Stepbrother three by jewel crotan (books for men to read TXT) 📕

more of a threat to me, since the only reason Gordon even cared about Cole was because I was with him.

“What?” I asked. “I have a right to ask questions, too.”

“Would you like to see the tapes, Mr. Buchanan?” Graham asked.

“No,” Cole said at the same time I said, “Yes.”

“Thank you, Graham,” Cole said. “Please let me know if he comes back.”

“Of course.” Graham nodded his head and tipped his hat with one white-gloved hand. “You can count on us for the best security, Mr. Buchanan.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked as Cole led me toward the elevator. “Don’t you want to see the tapes? It didn’t sound anything like Gordon, don’t you want to know who it was?”

Cole mumbled something unintelligible as we stepped onto the elevator. I wasn’t completely sure, but it sounded like, “I know who it was.”

“What?” I demanded. “You know who it was? Then who was it?”

“No one.” He pushed the button for the top floor roughly, then watched impatiently as the numbers over the doors began lighting up as the elevator began its ascent.

“No one? It sounded like someone.”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Wait, what?” I shook my head. “What’s taken care of?”

The elevator dinged as we hit his floor, and he stepped off and began making his way toward his apartment, his strides long and purposeful.

“Cole!” I yelled, struggling to keep up with him. “Stop. You need to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Avery, please,” he said as I followed him into the apartment. “It doesn’t concern you.” His voice was another warning, yet again making it clear that I shouldn’t push him.

I stared at him for a long moment as he walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water, uncapped it, and took a long drink. He loosened his tie and then pulled his wallet and keys out of his pocket, throwing them onto the kitchen counter. He picked up his phone and began typing out a text message to someone before turning his back to me.

“Whatever,” I said, livid. “I’m going to bed.”

I stalked down the hall and into the bathroom, where I took off my dress and got into the shower. Anger burned bright inside of me, and I grabbed the shampoo and conditioner and lathered up my hair, trying to be careful of my wrist. It was starting to feel sore again -- I was going to need to put my brace back on when I got out of the shower.

Nice of Cole to come and check on me, to make sure I was okay. He obviously cared about nothing but himself.

I dried off and dressed in one of the pajama sets that Kalia had brought for me. It was a soft pink strappy tank top and a pair of matching shorts. It felt like an extravagant waste of money – the pieces were well made and soft against my skin. They were obviously expensive. I’d never spent money on pajamas before. Why would I when I could just wear a long t-shirt and call it a day?

I crawled into bed and turned off the light, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing, thoughts of Jeffrey and Cole and Gordon and the mysterious man who’d shown up here tonight swirling through my head. Who was that man? And why wouldn’t Cole tell me about him?

Obviously I knew Cole had a life here, in New York, filled with powerful people and important events and meetings and things I knew nothing about. But why was he being so secretive? Why was a man trying to gain access to his apartment?

Cole’s not a good guy, Avery. No matter what you think.

That’s what Jeffrey had said. But Jeffrey wasn’t a good guy himself, so how was I supposed to believe anything he said? I pulled the expensive sheets tighter around my body, trying to find a way to get comfortable.

I was no stranger to insomnia. Starting when I was about thirteen, I’d had a hard time sleeping. To sleep was to give up control, to let yourself be vulnerable, with no protection or security. To sleep meant to let your guard down, and if there was one thing I’d learned, it was to never let your guard down, even for a second. Because the moment you did, there was always someone there, ready to strike.

And I was nobody’s prey.

My wrist was starting to throb, and I grabbed my brace from the bathroom and tried to get it on. But it was too hard to do by myself. Every time I’d try to fasten it together, one side would fall off, and my wrist hurt too much to be able to hold the sides tight enough.

I opened the medicine cabinet over the sink and looked for ibuprofen, but there was none. In fact, the shelves were empty. I stood there for a moment, staring at the emptiness, so different from the medicine cabinet at home, which was always filled with a mess of pill bottles and prescriptions, so many of them that they needed to be stacked on top of one another.

I remembered there was a guest bathroom just off the hallway, so I headed out into the apartment in search of pain relief.

The sound of the TV came, muted and soft, from the living room.

Cole must have been watching something.

The guest bathroom door was open, but I hesitated, not feeling completely okay about going inside and rummaging through Cole’s stuff. It was one thing to do it in the bathroom off my room – he’d given me that space.

I thought about going back to bed, but the ache in my wrist was starting to intensify, and I knew enough about pain to know that if you didn’t get on top of it, it could eventually become unmanageable.

