My Brother's Best Friend - A Second Chance Romance (San Bravado Billionaire's Club Book 8)

by Layla Valentine

  My Brother’s Best Friend

  Layla Valentine

  Contents

  My Brother’s Best Friend

  1. Mel

  2. Tyler

  3. Mel

  4. Tyler

  5. Mel

  6. Tyler

  7. Mel

  8. Mel

  9. Tyler

  10. Tyler

  11. Mel

  12. Mel

  13. Tyler

  14. Mel

  15. Tyler

  16. Mel

  17. Mel

  18. Mel

  19. Tyler

  20. Mel

  21. Tyler

  22. Mel

  23. Tyler

  24. Mel

  25. Tyler

  Epilogue

  Four Secret Babies

  Introduction

  1. Chloe

  More Books in this Series

  My Brother’s Best Friend

  Copyright 2018 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Mel

  It’s been so long since I’ve worn heels that I really shouldn’t be surprised at how much they hurt my feet.

  Part of me wanted to say no when my brother called and invited me to the grand opening party of his new business venture. All my stuff is still in boxes, and I really should be unpacking, cleaning, or arranging my furniture in my new apartment. I only arrived in San Bravado a week ago, and there are still a million things that need to be done.

  Really, that’s a big part of why I agreed to come at all. Yes, it’s important to Jackson, so it’s important to me too. Mostly, though, a party is exactly what I need right now, and I’d rather be doing anything other than unpacking and organizing.

  While I’m not totally sure what to expect from the venue itself, I find myself feeling excited, anyway. Parties here on the West Coast are always full of young people and innovators. They have to be, if they want their businesses to thrive in a city with both one of the biggest colleges in the state and some of the richest people in the country.

  When the taxi lets me out in front of the address that Jackson texted me, I’m immediately skeptical. I double-check the address in my phone map, then look around for a street sign to verify, because there’s no way that this is the opening night that my brother has planned and thrown.

  The building is larger than I expected, but what really strikes me is the massive scale of the party that’s raging inside. The outside walls are illuminated by colorful strobe lights, several food trucks are parked around the perimeter, and I can feel the music thumping all the way out here.

  There’s a sign that does say “VirtuGym” in bright LED letters, but there has to be some mistake; maybe there’s two with the same name, or maybe I misinterpreted something. There can be no fewer than four hundred people inside, and there’s no way my brother would have the event-planning skills—not to mention the funds—to throw a party like this.

  Before I can call another cab and get this sorted out, I’m stopped by a hand on my shoulder.

  “Mel!”

  I turn around to see my brother dressed more stylishly than I’ve ever seen him, smiling and looking pleasantly relaxed in a way I hadn’t expected. My dorky older brother looks all grown up.

  “Jackson!” I say with a grin, pulling him into a tight hug. “Is this really your gym?”

  He nods, a look of pride crossing his features.

  “It’s huge!”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, “it’s a pretty nice setup.”

  He looks me over, taking in all the ways I’ve changed since I last saw him. I’m a bit leaner than when he came home for Christmas, I’ve cut my hair to my shoulders from its previous length halfway down my back, and I’m pretty sure it was still dyed red in December, whereas now I’ve let it fade back to its natural brown. Instead of pointing out any of that, though, Jackson reaches forward and gestures at the necklace I’m wearing.

  “You actually wear this thing?” he asks, an amused smile crossing his features. “I thought you hated it when I gave it to you.”

  The locket that’s around my neck was his present to me for my eighteenth birthday. I’d acted like it was a cheesy gift at the time, but once he’d gone back to school, I’d started wearing it every day.

  “I love it,” I reassure him. “I wear it all the time.”

  Jackson throws an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the doors of VirtuGym.

  “Glad to hear it,” he says. “Anyway, let’s not stay out here all night. Come on in and join the party!”

  I follow him through the doors and the noise instantly intensifies. If I’d known that the party was going to be this good, I wouldn’t have shown up so late.

  Most of the people here are in their twenties, and though I assume that I’m one of the younger ones here, that doesn’t stop Jackson from breaking away for a moment to grab two empty champagne flutes and extending one to me.

  I raise an eyebrow. “You know I’m not old enough to drink,” I chastise him, taking the glass from his hands anyway.

  Before he can answer, the “pop” of a bottle of champagne interrupts us, and the room erupts in cheers and applause. I join in politely, but find that I’m not able to take my eyes off the man holding the bottle.

  He’s tall and clearly going to be a regular here at the gym, judging by his hard, large arms and toned chest. Even through the button-down shirt, I can see that he’s fit, and I can’t pry my gaze away from his face as he smiles at a young woman who offers him a towel to dry the fizz from the champagne dripping down his arm. When he looks my way, I feel strangely embarrassed, blushing childishly, and I avert my gaze back to my brother so that the handsome man doesn’t see my face turn pink.

  “Congratulations, Jackson,” I say sincerely, once I get my head on straight again. “You’ve been working at this forever, and it’s finally happening! You should be really proud of yourself.”

  He hugs me again. “I’m excited,” he gushes, “and I can’t even tell you how happy I am that you moved out here. It’ll be great to have you so close.”

  Just as I steady myself on my too-high heels as we pull apart, the handsome, muscular man I was gawking at just a few minutes ago strides over with the bottle of champagne, holding the neck of the bottle toward me.

  “You sure clean up,” he says. “Champagne?”

  I blink a few times, confused. “What?” I ask, unable to formulate anything more coherent than that.

