Stepbrother Mine (MM Romance) E-Book

H.G. Ellis

• Herausgeber: H.G. Ellis
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Julian doesn't remember Evan as the man who saved him when he was drugged and taken into the back of a shady club. He only knows Evan as his aloof stepbrother, a man determined to bring down Julian's father no matter what.
Julian may want to shield his father, but Evan is not a man to be denied. He sees right through Julian and knows what he really wants.
When it comes to Evan, Julian is conflicted. He doesn't want to admit how much he likes it when Evan takes charge. Julian is helpless to resist him, but he also wants to soothe his pain.
In the bedroom, Evan knows what he wants and gets it. His emotions are a different matter. Too many losses have scarred his heart, and unanswered questions won't let him rest.
In his quest for the truth, Evan is willing to risk his own life, but what about Julian's? Despite himself, he has become possessive and protective of Julian. Evan can't face losing him.
The two of them are irresistibly drawn to each other, but neither one of them can admit what they really feel. Will they have a chance to find their way into each other's hearts, or will their luck run out when Evan's search for answers takes a dangerous turn?

Leseprobe

Stepbrother Mine (MM Romance)

By H.G. Ellis

Copyright © 2018 H.G. Ellis

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All characters engaging in sexual acts are eighteen years or older.

Any person depicted is a model.

This novel contains material intended for mature readers

Stepbrother Mine

MM Romance

H.G. Ellis

Chapter 1

~Evan

Storefronts on 10th street are bright but empty this time of night. Between them are the alleys, dark tunnels in the periphery of my vision. I pass them up and keep moving. The alley I'm looking for is further ahead.

My car is parked up the street, the only parking spot I could find. Just as well, I need a little fresh air after the nightmares that woke me and sent me out into the street.

The crisp night air fills my lungs, but I'm really seeking the thick atmosphere of Club Scythe. That's where I arrive a little breathless and ready for action. After a nod from the bouncer, I push open the heavy doors.

Blinking at the flashing lights, I head for the bar. It's an escape. Tonight I climbed out of my bed to come here so I wouldn't have to go back to sleep and dream about wrecked cars, smell plastic burning, see blood and bits of glass.

That's why I'm at this club full of noise and bodies packed tight as they order drinks. Other bodies are grinding to a heavy beat that numbs my brain. The kind of blaring, pounding beat that throbs in your veins, takes over your senses, makes you forget everything. The lights pulse to the music. The only thing I'm missing is a few drinks in me.

Club Scythe isn't the kind of place where I usually go. It has a bad rep, but I don't care. I chose this place because I don't want to be where people know me and know that my mother died and that I'm a mess because of it. I don't want sympathy and looks of pity.

So far, I don't recognize one face here, and that's just how I want it. The press of bodies against the bar is keeping me from getting at least a little bit drunk. Feeling tense and impatient, I start to think I would be better off if I left to go somewhere else. As I turn away to head for the exit, I see him.

It's a face I recognize, but not from the clubs. That's my stepbrother, Julian. I know he lives in Northridge too, but I never expected to see him at a gay club, especially not a rough place like this.

Too young, too pretty, and straight as far as I know—he doesn't belong here. Then I notice that he's swaying on his feet. The expression on his face is blank, and he's not alone.

Next to him is a beefy guy with a shaved head and a beard. The guy is looking around furtively, maybe searching for some secluded place to take Julian. From what I can tell, Julian is not in any shape to agree to go anywhere with this guy.

So much for me getting drunk. I abandon that idea and push my way through the throng of guys grinding against each other. Losing sight of Julian and that other guy, I get worried. If that guy gets Julian out of here and into a car, that's it. Who knows where he'll end up and what that guy will do to him.

Not that Julian is my responsibility. I hardly know the guy. Barely met him. That doesn't mean I can let some creep drag him off God knows where.

As I emerge from a knot of people, I catch sight of Julian. That guy is pushing him toward the back. Making sure to keep them in my sights, I stalk after them.

In the back of the club there are plenty of shadowy places. Perfect for hooking up as long as you don't need much privacy. That's where they are heading.

Once out of the main club room, Julian is now being led down a hallway with johns on the right, and on the left, club offices cordoned off so no one wanders in.

Before the guy can turn toward the restrooms and get Julian alone in a stall, I'm on them. I grab Julian by the back of his jacket and he stumbles.

"Julian!" I say his name sharply to try to snap him out of it. The whole time I keep my eye on the other guy.

He reaches for Julian, and I step between them. "You want trouble?" he says to me threateningly.

Me and this guy are about the same height, but he has some bulk on me. As long as he isn't armed, I think I can handle him. I take a firm stance, ready for anything.

