stepbrother two by jewel crotan (best books to read for self improvement .txt) 📖

panty, where I was able to rustle up a box of organic chocolate cookies. They definitely weren’t Oreos, but they’d have to do. I poured myself a glass of almond milk and settled myself onto the couch.

I was halfway through the box of cookies and an episode of some mindless reality show when Cole came walking into the apartment.

“Oh,” I said when I saw him. I stood up and brushed the crumbs off of my shirt, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that he was here. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“This is my apartment, Avery,” he said. “And I work for myself. So I can be wherever I want.”

“Oh,” I said. “No, I didn’t mean that you couldn’t be here. I just wasn’t expecting you to be home so quickly.”

“I left early.”

“Because of me?”

“No. Because I have an event to attend tonight.” He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push him on it. He looked at the open box of cookies in my hand. “Is that what you’re having for lunch?”

“No. I mean, yes, I was eating cookies. But it was just a snack. I wasn’t having them for lunch.”

“You need to eat something more substantial than that,” he says, crossing over to the refrigerator. He opened the crisper and started pulling things out, piling them onto the marble countertop.

I shrugged. “Since when did you become such an expert in nutrition?” I asked. Cole and I grew up on a steady diet of macaroni and cheese, tater tots, and whatever generic brand chips were on sale. We washed it all down with glasses of Kool-Aid made with double the recommended amount of sugar. It was a miracle we didn’t both have diabetes.

“Since I realized you need to keep your body healthy to have a healthy mind.”

I frowned. “That sounds like a bunch of new age bullshit to me.”

He grinned. “Hey, do you remember when your mom went through her spiritual phase?”

“Oh, please,” I said, sitting down at the small table in the kitchen. “How could I forget? I got sick with strep throat and she tried to do a healing spell on me instead of taking me to the doctor. Jenny Finch’s mom had to slip me some amoxicillin when no on was looking. She put it in my milk at school.”

“Are you serious?” Cole asked.

“Yes. She worked as a lunch lady.”

He shook his head and got to work chopping up chicken breasts, then pulled out a wok and set it on top of his gas stove. He turned the burner on and poured some oil into the pan. “That is insane,” Cole said. “It’s a wonder we’re not both dead.”

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Chicken stir fry.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sounds boring.”

“Not the way I do it.” He turned and glanced at me. The remark was laced with innuendo. I couldn’t tell if he’d intended it to be that way, or if I was just overreacting because of what had happened in his office.

I remembered it, his hands in my hair, his lips on my neck, his fingers inside of me. Each scene flashed in my head, almost like it was from a movie. Him telling me I had to do what he wanted. My hands shaking as I unhooked my bra. His hands on my breasts, him grabbing at my ass as he pulled me toward him. The feel of his cock against the thin material of my panties.

My knee started jittering up and down.

The silence in the kitchen was almost deafening, the only sound the sizzle of the chicken as it hit the hot pan.

“How do you make stir fry?” I asked, because I had to say something. The silence was excruciating.

“Come here,” Cole said. “I’ll show you.”

I stood up, but then I hesitated. We were alone. Again. Except this time, there were no employees on the other side of the door to stop us from doing whatever we wanted. And even though Cole had fucked with me earlier, even though he’d brought me right to the brink and then stopped, it somehow made me want him more.

I was wound up good and tight, and I needed a release.

Find some random guy to fuck you then, Avery, I told myself. Or take care of yourself later in the shower. And stop thinking about Cole.

“The trick is to use the right spices.” Cole reached over and grabbed a few bottles of seasoning off the rack on the counter. He handed one to me, and our hands brushed.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Go ahead?” I repeated.

“Go ahead and add it.”

He was looking at me like I was crazy, so I turned toward the wok and began sprinkling the spice in slowly.

“Don’t be afraid,” he breathed, and suddenly he was behind me, his chest against my back, his arms encircling my waist. “Just go for it.”

His voice was again laced with double entendre and my breath hitched as he reached out and took my hand, helping me as I shook the spices into the pan. When I was done, he went to grab another spice, but I turned around and ducked away from him and scooted over.

“Where you going?” he asked playfully. But I could see the lust burning in his eyes.

“I don’t think I’m much of a cook.”

“You’re a great cook.”

He moved over to me, putting an arm on either side of my body and resting his hands behind me on the counter, effectively pinning me in.

“Avery,” he breathed. He reached up and pushed my hair back from my face, his fingertips tracing a searing line over my cheek, down my jaw, over my neck and onto my collarbone.

He moved his face closer to mine, and closed his eyes. I could see his lashes brushing against the top of his cheeks, and I could tell he was going to kiss me.

