Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

Any other time, I'd be up for three hot blondes. Any other time except an hour after Delaney Marlowe just waltzed back into my life. Or, rather, came barreling through the door, a whirlwind of disarray, with her sopping wet clothes and hair plastered to her forehead.

I should be screwing three blondes right now. But instead, I'm thinking about Delaney. Delaney and that glance she gave me when I tucked that strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Those wide eyes of hers, looking up at me. The way her lower lip fell open just a little bit, and that sharp intake of breath when I touched her. She probably thinks I didn't notice, but I sure as hell did. And it took everything in my power to keep from getting a raging hard-on right then and there in front of everyone.

Four years ago, I spent the entire summer alternating between arguing with that girl and trying to keep from throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her into my bed like some kind of caveman. She's always been the ultimate in off-limits. I have no doubt that my stepfather – the owner of the team I race for -- would break out his shotgun if he thought I had my sights set on Delaney.

Besides, Delaney is all business. She made that clear before. She was heading to Columbia with big plans, and nothing was going to get in her way. Especially not someone like me. And, besides, she's the one who didn't show up that night.

So what the hell is she doing, back here in Dallas? And why the fuck am I suddenly turning down guaranteed sex with models because my stepsister, the girl who used to get under my skin and give me a ration of shit at every turn, shows up on my front door looking like something the cat dragged in?



*

"Hang on," Delaney yells. When she pulls open the door, she's breathless, her face flushed, hair hanging wet down to her shoulders -- combed and straight now, no longer in damp tangled strands. And...a towel wrapped around her, tucked between her breasts. I tell myself to keep my eyes up, but shit, it's damn near impossible, and she catches me staring. "Oh my God, Gaige, just stop."

"What?" I ask innocently.

"You know what," she whispers.

Okay, so I'm a shithead. The fact that she caught me staring at her tits makes me grin and I can't hide the smile on my face. She notices that too.

"Why are you laughing?" she asks, indignant. Then she lowers her voice to a whisper again. "I saw you looking at my boobs. Cut it out."

I step forward, close to her. Damn it. She smells like vanilla or something I can't quite place, the scent of her shampoo lingering in the air. Like cookies. Which immediately makes me think about eating her. And that thought, the thought of being between her legs, renders me suddenly mute. Stop staring and say something, I remind myself.

"What?" she asks, her voice soft. Silky.

"You know no one is around," I say. "My mom and your father are gone. No one is going to hear you, so you don't have to whisper. Besides, you're wearing a towel. I can't help but look."

She rolls her eyes and exhales loudly, stepping back from me. Putting distance between us. "Well, it's nice to see that nothing much has changed since I saw you last."

"I don't know about that, Delamey," I say, emphasizing my nickname for her, the old one I used after she took to calling me Tool. I like to think it was affectionate, although it would get under her skin like nobody's business. She hated it. I can't help but use it now. Maybe I just want to get a rise out of her. Hell, if she tried to hit me, she might even drop that towel. "You've definitely changed."

Her eyes fly open wide. "You're so juvenile," she says.

"You're telling me that no one calls you Delamey anymore?"

"You're the only one who ever called me by that stupid name," she says. Her hand is still holding the towel between her breasts, as if she's afraid it's going to go flying off her body at any moment. I resist the impulse to slip my finger between the folds of the towel and flick open the fabric. I remind myself that would be wrong. "And if you keep doing it, then I'll start calling you Tool again."

I grin, but my words come out with an edge. "Aw, sis, it's just like old times."

Delaney groans. "And definitely don't call me sis," she says. "Why are you here, anyway? Are you finished with -- whatever it is you were doing in the guest house?"

"You make it sound seedy," I say. "It's not like I was shooting porn."

She gives me a look that could freeze boiling water, one eyebrow raised, and it makes me laugh. I'd forgotten that look. She used to give it to me a lot. "Humph. You could have fooled me."

"Jealous?" I ask.

"Of -- what was her name?" Delaney asks. I can tell she's trying to sound casual but she's definitely failing. "Brooke?"

I smile. "You don't have anything to be jealous of," I say. "Those models have nothing on you." It comes out before I even think about what I'm saying.