Behind me I hear Julian mumble and hit the wall. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He's sliding down the wall. I'm worried about him, but I shouldn't have taken my eyes off the guy with the beard.

He's aiming a punch at my head. Ducking under his fist, I aim a kick to his knee. He lets out a shriek and limps backwards.

"You fucked up my knee!" he howls.

"Clear out of here and I won't fuck up your other one," I tell him. I'm not bluffing either. That wasn't a lucky hit. I do know how to take care of myself, and this guy depends on his size to carry him through.

With this guy, I won't hold back. If he comes at me again, I will mess him up. He obviously drugged Julian. Whatever this guy was going to do to him, I don't mind making him pay for it.

I guess I'm kind of an angry guy. The creep with the beard can see it. He edges around me. I turn to keep an eye on him as he exits, but I don't bother giving him any extra room. If he tries anything, I'm ready to come after him.

As he limps down the hall and disappears the way we came, I see a guy with a star tattoo under his right eye come from the same direction. The new guy doesn't take too much interest in us, just goes to the restrooms. The other guys who are getting down and dirty in the shadows don't pay any attention to us either.

That means I can focus on Julian. Kneeling next to him, I check his pulse. It seems Ok, and he becomes more alert when I touch him. When he looks up at me, I'm lost in his light brown eyes for a minute.

"Stand up for me, Ok," I say and pull him up to his feet.

Cooperating with me, he sways then leans his head on my shoulder. Once again he's mumbling, but at the same time he clings to me. That's good, but not because I'm enjoying it. It's just easier to maneuver him like this.

"We have a long way to go to my car, so stay on your feet," I tell him.

He kind of nods against my shoulder. Staying on the edge of the main room, we make it to the door. Then it takes forever to reach my car. I should have just hoisted him over my shoulder, but that would look too weird.

With Julian sprawled in the passenger seat of my Camaro, I drive him to my apartment. I don't know where else to take him. Once I get us through my apartment door, I stop just inside the door.

We're in my living room with only an armchair to sit in, my desk under the window, and the breakfast table off the kitchen. Nowhere to stick him in here. If I put him in the armchair, he's likely to fall out of it.

It's my bed or the floor. Great. I head for the bedroom and manage to flip the light switch. The lamp comes on illuminating my rumpled bed.

Julian rolls his head on my shoulder and lets out a sighing moan. With both arms around me, he plasters himself against me and hangs around my neck. I groan.

Damn, he feels good along the length of my body, hot and ready. If only he was doing that while in full possession of his senses. It does me no good like this.

"Let's get you to bed," I tell him, keeping my voice low and soothing.

"Your bed?" he asks and looks into my eyes. Is it my imagination, or does he sound hopeful.

But he is right. My bed is the only place I can put him. Too bad I can't share it with him though, not while he's in this condition.

I make him sit down. His hands loose and uncoordinated, he skims them over my thighs. I shiver and grunt with frustration. He's driving me nuts.

Now I'm taking his shoes off and his jacket, and that isn't helping.

"I'm just taking your jacket off, Ok," I tell him. I don't want him to think I'm stripping him.

He cooperates. Once his jacket is off, he takes hold of my hand and pulls it to his waist. "Keep going. I don't need clothes," he claims, his words low and slurred.

"Yes, you do," I inform him sternly. If I could, I would put more clothes on him. That T-shirt doesn't cover enough of him. It's not tight, but it clings to him in the wrong way, shows of his tight chest, and makes me want to run my hands all over him.

I try to leave him to go to sleep, but he won't let me. He tugs me back. As I sit on the bed next to him and lean against the wall, I tell him, "Ok. I'll stay. You be good and go to sleep now."

He whimpers then crawls over to me. He grabs hold of my legs and puts his head on my thighs. I tense then force myself to relax. If I'm on edge, he might not be able to fall asleep.

I focus on breathing evenly and stroke his soft, light brown hair. He falls asleep like that, with his head in my lap, and I let my mind wander away from this weird situation I find myself in.

My thoughts turn to my mother's accident and to Julian's father, Gerald Whitmore. Since my mother died, nightmares won't let me get one peaceful night's sleep. I have to wonder why? Is it just grief or is there something about that accident that nags at me?

Since I'm her main beneficiary, I'm not sure how Gerald would have profited from my mother's death. When I was still a teenager, Gerald broke up my parents' marriage. He then married my mother weeks after my father's death in a car accident.

That's too many accidents, but maybe I'm just being paranoid. I don't know, but I need to find out.

I'm holding my stepbrother, listening to his soft breathing as he sleeps. That's when I make my decision. I'm going to Bainsville, Gerald Whitmore's home town and the place where my mother lived for the past five years and died only a month ago.