I closed my eyes and waited. I wanted his mouth on mine, loved the way it felt for him to have me pinned against the counter like this, unable to move, powerless to resist him.

But a second later, his phone rang, breaking the spell.

He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.

“Cole Buchanan,” he barked into the phone. He took a couple of steps away from me, listening to whoever was on the line. His face darkened. “ When?” He shook his head. “Is he looking for money?”

When he said this last part, my blood ran cold. If someone was looking for money, it must have been Gordon.

“Thank you, Charles,” Cole said.

He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment.

“Who was that?” I asked.

He didn’t answer me, instead crossing the kitchen to the stove and picking up the pan of stir fry that was still sitting on the burner. He picked it up and tossed the whole thing into the trash.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “Why’d you throw that out?”

“We’re going out,” he said. “Get dressed.”

“What?” I shook my head, confused. “Who was that on the phone?”

He leaned down, bracing himself on the counter, his face filled with fury. I watched as he took in a deep breath, then picked up a glass that was sitting on the table and threw it on the floor. It broke into a million pieces, and I jumped.

“Cole,” I said, crossing the kitchen to him. I put my hand on his upper arm, but he shrugged me off. “Cole, what’s wrong? Who was that?”

“That was my manager. Apparently my father is now shopping a story around to the tabloids claiming I trashed his house, and that I have you brainwashed and am holding you against your will.”

“What? But that’s insane. No one’s going to believe it. Besides, we already talked to the police.”

“They’ll believe it,” he said. “Trust me, they’ll believe it. And it’s not good. My company’s about to go public, and any kind of bad publicity could hurt my IPO.”

“I have to go home,” I said.

He turned to me. “What?”

“I can’t stay here.” I walked out of the kitchen and headed for the hallway, moving toward the guestroom. I heard Cole’s footsteps behind me as he started following me.

“Avery, stop.”

“No,” I said. “I have to go home, Cole. If I don’t, Gordon’s going to just keep telling lies.” I hated that I’d put Cole in this position, hated that I’d forced him to take care of me. I was old enough to be able to take care of myself. Cole had made his choice – he’d left home, he’d gotten away from our family. Why should he have to pay because I’d chosen to stay?

He was behind me in a second, his long strides able to keep up with me easily. He grabbed me around the waist, swung me around so I was facing him. “You’re staying with me,” he said.

“No.” I shook my head. “I won’t. I can’t.”

“You will.”

“Cole, I can’t. Your dad won’t stop harassing you. You finally got free of him and he…”

“No.” Cole shook his head. “You’re not safe there, Avery. If you go home now, he’s going to be really angry. He was trying to punish you by having your mom tell you not to come home, even though he obviously wants you there. If you go home, he’s going to make you pay.”

“But Cole –”

“No.” He shook his head. “You can’t. Besides, it’s better if you stay here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now that Gordon’s saying these things, we have to show that his story has no merit.”

“And how do we do that?”

“By being seen together. We need to show everyone that you’re not brainwashed, that you just came to the city to work as my new assistant.”

“Okay…” I said, dubiously. My heat was pounding. I was going to have to stay here. Work for Cole. Do what he wanted. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

“Get dressed. We have a party to go to.”



***



An hour later, I was freshly showered, my hair blown dry and smooth around my shoulders. My wrist was feeling better, and I’d thankfully been able to handle showering by myself. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if Cole had had to help me.

The clothes Kalia had bought for me had been hung up in the guestroom closet, probably by some housekeeper who’d been here while we were gone. It was weird, knowing people had been touching my things while I was at Cole’s office, but then I realized it was bizarre to even think of them as my things. They were just clothes that had been given to me, clothes I hadn’t even worn before.

I’d chosen a black cocktail dress and black stilettos. I’d had makeup in my purse, and I’d kept it simple, choosing a neutral smoky eye and a pale red lip. The dress felt foreign on my body – not just because it wasn’t mine, but because it was expensive. The fabric was beautifully constructed, the lining silky and smooth against my skin, the cut and stitching of the highest quality. Like everything else Kalia had brought, it was a little too small for me, but it made my stomach look flat and hugged my curves in all the right places.

There had been a tiny plastic bag of earrings attached to the hanger of the dress – simple and elegant silver hoops. The fact that they’d come with the outfit made me think Kalia hadn’t picked everything out herself – there was no way she could have done all that so quickly. More likely she’d gone to some department store and ordered up pre-put-together outfits from a personal shopper. I couldn’t even imagine what something like that had cost.

I took one final look at myself in the