Stepbrother Needs (His Twisted Game, Book Three) Read Free Page B

for the occasional time when he’d point out some sports play I wouldn’t
completely understand or I’d tried to tell him some plot twist in my book that
he wouldn’t care about.
    We’d pass snacks back and forth and I’d
refill our sodas when they got low.   It was comforting, just having him there, being out of my room and
having him close to me.   I always
felt safer when he was around.
    The scene in front of me now might have
been taking place in a New York City penthouse instead of our tiny, falling
apart house back in Jersey, but it was so familiar to me.   All I wanted to do was curl up next to
him on the couch with a good book.
    “Cole?” I asked.  
    But the volume on the TV was too high, and
he didn’t hear me at first.
    “Cole?” I asked again, a little louder
this time.   Even though the scene
was familiar, now that we were on his turf, it felt like I was intruding on him
in some way, like I was interrupting him and had no right to be there.
    He turned to look at me, and he was so
beautiful I caught my breath.   I’d
been annoyed at him earlier, when he’d been Business Cole, but now he was just
here, my stepbrother, the person who used to make me feel safer than anyone in
the world.
    Until he’d left and shattered my heart
into pieces.
    “Um, is there any ibuprofen?”   I asked.
    “What’s wrong?”   He shut the TV off and stood up.
    I was suddenly aware I was in just a
pajama top and shorts, the thin material clinging to my body.   I wasn’t even wearing a bra, and I saw
his eyes lingering on my breasts.
    “My wrist hurts.”
    “Let me see.”   He walked over and took my wrist in his hand gently, running
his fingers over my skin.   His
touch sent fire roaring through my body, and I felt flush.  
    “It doesn’t look swollen,” he said.   “Where’s your brace?”
    “I couldn’t get it on.   I think it’s okay.   I mean, I don’t think it’s getting
worse or anything, it just hurts.”
    “Stay here.”
    He disappeared into the guest bathroom, then returned with a bottle of ibuprofen.   He poured me a glass of water from the pitcher
that was in the fridge and watched to make sure I swallowed the pills.
    “Drink the rest of the water,” he said.
    “I’m not thirsty.”
    “You need to stay hydrated, Avery.   For your wrist.”
    I rolled my eyes and finished the
water.   “Happy?”
    “Yes.”   He took my empty glass and set it in the dishwasher.
    I admired the way his body moved, the
smooth planes of his chest, the broadness of his shoulders.   I shivered a little.
    “You’re cold,” he said.   “You need to get back in bed.”
    “I’m not tired.”
    “Too bad.   We have to be at the office tomorrow at eight.   You don’t want to be tired for your
first day, do you?”
    I shook my head.   I wanted to ask him why he was allowed to
be awake, why he got to stay up late watching TV when he had to work in the
morning, too.   But it didn’t work
that way.   I was starting to learn
that Cole made – or at least tried to make – the rules for me, but
I didn’t make the rules for him.
    “Come on,” he said.   “I’ll help you with your brace.”
    I followed him back to my room, through
the door and into the bathroom where he grabbed my brace and held it out to
me.   I held out my arm and he
clicked it on. The support instantly made my wrist feel better.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    “You’re welcome.”
    He stood there staring at me, his eyes
boring into mine, an electricity in the air, crackling
so intensely that it was undeniable.  
    But a second later, he looked away.   “Time for bed.”
    We walked back into my room, and he
waited until I was under the covers before turning off the light.
    “Good night, Avery.”
    “Good night, Cole.”
    I heard the click of the light switch and
the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the hall.   I held my breath, hoping he would come
back, yearning to feel his arms around me the way they’d