Chapter 2

~Julian

I've had a weird week. Something happened to me a few days ago. My drink at a pub was drugged. I seem to be Ok, but I'm still confused about how I ended up in a stranger's apartment, where I woke up the next morning.

The apartment was empty, but there was a note telling me I had been drugged. Seeing it, I panicked and got out of there. I'll probably never know what happened, so I should just try to put it behind me.

That's not easy even though I'm back in Bainsville now. I'm visiting my Grandma Julia, but my mind strays to the big black hole of that night. We're sitting in Grandmother's rose garden having lunch, and she notices I have something on my mind. Given the circumstances, I can hardly tell her what it is. It would only make her worry.

She has her own theory though. "Is it a girl, maybe?"

"I'm not dating anyone," I tell her.

"What about that sweet-faced friend of yours?" she asks.

I laugh at how she describes Mariah. Ever since she saw Mariah's picture—her big brown eyes and warm smile—Grandma got it into her head we should be dating.

"We're just friends," I tell her. Since Mariah is out of the running, Grandma Julia proceeds to tell me about the pros and cons of every girl in town. She means well, but I'm kind of tuning her out. My love life isn't what's topmost on my mind.

I did tell Mariah about what happened that night, or as much as I know. She's a good friend and she and our other friends go to Leo's Pub all the time. She said she would pass the word to everyone to be careful. From now on, I have to be extra careful too.

Being back home now, I should be able to relax, but I'm wound up as I leave my grandmother's house. I guess unanswered questions will do that. To get rid of some of this tension, I'm just walking around aimlessly.

At midday, the town isn't exactly bustling with activity. It's that lull between lunchtime and when lots of people get off work. That makes the newcomer easy to spot and I stop in my tracks on seeing him.

It's Evan Sayers, my stepbrother, but what is he doing in Bainsville? I just stare at him for a minute while my heart beats like crazy. I'm startled to see him. That's why my heart is beating so fast.

I never thought he would come back after his mother's tragic death. It happened when she got into an accident right outside of town. Maybe he's here to visit her grave, but he's not heading toward the graveyard.

His car is parked in front of an empty storefront, and he's just leaning against the car door with a duffel bag at his feet. While I observe him, he's busy on his phone and he doesn't notice me.

Evan has been my stepbrother for a few years, but I only met him once—at the funeral when I gave him my condolences. Before that, he never came to see his mother here, and he wasn't there when my father and his mother got married.

So why is he in town? That duffel bag makes it seem like he's staying in town. I figured he hated us and I don't think he knows anyone else here.

I want to go up to him. It only seems right, but I'm hesitating. The same thing happened at the funeral. At first I couldn't approach him. Back then, I didn't want to intrude on his grief.

After a while, I did manage to give him my condolences. But even as my heart broke for him, I stayed back and watched him. Wanting to reach out to him wasn't enough when I didn't know what to say. His head bowed by grief, his eyes so unbearably sad, he stood at his mother's graveside for a long time.

Other mourners left, including my father, but I stayed behind. The least I could do was watch over him. I never knew my own mother, so I can only imagine what that kind of loss feels like.

But now I hesitate because he kind of makes me nervous. He carries such an intense vibe. He's stunningly handsome, but in a way that must come from his father. There's no trace of his mother in his looks though she was beautiful.

Loraine was frail and blond, and Evan is all strength and dark good looks with those startling hazel eyes. My friend Mariah would say, "Now that is a definition of a beautiful man."

I wouldn't of course. It's just that his good looks are undeniable.

While I'm trying to get myself in gear, Evan pushes away from his car and puts away his phone, sliding it into his back pocket. That's when he turns and sees me.

Now that he caught me staring at him like an idiot, I start moving. I'm wearing a shaky smile as I approach.

"Sorry. I was surprised to see you," I tell him and offer my hand.

He shakes it, but stares at me uncertainly. For the first time I wonder if he knows who I am. Maybe he doesn't remember me from the funeral. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

"Oh, I'm Julian Whitmore," I tell him.

He gives me a questioning frown, but says. "I know."

"Ok. It's good to see you," I tell him. My hand feels weird after that handshake. I don't know why. Evan's grip was solid and steely, but not crushing. It was warm too. Now my hand tingles and my brain feels kind of fuzzy.

"Looks like you're staying in town. You'll be staying at the house, right?" I say to him while he gazes at me levelly.

Taking his eyes off me, he glances up and down the street. "I don't know. If I can find..."

"You have to," I insist. "That was your mom's home too."

"I should drop by and see your father, I guess," he says, only committing to that much. As soon as he mentions my father, his eyes go cold.

