Tool (A Step-Brother Romance #2)

Gaige is standing there holding a drink, and wearing a tuxedo. The party is black tie, which is ridiculous given the weather and the fact that it's a July Fourth party in Texas, but Anja insists we're not a bunch of hicks. It's still warm and humid, even though it's almost eleven at night.

The only other time I've seen Gaige in a suit is at the July Fourth party the summer of my eighteenth birthday. I have a hard time deciding if he looks better in this or in the racing gear that fits him like a glove.

Gaige doesn't move. He just stands there, watching me.

"What Chelsea said --" I start, but he interrupts me quickly.

"Chelsea is a bitch," he says.

"Gaige, the two of you never..." My voice trails off. I can't say what I want to ask, because I'm not sure I really want to know the answer to the question.

Gaige steps close to me, his voice low in my ear. "What do you want to know, Delaney?"

"Nothing," I say. "The way she talks to you..."

"You think I fucked her?" he asks. His fingers trail along my arm, and I shiver at his touch. "Is that what you want to know? You should say what you mean, Delaney."

"Fine," I say. "I'm asking if you fucked her."

"Does it matter?" His face is close to my neck, and when I feel him inhale deeply, I close my eyes, wanting his lips on me.

"Yes, it matters," I say. I put my hand on his chest to stop him from continuing to do what he's doing to me. I feel like he's unraveling me.

"Why does it matter?" he asks. "You wanted us to be a one-night stand, didn't you?"

"I -" I shake my head. "I -- you're right. I don't know. It's none of my business. And, yeah, one night." I'm too confused right now to be angry. Earlier, he acted like he couldn't keep his hands off me, as if one night wasn't enough. And now, he acts like we're just hooking up. "You know what? I should go."

I turn to leave, and he catches my wrist. My drink splashes in the glass, and champagne drips onto my hand.

"No," he says. "You're not leaving."

"It was a mistake coming here." But the way he looks at me, like he did in my room earlier, makes me melt.

Gaige's eyes never leave mine, as he leans over, tilting his head down and slowly licking the droplets off my skin, his tongue lingering, moving so slowly I think I might die. He takes the drink from my hand and sets both of our glasses on the ground a few feet away before turning to face me again. "You sure about that?"

I swear my body is so responsive to him, that he can make me wet with merely a glance. Why is that? I like him, and then I see him with Chelsea, and I'm sure I despise him. "It was a mistake," I repeat.

He reaches for my wrist again and brings it to his mouth, touching his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside. My body – my stupid traitorous body – responds with raised goosebumps along my arms and hardened nipples against my bra. Gaige looks up at me. "Chelsea and I did not fuck," he says.

"Okay," I say. But I'm not entirely sure.

"You didn't come down here to talk about Chelsea," he says. "But, just so you know, I've never touched her."

"She wants you to," I say.

"The way that the Japanese businessman wants you?" he asks. Touché. Gaige slides his finger under the strap of my dress, and then looks at me. "You're wearing a bra," he says. "That's disappointing."

My heart races when I look at him. "It went with the dress."

Gaige raises his eyebrows. "Panties?" he asks, and a knowing smile creeps over his face when I nod. He takes my earlobe in his mouth, his tongue flicking over it slowly, sensually. "I suppose you made yourself come earlier, too, didn't you?"

I swallow hard. "Yes."

"Did you think of me?" he asks, his hand gripping my waist, sliding down the side of my hip tightly. He makes a sound under his breath, low and primal.

"Yes," I whisper.

"You've been a very bad girl, Delaney Marlowe," he says, his breath warm on my ear. "I left you with very specific, very particular instructions. I told you not to wear a bra or panties, and definitely not to touch yourself, and you did both. I wonder whatever should I do with you?" I want to reach up and unbutton his shirt, slide my hands across his bare chest. I want him right now, out in the open, so close to everything, the din of music and people up near the house. Anyone could wander in at any moment, and yet I still want him.

Gaige steps back, away from me. Shit, I think, he's leaving. And I'm practically soaked. But he just looks at me for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then he speaks. "Panties. Ankles. Now."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says, his gaze intense. "Reach up underneath your skirt and take off your panties and hand them to me."

No one has ever talked to me the way Gaige does. A bossy, demanding, misogynistic dickhead – who is also my stepbrother – should not order me around and make me wet with anticipation. I should tell him to fuck off. Then I should turn around and walk away.

But I don't.