Tool (A Step-Brother Romance #2)

"I have morning breath," she says.

I tilt her head up to me. "I don't care."

"Gaige, don't," she whispers. "Please."

She turns and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. And shutting me out. Just like that.





Damn it, damn it, damn it.

I let the shower water run over me, half-hoping that Gaige will yank open the shower door and step inside, pushing me up against the wall the way he did last night. I can still feel his hands on my skin, the smell of him lingering in the air. When I wash him off me, I'm a little sad.

But I put thoughts of him aside. I hooked up with Gaige O'Neal once. I can't hook up with him again. Even if every part of my body is screaming at me to go back into the bedroom and tell Gaige that I want him.

I know better than to do something like that, for all kinds of reasons, like the fact that Gaige is my stepbrother. If my mother found out, she'd lose her shit. Anja would be horrified. And my father would be unimaginably disappointed. Or the fact that Gaige is not a relationship kind of guy. Besides, I really don't know if I can even stand him outside of the bedroom.

In the bedroom, though…fireworks. I'm not terribly experienced – I slept with a grand total of two people in my life, before Gaige. Both people had been boyfriends, people I thought I cared about. So the sex should have been amazing, right? It's supposed to be amazing when it's with someone you love.

Except last night with Gaige – someone I can barely tolerate, let alone love – was so much better than anything I've ever imagined.

Of course, I have to put it out of my mind. I'm sure Gaige already has. I'm certain this is nothing to him.

When I step out of the bathroom, my towel wrapped around me, Gaige is gone, and for a second, I think about walking next door and telling him that I've reconsidered, that I'd rather call in sick and spend the morning in bed with him.

But I don't.

Instead, I go to work and try to put the entire thing out of my mind.



It turns out that it's really fucking hard to forget what happened when your stupid stepbrother refuses to stop reminding you.

"Do you have the schedule ironed out for the fourteenth?" Chelsea stands in front of me, her hands on her hips, scowling. "Did you make contact with the rep?"

She's asking about the schedule for one of the dates for the Japan trip, and I answer her, "Of course," while thinking about Gaige's text.

"You're distracted," she says. "I hope that won't be par for the course during this entire trip."

"I'm tired – I think it must be allergies or something," I say. I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I slept with Gaige last night, or the fact that Gaige just texted me telling me, in explicit detail, exactly what sex acts he could fit into the rest of the day before twenty-four hours is officially over.

"Must be nice to have the luxury of fatigue," Chelsea says, before whirling around and walking out the door. I watch the door close behind me before responding to Gaige.

Stop texting me. I'm trying to work.

I'm responding to an email when my phone buzzes again.

I'm your client. You can't ignore me. Those are the rules.

It's accompanied by a picture of his dick. Which is, well, pretty fucking fantastic, I think, as I turn the phone to get a better view from every angle. I admire it for a minute, then text him back.

Clients don't text me dirty photos.

I don't even get two words typed on the computer before my phone buzzes again.

I hope not. If they do, I'll have to kill them.

Okay, so that makes me smile. But I shut off my phone and put it in my purse. Texting Gaige all day is not going to help me get him out of my head.



"Are you going to keep ignoring me?" Gaige is in my doorway, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of motorcycle logo on it. I know nothing about bikes or racing, and despite my attempts to educate myself about the sport, I don't recognize the things I should probably know about.

"If you keep –" I step toward him, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Texting me the way you are…"

"What? A photo of my cock is too distracting for you?"

I roll my eyes, trying to look more nonchalant than I feel. "It's not distracting the way you think it is."

Gaige steps into my room and shuts the door. "The real thing is a lot better," he says. "But you already know that, don't you, darlin'?"

"Our parents are home," I hiss. "Get out of my room before someone catches you in here."

"We're not doing anything except having a friendly conversation," he says.

"We're not talking about anything," I say. "You're just hoping to get laid again."

A grin spreads across Gaige's face. "I'm definitely hoping to get laid again," he says. "Aren't you?"

"We can't," I protest.

"Because it's unprofessional?" he says, his tone mocking.

"Because – yes, it's unprofessional," I say. "And because we're about to travel overseas together for a business trip."