"Right," I say uncertainly. "Let me see if he's home." I text Dad and get a reply right away. "He's there. He says he'll be expecting us. Is it Ok if I go in your car, or did you want to walk?"

"Don't let me take you away from anything," he says and I wonder if he's trying to get rid of me.

Maybe he is, but I feel like I should be there when he goes to see Dad. I don't feel comfortable letting them talk one on one. "I'm not busy. I was just visiting my grandmother. That's where I was coming from when I saw you. I wasn't even sure if I should approach you though," I admit.

"Why is that?" he asked and opens the driver's side door but doesn't get in.

"I don't know. You seem kind of intimidating, I guess," I tell him.

"Me?" he says like he isn't aware of the effect he has on people.

"Yes, you," I confirm. "But I didn't know who else you knew in town."

"No one," he says with a sad smile. His mom, me and Dad. That's it. Now just me and Dad are left and we barely know him.

I feel lonely for him so I tell him, "That's why you have to stay with us."

He gives me an unreadable smile then he orders me, "Get in."

As I go around to the passenger side and take a seat, he stows his duffel bag in the back. I follow it with my eyes, then I look all around. Why does sitting here seem familiar? I don't think I've ever been in this kind of car before.

I notice that Evan's eyes are boring into me. "Oh. You need directions," I realize. "We're going to the other side of town." I point the way down the street.

All the way there I can't shake the feeling of familiarity as Evan drives. Does this car smell familiar? Does he? How the hell would I know what Evan smells like?

Chapter 3

~Evan

To think I have a beautiful stepbrother like Julian. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him coming toward me so unsure of himself, his eyes searching mine.

Of course, I saw him before. First time at the funeral, but back then nothing existed for me except the coffin and the final, everlasting loss of my mother. That night at Scythe, he wasn't himself, so I feel like today we were really meeting for the first time.

When he first got into the car with me, Julian looked a little spooked, but he seems to be over it now. He's giving me directions to his father's house, a house I refused to step a foot in until now.

I try not to think about what it will be like to finally visit that house now that my mother is gone. Instead I watch Julian out of the corner of my eye. He hasn't acknowledged that night at all. In fact, he thought I didn't remember him. Did he block out the whole night and the next morning too?

That morning, I left him sleeping in my bed. I wrote him a note warning him that someone must have slipped him something the night before. Since he was bound to be confused when he woke up, I wanted him to know what happened.

My job started early so I couldn't stick around to hold his hand through it. When I got back home at the end of my shift, Julian was gone without even so much as a note to say thank you.

If he doesn't remember the night before, Julian should at least remember waking up in my apartment and my note. A man should have a few questions about that, but Julian says nothing.

If he won't bring it up, I won't either. It's not like I'm dying for his gratitude.

Julian does ask me for my phone so we can exchange numbers, and I hand it over. Maybe he'll thank me by text.

The center of town is behind us, and we're driving through a neighborhood of stately, old homes with shady gardens behind brick walls and tall hedges. My mom must have liked this neighborhood with all its history and character.

Following Julian's directions, I park on the street in front of an old imposing house nestled deep within a thick garden. A wrought iron gate stands closed with a cobblestone path beyond it. Getting out of the car, we head for that gate. It towers above us and opens with a creak.

As we walk into the garden, the Whitmore house still isn't fully visible to me. I only see the front steps from here. Once we get about halfway down the path, I can see the house better, but I don't want to. I make myself blind to its beauty.

I know that my mother sank a lot of money into restoring this house to its former glory. My uncle told me that. He said that she thought the place was worth it, but I refuse to see it.

Sure it has charm and all sorts of pretty adornments, but I hate this place. It swallowed my mother, took her away from me. I know I was the one who stayed away, but how could I step foot in here and not curse the place. My father's death made this place grand again. And now my mother is gone too.

Julian leads the way, and we walk in on marble floors in shades of sage and gray. Past the entryway I see inlaid wood floors, marble topped side tables, and plaster moldings.

Julian takes me past all that and into a front sitting room. Opening a door to an impressively decorated room, Julian grumbles. "I guess my dad can't drag himself away from business," he says when he sees that the room is empty. "He was supposed to be in here. This was your mom's favorite room for entertaining."

I look around and try not to picture her in here leaning on the grand piano with a drink in hand or arranging flowers on the side table before the guests arrive.

"I bet my mom went nuts over that fireplace," I say to Julian as I notice how ornate it looks.

He smiles. "She did," he confirms, and I watch as he appreciatively runs his hand over the beautifully carved wood of the mantelpiece. I don't see the wood so much as his hands, his long fingers. Those hands were on me, searching out a way under my clothes as his pretty eyes looked into mine without really seeing me.

