Cannon (A Step Brother Romance #3)

I strip off my shirt as I come in the apartment, careful to close the door quietly behind me. It's five in the morning, and I'm feeling energetic, despite my best efforts to wear the hell out of myself. Too damn energetic. I'm edgy and irritable as a result of being in close quarters with Addison. Last night, hanging out with her in the pool sent memories of all the nights we spent together flooding right back – all of those nights I spent fighting my attraction for her.

I remind myself that I should be behaving more like a bodyguard, even if this isn't some routine security gig. The Colonel's expressed words were "no actual security threat." I'm a glorified babysitter and that's it. It's also not a regular situation because it's Addison.

Pouring a cup of coffee, I take it back to the room I appropriated a few days ago when Addison was being a less-than-gracious host. Most people like her who are big stars now would hire a designer for decorating, but I know just by looking at it that this guest room, like everything in her place, is her own design. This apartment is her private space. Everything in here has been carefully selected, from the carved teak bed to the deep wine-colored curtains to the paintings on the wall, modern art with bright sunset oranges and Caribbean blues. It's more bohemian than country and it reflects Addy's personality.

And that's one of the things making me lose my mind here. Not only am I surrounded by Addy during the day, I'm surrounded by her at night, too. Even here in this room I can't get away from her. I swear, the damn sheets on the bed smell like her perfume.

It's making me edgy and irritable and...fucking hard as hell.

I strip down to my boxers and drop my sweaty clothes into the hamper, gulping down more coffee and grimacing as the hot liquid hits the back my throat. I need a shower after another eight-miler.

What I really need is to get laid.

What I really, really need is someone to get my mind off my stepsister.

When I open the door, she's coming down the hallway from her room, dressed in a t-shirt.

And nothing else. Addison is wearing a grey t-shirt that barely comes down over her hips and makes me wonder if she has on panties at all. She stops short, a foot away from me, and her face turns practically scarlet. When she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, the t-shirt fabric gets pulled higher, until I can see the edge of her panties between her legs. Pink. She's wearing pink fucking panties and a t-shirt.

If I thought my cock was going to explode before...

I swear to God all the blood drains from my head and I just stand there, staring at her with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

"Oh," she says. Her gaze travels down the length of my body, and I am suddenly really fucking aware of the fact that I'm standing here in boxer briefs and nothing else. With a raging hard-on. I'm face to face with the girl I've just sworn I needed to get out of my head, and my boner is broadcasting loud and clear just how absolutely not out of my head this girl is. "I heard the door close and I thought you were out running."

"I was," I say. "Out running. I'm done now."

"I was just -- coffee," she says. "I mean. Um. I didn't expect you to be here, or...yeah. No pants."

"Pants." I swallow hard, trying with every fiber of my being not to look down at her bare legs. And definitely not to look down at the place where the t-shirt hangs, at the crease of her thigh. And for shit's sake, not to glance down between her legs again to see if the pink fabric peeks out.

"I mean, it's my house, so I don't usually have to...you know..." Her voice trails off.

"Wear clothes." Once I speak the words, the image of Addison walking around her house naked flashes in my head, and my cock throbs.

She has to think I'm a fucking pervert. I am a fucking pervert. The things I want to do to her... I have to clench my fists at my side to keep myself from taking her by the wrists, pushing her against the nearest wall, pinning her arms above her head, and sliding my cock inside her.

"Clothes," she says. "You're not...and, I mean, there's that..." Her eyes drift down my body, and I know she's looking at my erection, and heaven help me, I should walk away from her now, but I can't. I don't want to.

"That," I repeat, even though I know exactly what she's talking about, what she's looking at. "Say the word, sweet cheeks." I don't just mean that I want her to say the word cock, although hearing that word come out of Addison's mouth would be a high point in my fucking life.

I want her to say the other word. I want her to say yes.

Heaven help me, I want her to say yes, even though she shouldn't.

Addison pulls the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, and it makes me want to take her face in my hand, crush her mouth under my lips, and pull that lower lip between my teeth. She looks at me, her eyes wide, pupils big, and I can hear her intake of breath, sharp.

Without thinking, I reach up, meaning to tuck a stray piece of hair back behind her ear, the way she seems to be constantly doing, but I pause, unable to pull my hand back from her once I touch her. Instead, I lace my fingers through her hair, grabbing a handful tightly at the nape of her neck, and pull her against me. Addison lets out a small moan, barely audible, her face upturned toward me, full lips parted. "No," she breathes, the word catching in her throat.