I first met Matt about six months before, at our parents' wedding. I was in a bad mood that day, disgusted with my mother for what she was doing. My whole life, she'd worked in restaurants, waiting tables and dealing with irritable customers in order to make her living. She'd developed a bad back and serious foot problems over the years, but somehow she had still managed to keep her figure.
Which was probably how she managed to seduce the elderly Matthew Partridge Sr. She'd gotten a temp job working for a catering company that served the rich and famous. I'm not sure what she did to catch Mr. Partridge's eye, but one night after a long shift serving wine at an art gala, she'd gone home with him. Three months later, they were engaged.
I stood in the back of the room at the reception, nursing a glass of wine and watching with a scowl as my mom and Mr. Partridge danced for the first time. She didn't love him. I knew she didn't. She'd told me as much. She was a gold digger, plain and simple. Mr. Partridge was old and infirm, and she knew it would only be a few years, at most, before he kicked the bucket and she was left with a sizable fortune to inherit.
I scanned the room, but I didn't see any faces I recognized. Most of the crowd was rich folk and various celebrities. Mom had only invited a few close friends. And since I had no desire to mingle with rich snobs, that left me alone with just my wine glass.
“Not really your sort of party, is this?” a voice said.
I turned to see a rough-looking man approaching me. He had his shirt untucked and his tie was undone and slun haphazardly around his neck. He had a sharp jaw, deeply tanned skin, and deep, dark eyes.
“I prefer something a little more upbeat,” I said, looking out over the quiet, boring crowd. “I mean, no one even did the Chicken Dance.”
Everyone in the room was sitting quietly at their tables, talking and eating. It was all very subdued. Dinner had been even worse. People had glared at me when I used the wrong fork, and a very stiff woman in a tight, binding dress had cleared her throat at me and given me a judgmental stare when I put my elbows on the table.
“You're Anne, right?” the man said.
I eyed him warily, wondering how he knew me. “Yeah. Daughter of the bride, not that I thought I'd ever say that.” My mother had sworn off men when she divorced my father. She hadn't dated anyone in years, and she wasn't remotely the romantic type. She never would have pursued a relationship at all, if not for the prospect of striking it rich.
“Well, then,” he said, extending his hand to me, “looks like we're related.”
“Oh!” I took his hand, forcing a smile. “You'd be Matthew Junior, then.”
“Just Matt.” He chuckled. “The apple fell pretty far from the tree.”
“How far?” I asked, smirking.
“Care to find out?”
I frowned in confusion as he stepped towards the door, gesturing for me to follow. I finished the rest of my wine glass and set it down, then followed him. No one in the room even noticed us leave.
Out in the parking lot, we walked past several limousines and a line of very expensive cars, including Bentleys, a Ferrari, and a few Mercedes. I scanned the parking lot, wondering which of these luxury cars my billionaire stepbrother drove.
He stopped in front of a Harley Davidson, heavy on the chrome. “You're kidding, right?” I said.
He pulled a helmet from a compartment in the back and tossed it to me. I caught it and clutched it against my chest. “You want me to get on that thing?”
“You want to see a real party, don't you?” He straddled the bike and waved me over.
I walked over, looking at the bike, then at my dress. “I'm not really dressed for motorcycle riding.”
While I was putting the helmet on, he grabbed my skirt by the slit near the knee, and ripped it until the slit was all the way up my thigh. “There you go.”
I stared at him in shock. This was the most expensive dress I owned, and even if my mom had married a rich man, I was still dirt poor.
“Oh, don't worry about it,” he said, starting the bike and revving the engine. “I'll buy you a new one.”
I climbed onto the bike behind him. “Don't you need a helmet?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I can afford the best doctors in the world.”
With that he kicked the bike into gear and we tore out of the parking lot, leaving the boring wedding party behind.
We rode for about twenty minutes, with me clinging to Matt as hard as I could to keep from falling off. I was scared out of my mind, but at the same time, it was a rush. The bike vibrated between my legs, the engine roaring like a hungry lion. Matt took sharp turns at high speeds, making me squeal every time, though he had full control over the machine. Still, I was glad that I was the one wearing a helmet.
We finally pulled into the parking lot of a seedy looking bar. We climbed off the bike and Matt put the helmet back into its compartment. He led me inside, and I immediately felt like I was overdressed. I was wearing a shimmering blue dress and high heels. Most of the bar patrons were wearing biker leathers, stained blue jeans, and flannels. The bar smelled of old booze and cigarette smoke. Loud music played from the speakers overhead. A couple of burly men were playing pool in the back, and another group had a card game going with a pile of money in the center of the table.
“Jessup,” Matt said as he entered, “drinks all around. Put it on my tab.”
“Matty boy, my favorite customer,” the bartender said. He grinned, showing off a few missing teeth. “You want the usual?”
“Sure thing.” Matt looked at me and arched an eyebrow. “How about you, Sis? You a drinker?”
I looked around the room, feeling like everyone here would laugh at me if I ordered a wine cooler. “Whatever you're having is fine.”