Without thinking, I take two steps in his direction. I want to take his hand in mine, maybe put it to my lips.

That's when his father arrives with a phone to his ear. With a quick turn of his head, Julian glares at him, and his father hangs up immediately.

Gerald Whitmore is handsomely graying, perfectly groomed and stylishly dressed. I hate everything about him but try to wipe the look of hate off my face as he comes over to give me a hearty handshake. Is it my imagination or are his eyes searching mine suspiciously as he greets me?

"It's so good to see you, my boy. How have you been?" he says.

"All right," I lie and try to keep my face blank.

He nods. "I understand," he says but I doubt that very much.

"Evan will be staying in town. He should stay here, right?" Julian says like some overeager kid.

Gerald hesitates only for a second. "Of course. Of course he should."

I'm not surprised he doesn't want me to stay here. It's more surprising that he agrees at all. Maybe he wants me close so he can keep an eye on me. Or maybe I'm paranoid.

"I don't want to crowd you guys." I say. I can't jump at the offer too eagerly after all.

"You won't be crowding us. Look at the size of this place," Julian says.

"Still, I..." I start to say but Julian jumps in with an idea.

"Oh, the guesthouse. You can stay there. It will give you more privacy."

"The guesthouse hasn't been renovated. It's pretty run down," Gerald says.

"It's usable. A normal person wouldn't see anything wrong with it," Julian says to his father pretty much calling him a snob. Then he turns to me. "Do you want to see it?"

"If you really don't mind." I address myself to both of them and watch Gerald carefully to see how he really feels about me staying here. I can't tell. The bastard isn't giving anything away with his eyes.

He gives me a fake smile then he says, "I would be happy for you to stay with us. You finally get to see the place. I know your mother wished you had come to visit."

I glare at him and bite my tongue. It was his fault that I never visited my mother. I only saw her when we went out somewhere or when she came by at my uncle's house and later my apartment. All this time Gerald was the one who stood between us and now he's smugly wishing things could have been different.

While I fume, I notice that Julian glares at his father too. He seems relieved when his father's assistant gets his attention from the door and Gerald excuses himself to take a phone call in his office.

"Sorry about that. I'll show you around if you want," Julian offers.

I agree and follow him through the house. Julian gives me a tour, pointing out my mother's contributions. I can already tell that many of the American Impressionist paintings that hang on the walls are her doing. Some are from her collection others are new but exactly the sort of thing she liked.

Julian confirms it. "Loraine said this house was perfect for displaying her art. 'I couldn't have found a better backdrop,' she said. When my father was considering knocking out this wall, she told him, 'Don't you dare. I already picked out a Mary Cassat to hang there.'"

Looking away from the painting, I notice that Julian's eyes are bright and alive as he looks at the paintings and talks about my mom. I think he was genuinely fond of her. That thought makes my chest hurt.

He's telling me about my mom like he wants to fill in the blanks for me, give me back some of those five years I missed. Then he pauses and turns to me.

"Should I stop? I mean..."

From the way he's looking at me with concern, I know I must be wearing a pained expression. "What's over there?" I point down a hallway.

"That hasn't been redecorated. Your mom didn't have the heart to touch it. I call it the bowling hallway," he tells me as he leads the way. "When I was a kid, I used it as a bowling alley. I would line up my toys and roll a soccer ball at them to knock them down. But the sketches are the reason your mom didn't want to mess with it."

Hanging on the walls of a long hallway with striped wallpaper are detailed sketches of scenes of people at work and at leisure—a woman with a parasol strolling in the garden, two women with baskets gathering herbs and vegetables.

"These don't seem like my mom's kind of art," I say as I examine them while Julian walks ahead of me. I'm only looking at the sketches so I don't stare at his ass.

We move down the hallway and Julian explains. "My great-great-great-aunt did these. She was very sickly and didn't live past twenty-five. Since she didn't get out much, she drew what she could see out the windows of this house. My dad was fine with putting the sketches in storage. But your mom said, 'No. We have to treasure these. This is history. These sketches are the soul of this place.'"

"That sounds just like Mom," I say. It's like I can hear the passion in her voice.

Julian sighs. "I don't know what my father will do with them now."

The next two sketches depict some workers, strapping, bare-chested guys. "Your great-great-great aunt had good taste. And I guess you like these too," I say to him.

He looks from the sketches to me and immediately becomes self-conscious. "Why not?" He sounds defensive and shifts uncomfortably.

Refusing to meet my eyes, he looks up and down the hallway like he's searching for an escape route. Has he just realized that he's alone with me far down this long, dimly lit space? The only light comes from a french door at the end of the hallway. It leads to the garden, but the glass is too well shaded by the trees outside, leaving the hallway dim.