So I took a deep breath and headed for the living room.

Cole was sitting on the couch in just a pair of sweatpants and no shirt, the flat screen TV over the fireplace tuned to SportsCenter. His dark hair flopped over his forehead, his eyes bright and focused on the highlights of some football game.

My heart squeezed in my chest.

He looked so different than he had just a few hours ago, all dressed up in his expensive suit, ordering me around some fancy party that people expected him to be at. Now he was just Cole, lounging around the house watching SportsCenter, the way he used to do all the time when we were growing up.

He’d come home from whatever party or girl’s house he’d been at, grab a bag of chips or a sandwich and settle onto our couch and flip on ESPN. I’d grab whatever book I was in the middle of and sit down next to him, reading my book while he watched sports highlights.

We’d sit there for hours, him watching TV, me lost in my book. We didn’t talk, except for the occasional time when he’d point out some sports play I wouldn’t completely understand or I’d tried to tell him some plot twist in my book that he wouldn’t care about.

We’d pass snacks back and forth and I’d refill our sodas when they got low. It was comforting, just having him there, being out of my room and having him close to me. I always felt safer when he was around.

The scene in front of me now might have been taking place in a New York City penthouse instead of our tiny, falling apart house back in Jersey, but it was so familiar to me. All I wanted to do was curl up next to him on the couch with a good book.

“Cole?” I asked.

But the volume on the TV was too high, and he didn’t hear me at first.

“Cole?” I asked again, a little louder this time. Even though the scene was familiar, now that we were on his turf, it felt like I was intruding on him in some way, like I was interrupting him and had no right to be there.

He turned to look at me, and he was so beautiful I caught my breath. I’d been annoyed at him earlier, when he’d been Business Cole, but now he was just here, my stepbrother, the person who used to make me feel safer than anyone in the world.

Until he’d left and shattered my heart into pieces.

“Um, is there any ibuprofen?” I asked.

“What’s wrong?” He shut the TV off and stood up.

I was suddenly aware I was in just a pajama top and shorts, the thin material clinging to my body. I wasn’t even wearing a bra, and I saw his eyes lingering on my breasts.

“My wrist hurts.”

“Let me see.” He walked over and took my wrist in his hand gently, running his fingers over my skin. His touch sent fire roaring through my body, and I felt flush.

“It doesn’t look swollen,” he said. “Where’s your brace?”

“I couldn’t get it on. I think it’s okay. I mean, I don’t think it’s getting worse or anything, it just hurts.”

“Stay here.”

He disappeared into the guest bathroom, then returned with a bottle of ibuprofen. He poured me a glass of water from the pitcher that was in the fridge and watched to make sure I swallowed the pills.

“Drink the rest of the water,” he said.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“You need to stay hydrated, Avery. For your wrist.”

I rolled my eyes and finished the water. “Happy?”

“Yes.” He took my empty glass and set it in the dishwasher.

I admired the way his body moved, the smooth planes of his chest, the broadness of his shoulders. I shivered a little.

“You’re cold,” he said. “You need to get back in bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Too bad. We have to be at the office tomorrow at eight. You don’t want to be tired for your first day, do you?”

I shook my head. I wanted to ask him why he was allowed to be awake, why he got to stay up late watching TV when he had to work in the morning, too. But it didn’t work that way. I was starting to learn that Cole made – or at least tried to make – the rules for me, but I didn’t make the rules for him.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll help you with your brace.”

I followed him back to my room, through the door and into the bathroom where he grabbed my brace and held it out to me. I held out my arm and he clicked it on. The support instantly made my wrist feel better.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

He stood there staring at me, his eyes boring into mine, an electricity in the air, crackling so intensely that it was undeniable.

But a second later, he looked away. “Time for bed.”

We walked back into my room, and he waited until I was under the covers before turning off the light.

“Good night, Avery.”

“Good night, Cole.”

I heard the click of the light switch and the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the hall. I held my breath, hoping he would come back, yearning to feel his arms around me the way they’d been last night.

After a few moments, I’d given up hope.

And then the door to my room opened and he slipped into bed next to me, so close I could feel the warmth of his body.

He didn’t say anything, just lay there, looking up at the ceiling. I turned over and stared at his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the faint stubble on his chin, the curve of his lashes.

Finally, he turned and looked at me.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi.”

He reached out and pushed a strand of hair off my face, then moved closer so that