“Make it two whiskey sours then, Jessup.” Matt grinned at me and led me to a table. He greeted a few people on the way by, patting their backs and shaking hands. The bartender poured our drinks, then started serving a free round to the rest of the bar, courtesy of my rich stepbrother.
I sat down and leaned over to whisper to him, “Do they know who you are?”
“Nah.” He took a sip of his drink. “I told them I won the lottery. No one really asks too many questions, as long as the free drinks keep on coming.”
We had a few drinks, then a few of Matt's bar buddies came over to join us. They all started talking, with one man telling a story about a recent run-in with the law, and another telling the tale of the time he got jumped by five punks at a highway rest stop.
“I had to call an ambulance for the poor fools,” he said at the end, laughing and slapping his knee. “Put all five of them in the hospital.”
“Yeah,” I said, snorting. “Sure. Sure you did.” I rolled my eyes.
He slammed his hand down on the table. “You calling me a liar, girl?”
I cringed and nearly fell back off my chair. Then the man's expression dropped into a grin and he laughed. The rest of the group laughed as well, a few of them clapping me on the back.
“Don't take the boys too seriously, Anne,” Matt said. “It's all in good fun.”
“I'll try to remember that.” I eyed him sidelong, wondering if this sort of place was where he always spent his time.
We spent a few hours at the bar, drinking with the guys and listening to their tall tales. At one point we started doing a line of shots, while a few people took bets on who would last the longest. I was out after three shots, though Matt and a husky, bearded fellow kept going until I was sure one of them was going to kill himself from so much booze.
The bearded fellow eventually fell face-first into the table, to the cheers and applause of the crowd. Money changed hands, and Matt took another drink in celebration. Then he got up, patting one of his friends on the back, and said, “Well, fellas, the road calls. Take it easy.”
I followed him out the door, my legs wobbly. “Are you sure you're okay to drive?” I asked him.
He pulled out the helmet and handed it to me. “Do you trust me?”
“No.” I pulled the helmet on and strapped it in place. “But I'm too drunk to care.”
He laughed and climbed onto the bike. We tore off through the streets again, the rushing wind helping to clear my head. The street lights flashed by, making me dizzy, and everything started to blur together. Somewhere along the way, I blacked out.
I woke up in an unfamiliar room, laying in an unfamiliar bed. I was stripped down to my bra and panties. The bed was covered in silvery silk sheets. It was the softest and most comfortable bed I'd ever been in. I was freaked out at finding myself there, but the bed was so warm that for a moment, I just hugged the sheets tighter around myself and savored the moment.
Then I turned over and saw my stepbrother sleeping next to me.
“Oh God.” I sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover my nakedness. “God, no. No. We didn't.”
Matt stirred, looking up at me sleepily. “No, we didn't.”
“We didn't?”
He laughed and propped himself up on his elbows, yawning. “No. I'd never take advantage of a drunk girl.” He looked me up and down, watching the way the sheet molded against my ample curves. “Though now that you're sober.”
“Gross,” I said, smacking him in the face with a pillow. “You're my brother. Technically.”
“Stepbrother,” he said, holding up a finger. “It's not like we're related by blood.”
“I don't care. Eww. No.” I climbed out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around myself like a toga. When I pulled the sheet off the bed with me, I saw Matt was wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. I saw his bulge straining against it, revealing that he hadn't been joking when he came on to me.
“Where's my dress?” I asked.
“Garbage, remember?”
I sighed, remembering the way he'd torn the dress. “So, what am I supposed to wear?”
He pointed across the room to a package sitting on the dressed. “I had something delivered.”
I opened the package and found a blouse and a pair of pants that looked about my size, along with a stunning blue dress to replace the one I'd lost. The clothes had designer labels, and I went pale thinking about how much they'd cost.
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my back to him. “Is there someplace I can go change?”
“Too shy to do it right here?”
I glanced over my shoulder at him, my face heating up. Part of me was tempted. He was certainly attractive enough, and I liked the way he was looking at my body. But it was too weird.
“The bathroom is right over there,” he said, pointing to a door to my left.
“Thanks.” I headed in and shut the door, locking it behind me. There was a spacious shower, which I made use of before drying myself off and getting dressed. By the time I finished, Matt was already gone. I searched through the apartment, looking for him. The place was huge. My entire apartment could have fit into just his living room. It was decorated with expensive furniture, a leather sofa, a gigantic widescreen TV, and works of art that had probably cost six figures each.
While I searched the living room, a girl in a maid's uniform entered, carrying a vacuum. She was dressed so skimpily that I thought she looked more like a porn star than an actual maid. “Miss Anne?” she asked. I nodded. “Mr. Partridge said to tell you to make yourself at home. And there's a car waiting for you downstairs, whenever you wish to leave.”
“Thanks.” I took one more look around the room, sighing. I wasn't sure how to feel about my stepbrother running off and leaving me like that. I was oddly angry, though I told myself I had no reason to be. It wasn't like he was a guy I'd dated who'd left the morning after sex. Nothing had happened between us, and nothing ever would.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
* * *