Julian squirms a little and I find that irresistible. I remember how uninhibited he was when he was alone with me in my apartment. From what I can tell, he doesn't remember that at all, and I'm dying to remind him.

"There's nothing wrong with appreciating the male form," I tell him. "I'm sure guys hit on you all the time."

"No, they don't," Julian says and he seems to mean it. Maybe he doesn't know he's beautiful.

I want him to know it, to feel it. I step closer to him and watch his throat work as he swallows. "Maybe you can't see it. You need to look at yourself through my eyes."

He shakes his head like he doesn't want to see what I see. If he did, he would see himself pressed against this wall with his legs crossed at my waist and his jeans pulled down. He'd see my fingers digging into his ass cheeks as I hold him up and impale him on my cock.

One step closer and I'm right up against him. Feeling him lean and hard against me, I'm starting to forget who he is, where we are and that I can't make my fantasy come true. But he's right there. His lips are trembling, his eyes luminous. I could at least kiss that luscious mouth.

"Evan." Julian says my name sharply and I snap out of it.

He's breathing hard as I step away from him and so am I.

"Are you sure you really want me to stay over here. You seem uncomfortable," I needle him and step close beside him in front of the sketch of those bare-chested men.

"I'm sure. I already told you I want you to stay here," he insists. But he's definitely uncomfortable. He swallows hard and I watch his throat work and his chest rise and fall as he tries to get his breathing under control.

My hand rises. The back of my hand is nearly touching the light stubble along his sharp jaw.

"Ok. I need to go," he says suddenly and starts to turn away like he's going to abandon me there.

"Were you going to show me to the guesthouse?" I challenge him. I can tell he's dying to run away from me, but I have no intention of letting him.

He just stares at me for a moment like he's trying to decide if he dares to spend any more time alone with me.

"Did you change your mind? Maybe I'm not welcome here any more," I say to help him make up his mind.

"Of course you are," he says immediately. "Let's go." He turns to lead the way. Then stops and changes direction again.

"I haven't shown you the kitchen yet and you need to meet Mrs. Murphy, our housekeeper. We can grab you a few things to eat while we're there," he says. "There's nothing over at the guesthouse. I mean there's a tiny kitchenette, but no food."

He's either being considerate or just looking for an excuse to go somewhere where he won't be alone with me. I make him jittery but he's determined to keep me here.

As we walk toward the kitchen, I'm reminded that Julian's father restored his family's mansion on my mother's dime. After what happened to my mom, I couldn't hate him more.

I have no idea how that hate hasn't spilled over onto Julian. I guess he's just too different from his father for me to hate him. That doesn't mean I can't use the son to strike at the father. Julian's goodness and his generous spirit won't stop me. I'll make him mine.

Chapter 4

~Julian

When I take Evan to the kitchen, Mrs. Murphy is delighted to meet him and also teary eyed. She's happy that he's staying with us and helps us get some food together.

Loaded down with stuff to stock the kitchenette in the guesthouse, we go out through the kitchen door. I think Mrs. Murphy overdid it with the food.

On a path that leads to the guesthouse, I tell Evan why Mrs. Murphy got so emotional. "Mrs. Murphy was really fond of your mom. She said Loraine reminded her of my mom. 'True ladies both of them.' That's what she called our moms."

"I guess your dad has a type," he says, his expression unreadable.

"I guess so," I say absently then find myself wondering what Evan's type is. Not that I care, but he was messing with my head earlier. And of course I didn't handle it well at all. Next time I'll be ready and won't let him get to me. Not that there will be a next time.

Walking down well-shaded garden paths, we arrive at the guesthouse. My hands are full with the food, so I give Evan the key. Our hands touch momentarily and I feel a zing like Evan's body carries a strong charge and the current from his body passed into mine.

He doesn't seem to notice he got me again. Good. I embarrassed myself enough.

When he goes to unlock the door it sticks of course and he has to put his shoulder into it. It gives and we're in.

"The maids must use the other door when they clean in here," I tell him as I carry the food into the kitchen. It's milk, cereal and assorted snacks and beverages. I put them away. "Drop in for anything else you need."

"Sure. Thanks," he says as he's looking around.

I figure I should leave now and let him settle in, but Evan stops me. "Don't I get a tour?" he asks like he's looking for an excuse to keep me around and torture me.

"There isn't that much to it," I say, pointing out the obvious. "The bedroom and bathroom are that way. This is your living room with the attached study. As you see, no renovations in here. Your mom said this guesthouse would be a an absolute jewel once she was done with it." It makes me feel sad and I can't help thinking of all the things she would never get to do.

