn’t do it. She loved Bo so much, but she wouldn’t be tied to Hawke. He was insane. And too much—too handsome, too rich… She was curious how a guy who worked on motorcycles had a house like this, plus fifty thou he could just give her without blinking an eye.
If I marry him.
She shivered. The way he’d stared at her red thong made her panties damp. Why the hell, when she hadn’t had the hots for anyone in years, did her body want him? Her mind was like, no, no, no. But her traitorous body wanted to know what it would feel like to have those big hands coursing down her rib cage to her—
The phone buzzed again. “I have sixty days to pay back the investors. I’m sorry I called you. I will figure this out. Don’t worry.”
Could she let Bo go to federal prison? There were two people she could ask for help. There was one she’d sworn she’d never turn to again. Talk about strings. But the other… I can’t believe I’m considering this.
It was two months out of her life. And she could set up ground rules. Tell him how it was going to be. And she was curious. Why in the hell did he need to get married? And why her? It didn’t make any sense. A guy like him could have any woman he wanted.
Because he’s crazy. He didn’t like her. And they were technically family. There were probably laws about that sort of thing. Even though they hadn’t met until today.
“Love you. I mean it, don’t worry.”
As if she could stop.
She had a way to help fix his problem. It just meant hanging out for two months with a crazy man.
I can do anything for two months.
Maybe.