Tool (A Step-Brother Romance #2)

"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.

Her lips part for a second, and I think about sliding my hands around to the small of her back, pulling her against me, and bringing my mouth down hard on hers. But I don't. I want to know what she's about to say, and I find myself slightly disappointed when she doesn't respond.

"So. Are you going to ask me inside, or are you just planning to keep standing there in your doorway in a towel?" I ask. I'm totally pushing my luck. I want to see if she'll actually invite me in her room. The Delaney I knew four years ago never would have said yes. That Delaney was far too concerned with playing by the rules.

She hesitates, and for a second I think she might actually do it. Then she raises her eyebrows. "Do you really think I'm going to invite you into my room?"

I shrug. "Can't fault me for trying."

"Of course I can," she says. "You're my stepbrother. It's obscene."

"That fact didn't seem to deter you before," I say. "Besides, we're not related. Not even a little bit. Doesn't count."

"Why did you come up here, Gaige?" she asks, ignoring my attempt to discuss our familial relationship.

"Can't I welcome you home?" I ask. "Do I have to have any other reason?"

"You hiked all the way over to the house in that -- what is that thing on your foot, anyway?"

"It's a boot. I shattered my tibia," I say.

"Should I ask what you were doing?"

"What do you think I was doing?"

The edges of her mouth turn up in a half-smile. "I would say you were pulling some riding stunt, but it's far more likely that you broke yourself in some kind of scandalous sexcapade."

I reach between my legs to grab my crotch. "Well, it's a damn good thing that what's important survived," I say, wiggling my eyebrows.