"I don't have any complaints," Evan says. "It's much nicer than my place."

"Where do you live?" I ask as I open the blinds and crack the windows to air out the place a little.

"You know where I live," he says. Then he looks confused as I turn to him and shake my head.

I'm confused too. Why does he think I know where he lives? "I don't. My father probably knows," I tell him.

"You've been there," he states like it's a simple fact.

"When?" I wonder.

"You have to be kidding me," he says in disbelief.

"Why?"

"Did you block out the whole night as well as next morning?"

His question doesn't make any sense to me. "What are you..." I stop and gape at him, but suddenly I know what he's talking about. "I... Someone drugged me a few days ago."

He nods. "Right. I got you away from him, took you to my place."

"That was your apartment. Was that note from you?" I ask. Now I'm even more confused about that night than I was before.

"Yes. It was. How could you not know that?" he asks, dismayed.

"You didn't sign it!" I tell him. "I didn't know where I was. As soon as I woke up and saw that note, I just bolted right out of there." Feeling scared and disoriented, I didn't even try to find something that might tell me whose apartment I was in. I just wanted to get away.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You're welcome."

"Oh, thank you. Sorry," I say. I am grateful but I'm still trying to make sense of this. "I was really confused. One minute I'm waiting for my friends at the pub, then I feel weird and the next thing I know I'm waking up in a stranger's bed. Your bed, I guess. Sorry. So what happened?"

"I saw you at Club Scythe. You looked out of it, and some guy was taking you into the back," Evan says.

"Which club?" I ask because I don't recognize the name. "I never heard of it." Then I think about it, about Evan. "Is it a gay club?"

"It is," he confirms with an amused look.

"I see. I don't go to clubs much anyway. Umm. Thank you. Thank you so much for helping me," I tell him and feel uncomfortable.

"Sure. It was no big deal," Evan says, but I start to wonder what might have happened.

"Did he? I mean..." I don't know how to ask that question. The words get stuck in my throat.

"I don't think he did anything to you," Evan assures me.

"Ok. Good. That's thanks to you," I tell him. I'm still reeling from what happened, but I want him to know how grateful I am.

"Maybe I was saving you for myself," he says in a thick voice. He moves in closer and gazes at me levelly.

"What?" As I gape at him, he gives me a smile and the whole time his eyes never leave mine.

The smile on his lips makes me think he's kidding, but his eyes are deadly serious. Still, he's just messing with me. I give him a fake laugh for his bad joke. I'm sure that's what it was.

But why does he have to be so unnerving. I feel weird around him, scared and kind of excited like he's a roller coaster someone dared me to ride.

Turning away from Evan, I face that open window. A nice breeze is coming in, but it doesn't seem cool enough.

"It's too warm in here," I say and go to open another window.

"That's all you," Evan says provocatively.

He's just trying to get a rise out of me. As I pull the window open, I feel Evan come up right behind me and I jump.

I can't move away from him though. There is nowhere to go. I start to turn around, but then realize that I don't really want to face him and look into those insinuating, hazel eyes.

"Do you really not remember anything from that night?" he asks from right behind me, his voice raspy and suggestive.

"Why?" I ask. I'm breathing too fast, and having Evan so close behind me is making me incredibly tense. He's not touching me and that only ratchets up the tension. "No, I don't remember anything," I assert trying to put an end to this uncomfortable conversation.

"Try," he tells me, or more like commands me.

"What do you want me to remember?" I ask him, turning my head slightly but still not daring to face him fully.

Evan leans in to answer my question. "Me," he says and I hear him breathing hard. "And you," he adds and I breathe just as hard.

"You and me," I say. I'm trying to add up a simple sum of one plus one, but my brain is too fuzzy to figure it out. Something does come back to me. Evan smells good, he feels good, he's strong when he holds me up, and gentle when he strokes my hair.

"Evan," I say feeling faint. I feel him take hold of my arms.

"What is it?" he whispers, and he sounds kind of worried. That makes me come back to myself. I turn toward him and feel his hands release their hold on my arms then come to rest at my waist.

I only wanted to tell him I was all right, but now I find myself in this intimate position with him, too close, with his hands on me while I'm looking into his incredible hazel eyes.

"I like how your eyes change color," I tell him stupidly. I have no idea what I'm saying.

"Yours too," he says. "But your eyes are always questioning me."

"What are they asking?" I wonder.

Evan smiles wanly. "I don't know. You tell me."

"Maybe they're asking if you're all right," I say. I have been worried about him.

"As all right as I can be." Evan forces another smile and moves in closer, his face inches from mine.

