“No bars,” I bark. “Not until you’re twenty-one.”
Maybe not even then.
“You’ve had no structure. No guidance. But that ends now, London. You’re going to live under my roof and follow my rules. You’re eighteen. An adult now. It’s time to act like one. We’re going to figure out what you want in life and get it together.”
London is pouting at me. “Look, I appreciate you wanting to turn me into a respectable citizen and all, but you don’t have to take responsibility for me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. You are hereby absolved of any obligation.”
“I don’t want to be absolved.”
Her panic is turning more and more palpable.
She’s grown so accustomed to being deserted that my interest is probably terrifying. To London, getting attached is probably the worst thing she could do, because getting abandoned will hurt all the worse when the time comes. She has no way of knowing I’ll never leave her as long as I live, so I’ll just have to show her.
“You know…” She licks her lips nervously. “There are other ways I can get you to back off.”
“Impossible.”
“Oh yeah?” She unhooks her seatbelt and turns, coming to her knees on the passenger seat. Placing her hand on my thigh, she presses her open mouth into my neck. “I could seduce you.” She’s trembling like a leaf. “Bet my mother wouldn’t take too kindly to her new husband lusting after her daughter.”
My cock almost breaks my zipper. “And you would tell her, is that right?” I manage.
“Every detail. So I g-guess you better stay away,” she purrs, her hand sliding to my inner thigh and inching higher. “Keep a heathy distance, Brody. I’m bad news.”
“Oh yeah?” I turn my head, bringing our mouths less than an inch apart, watching her cornflower-blue eyes widen. “You ride good cock, little girl?”
She gulps. “The best.”
Don’t ask her to prove it.
Not yet.
Not this way. When I get her beneath me for the first time, I want it to be because she’s hot for it. Because she feels something for me. Not to drive a wedge between us.
I put my mouth to her ear. “Liar. You think I can’t tell that your pussy’s been sealed up tighter than a vault?” Finding her eyes with mine, I reach down and stoke a finger down the seam of her jeans, making her gasp. “You might be wild, but you’ve kept your panties on, haven’t you? And before you lie, London, understand that I’ve gone through your medical records. Several times.”
She pulls back slowly, twin pink circles decorating her cheeks. “Who are you?”
“I’m your stepfather—and I’m in charge now.” Her mouth is calling to me, but I force myself to plant a kiss on her forehead instead. “Breakfast is at eight o’clock sharp.”
2
London
I wake up at six-thirty after a measly three hours of sleep and resume pacing at the foot of my bed. Who is this guy? He is not like my mother’s usual conquests.
He’s got a job, for one.
Two, he’s a cop.
Three, he owns property.
Brody actually has his life together. My mother tends to date or marry men who are in the same financial straits as her. One of them hits the number or gets a lucrative gig, they tie the knot, then everything goes to pot when they inevitably party too hard and hit a downswing.
I’ve known Brody for less than a day and already I know this man doesn’t know the definition of downswing. Case in point, he’s already awake and exercising downstairs, as evidenced by the clanking of weights and hum of the treadmill. The fact that he’s working out doesn’t surprise me. I would be lying if I claimed not to notice he’s in incredible shape. He’s in his late thirties, a little silver around the temples, tall, stacked with muscle.
Hot.
There, I admitted it.
This douchebag who thinks he can control my life is extremely sexy, in a hard, brooks no disobedience kind of way. Men usually turn me off simply by being men.
Thanks to my mother’s revolving door love life, I’ve been around enough of them to know they’re needy and immature and gross. Which is why I’ve played keep away with my virginity. There isn’t a single member of the opposite sex that deserves it. Or me.
I go solo.
That’s the way I like it.
People come and go, so I have to have my own back.
You’ve had no structure. No guidance. But that ends now, London. You’re going to live under my roof and follow my rules. You’re eighteen. An adult now. It’s time to act like one. We’re going to figure out what you want in life and get it together.
There is no way Brody meant that.
That he wants to help me achieve something with my life. He made it sound like we’re on the same team, which is ridiculous. Why would he care what I do in five minutes or five years? I’m nothing to him. His future ex-wife’s daughter.
And I feel the pressing urge to prove that.
I want him to be a scum bag, like all the other men I’ve met, from my father all the way down to some of the security guards at juvenile hall.
The alternative—that he really cares—gives me too much hope. Hope is the enemy. It almost always lets me down and I’ve been burned too many times to let it happen again.
A feline smile curves the edges of my mouth.
I might not have a lot of experience with men—okay, none—but I’m sure I can make Brody crack. I learned a thing or two about sex appeal by listening to my fellow offenders. If I can seduce Brody and film the entire thing on my phone, I can blackmail him into leaving me alone by threatening to show it to my mother. I’m sure he’ll opt to save his own skin. Men always do. Then I can put my worries to rest that he might be different.
Skipping to my dresser, I open the top drawer, hoping to find some old clothes of mine.
This house is not where I was living last time I offended and got sent to juvie. Oh no, my mother and I were in a one-bedroom in a far worse section of town. I know it’s a longshot that she brought my clothes here and put them away, but, holy wow…she did. Not only that, there are new clothes. Nice ones, with the tags still on!
With a breathy laugh, I go through them all, rubbing the expensive fabric on my skin, until I remember my mission is to seduce Brody this morning.
“Right. Game face.” I dig until I find the shortest pair of shorts I can find and put them on. Without underwear. Next, I tug on a sports bra and a cropped tank top, leaving my stomach bare. After rubbing my fingers against my scalp to give my hair that sleepy look, I pad downstairs to the home gym. I wasn’t given a tour last night. No, I kind of ran inside and hid in my room after that whole surprising exchange in the car. But I can hear metal hitting metal on the other side of the door, so I know I’ll find my new stepfather here.
I roll my neck a few times, then push open the door, strutting into the small gym.
I’m working it like a runway model—
Until I catch sight of my sweaty, shirtless stepdad and run smack into a pillar.
“Jesus.” He drops the barbell he’s pressing overhead and comes toward me, visibly concerned. I try, I really do try, not to notice the way his thighs ripple in the navy blue sweatpants, but it’s impossible. Once I notice the thighs, I can’t help but become highly aware of the thick pendulum of manhood swinging between his legs. Holy mother of God. “Are you okay, London?” he asks, tipping my chin up. “Looked like you bumped your forehead.”