Stepbrother Billionaire Read online

  “OK!” Courtney chirps, rubbing her hands together and looking around at her assembled guests. “Let’s do this. Everyone know the rules of Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Her eyes land on me. “Abby?”

  “Ha. Ha.” I murmur, wanting very badly to melt into a puddle. “Yes, I know the rules. I was in eighth grade once, too.”

  The group chuckles, surprised by my swipe at the queen bee. Courtney isn’t the kind of girl who gets talked back to very often. Which, in my opinion, is why she should be talked back to at every opportunity. Even Emerson cocks his head at me in something that looks faintly like admiration. Or at least, something other than generally bored disdain, which is his default attitude toward me.

  “OK. So who wants to pick our first two victims?” Courtney asks, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Me! Dibs!” Riley says firmly, thrusting her hand into the air before anyone else has a chance to. A cold stab of panic rips through me as my best friend smiles wickedly.

  “Great,” Courtney chirps. “Riley, you start. Who should we stick in the closet first?”

  “Don’t you dare,” I mutter under my breath, “Riley, I mean it—”

  “Emerson and Abby!” Riley crows triumphantly, shooting me a smile that clearly says, You know you want it. You’ll thank me for this someday.

  “Oh,” Courtney replies, the corners of her pretty mouth turning down. “I mean. I guess that’s fine. If you’re into incest or whatever.”

  Our classmates laugh with delight as that taboo word drifts through the air like some smoke from one of Emerson’s cigarettes. A deep pang of shame twists my core. I’ve spent many a sleepless night berating myself for still being attracted to Emerson. I’ve hurled the “i word” at myself a million times, hoping to break the spell he’s cast over me. But no dice. No matter how wrong the rest of the world might think it is, I’m crazy for this gorgeous, cool, sneakily intelligent boy. Our parents little affair can’t change that.

  “Super twisted, Riley,” Emerson laughs, crossing his thick arms. “I like it.”

  Courtney’s eyes flash with jealousy as she swings her gaze my way.

  “Fine,” she snaps, clearly annoyed not to be heading into the closet with Emerson herself. “But you two had better make good on it. No twiddling your thumbs in there. We’ll want some proof that you actually did something. Right everyone?”

  A chorus of assenting murmurs sounds off around the circle. I look around at my classmates, befuddled and humiliated.

  “What the hell kind of proof do you want?” I ask, “I’m not the sex tape sorta gal.”

  “Figure it out yourself,” Courtney sniffs, shoving Emerson toward me. “You can thank your bestie Riley for her suggestion.”

  “Thanks bestie,” Emerson grins at Riley, coming to a stop in front of me. He makes a grand sweeping gesture, offering his arm as if we were going to a ball. “Ma’am?” he teases.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I grumble, storming past him to the closet door.

  The crowd makes kissy noises as I wrench open the door and march inside with Emerson on my heels. As I step into the space, I’m taken aback. I was expecting some kind of coat closet, with barely enough room to move around. But of course, Courtney’s closet is an enormous walk-in affair, with rows and rows of clothing, shoes, and accessories lining the huge space. Her closet is fancier, and perhaps even as big, as my bedroom at home. There are golden-plated fixtures, a sparkly chandelier hanging overhead, and a decadent, velvet fainting sofa standing front-and-center.

  Emerson steps up beside me as both of our gazes fall on the couch. We steal simultaneous glances at each other, then quickly look away. My cheeks flame red as I try and dislodge the sexy image playing out in my mind’s eye: Emerson laying me out across that sofa, ripping my clothes off, and having his way with me as the smooth velvet upholstery caresses my bare skin.

  He, on the other hand, is probably preoccupied with counting down the minutes before this little joke is over.

  “See? This is why I never come to parties,” I murmur, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.

  “Really? I thought it was ‘cause no one ever asked you to,” he says wryly, taking a seat on the fainting sofa and stretching out his long, toned body. Tormenting me, is more like it.

  “I would have expected you to have better plans, at least,” I reply. “We need to start coordinating with each other so this doesn’t happen.”

  “What, this?” he asks, gesturing around at the closet as our seven minutes unfold.

  “Not this specifically,” I say, rolling my eyes, “I just mean we should avoid seeing each other any more than we absolutely have to. Especially now that you and your mother...” I trail off, shaking my head.

  “Since we what?” Emerson snaps, suddenly on the defensive, “Invaded your precious ivory tower?”

  I bite my lip, intimidated by his heated tone. My dad and Deborah have recently decided to move in together. Or rather, they’ve decided that Deborah and Emerson are going to move in with us. They’re going to rent out their apartment on the other side of town and shack up in our place for the time being. One big, utterly strange, less-than-happy family. As if crushing on Emerson wasn’t weird enough for me, now the object of my unfortunate desire is going to be sleeping under the same roof, as well. College really can’t start soon enough for me.