For a long moment, his eyes are my whole world as they look into mine. I'm lost in him then his gaze moves down to my mouth. He leans in even closer, so close I don't dare to breathe, to stir the air between us.

His lips barely brush my cheek, and I watch his eyes fall closed, his eyelashes dark against his skin. Next I feel his stubble sharp on my cheek, a contrast to the softness and the brief touch of his lips.

The scrape of his stubble does something to me. The roughness of it seems so right. I'm getting hard and I don't know why.

Evan's hands move lower to my hips. Fingers digging in, he brings my body closer. No, I can't let him. He'll feel how hard I am. I draw back. I'm shaking, panting as he stares at me with hooded eyes.

"I'll leave you alone to get settled," I tell him and I run out.

Leaving the guesthouse I feel so weird, so confused about what just happened and what might have.

Chapter 5

~Evan

As Julian goes out the door, I watch him disappear down the cobblestone path and into the thick greenery that surrounds the guesthouse. I feel a pang of intense loneliness once he's out of sight.

Is that why I was messing with him again? Was I trying to keep him here so he could console me, make me forget all my pain? Or maybe I just like messing with him and nothing more.

Without him here I feel the full strangeness of finding myself a guest here. I refused to step foot in this house when my mom was alive, and now here I am enjoying the hospitality of my stepfather and stepbrother.

Thinking of it, I can't help regretting that I didn't make sure to see my mom more often. But what I regret more than anything is that I didn't get her away from here, away from Gerald before she was killed.

My certainty about what happened to my mom ebbs and flows. Sometimes I'm sure it was murder. Other times I doubt myself. Either way I need to know the truth. That's why I came here.

On the drive here, it was evergreens as far as the eye could see. As I got closer to town, the picture changed and all I could see was car wreckage, my mom breathing her last breath as she died out there all alone in one of the rocky fields that surround the town.

We didn't talk or see each other often, and I find myself missing her so much. And I miss my dad even more than ever before. Dad was rough around the edges, and Mom always complained that he didn't appreciate the finer things. Still the two of them made it work until Gerald came along and swept Mom off her feet.

While breaking up my parents' marriage, Gerald played the part of the perfect gentleman, sophisticated and cultured. Dad might not have been polished and refined, but he loved Mom, not her money.

Dad had his own office equipment rentals company. It was nothing exciting, but he and my uncle Colin were partners and ran it together. Dad wasn't interested in the vast inheritance Mom had from her family.

That's what Gerald Whitmore was after. I'm sure of it.

In the end, I ended up with most of my mom's wealth. But Gerald already tied up a lot of Mom's money in his business ventures.

The last time my mom and I talked, she had some news for me. She was leaving Gerald. I was happy about that, but she wasn't, of course. But now I wonder if that got her killed somehow.

She didn't give me any specifics, she just said, "He's not the man I thought he was. You remember how your father used to say, 'You make money to live, not the other way around.' I can't help getting sentimental about your dad. He was a really good man, you know."

I told her that I did know. I also know that Gerald is not a good man. For now, I don't know what he did or why, but I'll find out.

I settle into the guesthouse as best I can and set up my laptop on the small desk that looks out on a three-tiered fountain. The rest of my day is spent doing research on Gerald's business dealings. Gerald's motive has to be money, but I just can't figure out how he profited from my mom's death.

Evening falls around me and I hardly notice until Julian texts me a dinner invitation. I'm startled to see a text from him. It slipped my mind that we exchanged numbers.

As for dinner, I want to refuse. After thinking about my mom and my dad so much, I don't feel like sitting across the dinner table from Gerald and pretending I don't hate his guts.

But Julian texted that the dinner was in my honor, so I guess I can't refuse. Luckily I see that it's not just me, Julian and his father. Sitting at the dinner table with us are Cecilia and Alicia Cummings, a mother and daughter who live in the neighborhood.

The daughter, Alicia, is about nineteen and talking about starting college in the fall. She's pretty and I wonder if she's there for Julian. At first, she plays it cool, but after a while, she can't keep her eyes off him.

Hearing her mother prompt her to tell Julian about this and that, I'd swear Cecilia Cummings is pushing them together. I guess Julian is considered quite a catch.

I look at him appraisingly. He would be a prize for anyone, but I notice that he smiles at Alicia politely with no warmth and only looks at her when they are speaking. I can't see any appreciation for her in his eyes.

If he was interested, his eyes should be lingering on her mouth then straying down to her cleavage. I don't see even a flicker of interest from Julian. Maybe she's just not his type.

After dinner, we all sit in the living room with drinks. Gerald and Cecilia are talking business. I'm leaning on the grand piano while Alicia sits close to Julian on the sofa. Whe [...]