  “You have to admit, it’s kind of strange,” I murmur, averting my eyes. “Dad and Deborah’s whole thing, I mean. They’ve known each other for, what, two months? And they’re already moving in together?”

  “My mom’s a crazy, impulsive bitch,” Emerson shrugs, “And your dad seems like someone who does whatever the fuck he wants without thinking about the consequences. What about this is surprising to you?”

  “Good point,” I laugh hollowly, daring to sit on the very edge of the couch beside him. The mere proximity of his body to mine has my stomach twisting in anxious knots. Has it been seven minutes yet or what?

  “Well,” Emerson sighs, swinging his legs around so that he’s sitting beside me. “Are we gonna get it on now or what?”

  “Ugh,” I groan, giving him a shove, “Stop it, would you? Why do you get so much pleasure out of making me miserable?”

  “I don’t,” he replies, “It’s just so goddamn easy that I can’t help myself. How the hell did you get to be such a little prude?”

  “Who says I’m a prude?” I shoot back, “You don’t know anything about my life.”

  “I know that I’ve never seen you even talk to a guy,” Emerson shoots back.

  “What’re you, keeping track of my lovers or something?” I reply. “Get a life, Sawyer.”

  Of course, I don’t mind at all that Emerson’s taking notice of my love life, paltry though it may be. As insane as it is, I can’t help but hope that there’s some chance he could come to feel the same way about me as I do him. Call me a dreamer, I guess. A dirty dreamer.

  “What are brothers for?” Emerson grins, slipping an arm around my waist.

  My head sets to spinning as the nearness of him entrances me. I look up at his gorgeous, sculpted face, mere inches away from my own. I’ve never been this close to him before. I memorize the contours of his perfect features—his high cheekbones, his aquiline nose, the scruff along his razor sharp jaw, and of course those dark blue eyes. From this close, I can see that there are specks of gold gleaming in his irises, and a dash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. At last, my eyes land firmly on his full, firm lips, half curled into a devilish grin.

  His arm is still circled around my tiny waist. Am I imagining things, or is his grip growing the slightest bit tighter? A silence blooms over us, heavy and thick. My eyes flick back up to his. A cast of seriousness has come over his gaze. To my amazement, I watch as his face moves closer to mine, by barely a millimeter—

  “Five minutes!” I hear Courtney call from outside the door.

  “Shit,” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from his perfect f
ace. My whole body is on fire with scattered anticipation. For a second there, I actually thought he was going to kiss me. Talk about wishful thinking. “So. How are we going to please the horny masses?” I ask, nodding toward the door.

  “I have an idea,” Emerson says, his grin returning at full force. “You’re going to give me your panties.”

  My jaw falls open as I whip around to face him. “Excuse me?” I splutter.

  “You heard me. Hand them over,” Emerson says, punching me lightly on the arm. “I can hold them up as proof that we did the deed, and everyone will know that you’re not a frigid, virginal weirdo.”

  “That is so messed up,” I say, jumping to my feet. I’m just going to leave the whole “frigid virgin” thing alone for now, I decide. No use opening that can of worms. “Let those assholes think what they want. I’ll never have to see any of them again in a few months.”

  “Come on, Sis. Do it for me, then,” Emerson says, standing to meet me. He catches my arm, giving me a soft tug toward him. “Don’t you want to help me protect my reputation?”

  “Not really,” I reply, as he closes the space between us. I wonder if he can see my heart pounding through my black sweater, see my knees trembling beneath my tartan miniskirt?

  “What if I ask you nicely?” he returns, his voice softer, huskier than I’ve ever heard it. He runs his hands down my arms, not an inch of air between our bodies. That seriousness has hardened his features once again...or is he just fucking with me?

  “Are you really capable of that? Asking nicely?” I try to joke, but my own voice seems to have dropped a lusty octave. My breath catches in my throat as his hands land firmly on my slender hips.

  “Give me your panties,” he growls, his fingers tightening ever-so-slightly, “Please.”

  I stare up at him in amazement. He’s totally serious. If I had any sense at all, I’d step away, laugh off his request, and wait for the next five minutes to tick by. But my sense has been fully eclipsed by my want to please him in any way that I can. Maybe he’s joking after all, but I’m not going to let this moment slip away between my fingers. I have to show Emerson Sawyer what I’m made of. It’s now or never.

  “You have to turn around,” I whisper hoarsely.

  His eyes spark with intrigued wonder. Slowly, silently, he pivots away from me. Keeping my eyes fixed firmly on his face to make sure he doesn’t peek, I reach up under my skirt and slip my thumbs under the elastic band of my panties. Thank god I thought to wear one of my sexiest pairs tonight. I don’t usually go for fancy underthings, but this black lace g-string is an exception. My breath comes hard and fast as I slowly lower my panties over my firm ass and thighs, balancing carefully as I ease them down. I step out of them, wobbling just slightly, and shiver as I feel the cool air against my sex. I can feel myself getting wet, standing so close to Emerson, bare and ready. God, I hope he won’t be able to tell. Unless he intends to make good on it, that is...

  “Here,” I tell him, holding up the delicate lace g-string.

  Emerson turns back to face me, looking taken off guard for the first time since I’ve known him. “Damn,” he murmurs, taking the panties carefully—almost reverently—from my hand. “There’s more to you than I thought, Abby.”

  He called me Abby, not “Sis”, I think to myself, a grin spreading across my face. Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn’t such a terrible game after all...

  “Now, my question is,” I begin, easing toward Emerson once more, “What do you intend to do with those?”

  Those soft, sculpted lips part, ever-so-slightly, as he draws in a deep breath. “Well,” he starts, letting his blue eyes travel down the length of my body. “I can tell you what I’d like to—”

  A shrill scream rings out from somewhere within the massive house, a wave of frantic noise building from below. The din rises, tearing my and Emerson’s attention away from each other. The pounding music cuts off abruptly, and through the cacophony ringing out beneath our feet, a new set of voices can be heard loud and clear.

  “Police! Everybody out!”

  “Break it up, break it up!”

  “Anyone still here in five minutes is under arrest!”

  “Fuck me,” I mutter angrily, shoving a hand through my blonde hair.

  “Certainly no time for that now,” Emerson laughs roughly, playing off our intense moment. Or maybe I was just imagining that intensity? I’ll never know now.

  I squint as bright light floods the closet once more. Someone’s ripped open the door, revealing the chaos unfolding in the master bedroom suite. Courtney is bawling frantically as everyone else makes a beeline for the exits. Emerson shoves my panties into his pocket just in time, before Riley darts into the closet to fetch us.

  “We have to go!” she says firmly.

  “How are we going to make it past the cops?” I ask worriedly. Running from the police isn’t exactly my strong suit. Luckily, Emerson is a bit more experienced on this front than I.

  “Come on,” he commands, a daredevil smile spreading across his face as he takes my wrist in his hand.

  Riley gives me a big wink as Emerson carts me away into the frenzy of escaping partygoers. We dive into the fray, the voices of police officers and drunken high schoolers commingling in a deafening clash. As we run along the second story landing, I watch as one incautious classmate takes a swing at a cop, then finds himself in handcuffs a moment later. I stay as close to Emerson as I can as he barrels through the crowd, protecting me from the surge of moving bodies. We careen into an empty bedroom and slam the door behind us, our chests heaving with exertion.

  “Where did Riley go?” I ask, panicked.

  “No time to look for her,” Emerson says gruffly, striding toward the bedroom window, “If I get arrested again, my mom’s gonna ship me off to the Army or something.” He wrenches open the window and kicks the screen clear out of the frame.

  “Is that really necessary?” I hiss, as he peers out into the night.

  “Jackpot,” he says, ignoring my question, “We can climb right down this trellis. And your dad’s place—sorry, our place—is close enough to make a run for it.”

  “How am I supposed to keep up with you, Mr. Varsity Athlete?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips.

  “Run fast,” he winks, swinging a leg over the window sill. I let out a frightening yelp as he disappears out the window, and rush forward to make sure he hasn’t fallen. I look on as Emerson dismounts gracefully onto the lush green grass below, looking up at me expectantly.

  “I can’t do that,” I call down to him.

  “You have to,” he insists, “Don’t be such a little chicken shit, Sis.”

  “No. I mean, I can’t...” I trail off, blushing wildly, “You still have my. You know.”

  A wild, raucous laugh rips out of Emerson’s throat as he remembers that my panties are still in his pocket. I’m totally commando. And wearing a skirt. Not exactly the best trellis-climbing attire.

  “I promise I won’t peek,” Emerson says, getting a hold of himself. “Just come on.”

  “No fucking way!” I reply, crossing my arms.

  “Look. It’s either scamper down here, bare-assed, or get arrested. Your call,” Emerson shoots back. “I’m pretty sure your precious colleges won’t be thrilled with your having a criminal record.”

  I bite my lip, glancing over my shoulder as the din of the raid reaches its peak. He’s right. I’m all out of options. “You have to close your eyes,” I tell him. “I mean it, Sawyer.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says, screwing his eyes shut. “Get a move on, weirdo.”

  A cool breeze brushes against my most intimate flesh as I scoot onto the window sill. As far as strange sensations go, this has to be up near the top. Checking once more to make sure Emerson’s eyes are really closed, I grab onto the vine-covered trellis beside the window. With a deep breath, I swing out into the open air. I’ve never been very good with heights, so this is not exactly my idea of a good time.

>   “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan, as the breeze lifts up my skirt.

  “What’s that?” Emerson asks, one eye almost cracking open.

  “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.