  But when the stranger’s eyes shift a few inches to meet mine, I realize, mortified, that he wasn’t talking to me at all.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “I was talking to Jackson. But I’d be happy to pour you a glass.”

  I offer what I hope is a charming smile and my glass. His hand, slightly chilled from holding the bottle, overlaps mine as he holds my glass steady and pours.

  “Thank you,” I say, and he winks at me before turning back to Jackson.

  �
��This,” Jackson says, “is my little sister, Mel. She just moved here from Nevada. Mel, this is my business partner, Tyler Cross.”

  I extend my hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  “Likewise,” he says, somehow able to keep his voice low and sweet when I’m practically shouting over the noise of the party. “Jackson talks a lot about you.”

  I laugh. “Don’t believe a word he says,” I tell him. “Any embarrassing stories he’s told are slander.”

  Tyler smirks. “I’ve actually only heard great things,” he chuckles, “but I’d love to hear some of these slanderous stories.”

  Jackson interrupts by tapping his empty glass against the bottle, prompting Tyler to fill it with bubbly. He drains the glass in one gulp, then extends the empty flute for another.

  “I thought we were making a toast,” Tyler objects.

  “Screw it,” Jackson replies. “Everyone’s having fun; let’s not interrupt them.”

  “You deserve a toast,” I argue. “At least, just the three of us.” When Jackson nods, I hold my glass in the air. “To new beginnings,” I say, tapping both of the glasses in front of me with my own.

  “And good fortune,” Tyler adds, clinking the glasses together again.

  “And really lucky breaks,” Jackson finishes with a laugh.

  After that, Tyler tugs my wrist toward the dance floor.

  An hour later, I’m tired and my feet are killing me, but for some reason I don’t want to stop. Tyler has been dancing with a few different girls, schmoozing and flirting in equal measure, but he always seems to gravitate back toward me.

  Regardless of how much I want to sit, I get a fresh burst of energy every time he makes eye contact with me. There’s something powerful and compelling about his gaze. He has the kind of dark brown eyes that probably usually get him whatever he wants, and even I’m not immune to their power.

  Just when I’m getting ready to take a break from dancing to get another drink, maybe find Jackson, I feel a hand intertwine with my own. I don’t have to turn to know whose it is.

  “Tyler,” I say amusedly. I can smell alcohol on him, but he’s not drunk. His other hand finds mine and he presses me close to his body, moving with the beat of the song that the band has just started—one that’s a bit softer but has still got a good rhythm. It’s not too romantic, but it’s definitely more than friendly.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Mel Page?” he asks, making me bite my lip to keep down a smile at the ridiculous use of my full name.

  “I can tell you are,” I say teasingly. “How much have you had to drink?”

  Tyler flashes me a determined, mock-serious look. “Not so much that I can’t do this,” he says, dipping me deeply to a low beat of the music.

  I’m giggling—I can’t help it—as he pulls me back up to press against his body. I can feel just how muscular he really is.

  “I have to sit down for a bit,” I nearly shout over the music. “My feet are killing me.”

  I don’t expect him to follow me off the dance floor—which is really just an area of the gym in which they’ve folded up the equipment for one night to clear a space—but he follows me all the way out of the building and out to the parking lot. It’s quieter out here, enough so that I can hear myself think again.

  He looks at me a little skeptically. “Tired already?” Tyler asks, and I nod.

  “Just a little,” I reply, “from the move. And I’m not used to big parties like this. You don’t have to wait up for me, though. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of people you should be talking to about business endeavors.”

  Tyler laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “well, it’s nice to get a break from that, too. I told your brother I was going to pull out all the stops for this party, so I might as well enjoy it.”

  I shiver slightly in the cool night air, hoping that he doesn’t notice, but he clearly does, and shrugs out of his suit jacket to drape it over my shoulders.

  “So, you’re the one who put this whole thing together?” I ask. I’m impressed, but I don’t want him to know that—he seems like the cocky type, and I feel no urge to inflate his ego even further.

  “My parents had a hand in it,” he admits, leaning forward so his elbows rest on the hood of an expensive-looking car, which I now assume is his. “They paid for the party, as well as putting down most of the startup cost for the business.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “They must be very wealthy, then. I was wondering how Jackson had found the money to do all this. I’m pretty relieved to hear that he didn’t have to take out a bunch of loans.”

  He moves in closer to me, close enough that I can smell his cologne—soft but distinct, like old leather.

  “You and your brother are really close, huh?” he says.

  “We weren’t always,” I admit, “but we lost our parents quite young, and it definitely made us closer. Once he moved out and started college, I really missed him.”

  Tyler nods. “You know, that’s where we met,” he tells me. “We’ve been pretty inseparable since.”

  “I’m glad he’s got someone who looks out for him,” I say. “Living so far away, I was always worrying about him.”

  Tyler smiles. “He worries about you, too,” he tells me. “He felt bad that he wasn’t around to help you move in this week, but he’s been so preoccupied with the grand opening. How’s that going, by the way?”

  I roll my eyes. “Moving?” I ask. “It’s a nightmare, but it always is. There’s just so much to do. I’ve been so scattered; I’ve locked myself out of my apartment three times. I had to get my key copied just so I could put one under my doormat.”

  At that, he laughs, touching my arm lightly, and I shiver from the electric touch.

  “Are you ready to go back in?” I ask. “It’s a bit chilly out here.”

  I don’t know if he noticed the way I shuddered under his hand, but if he did, I want to make sure he thinks it was just from the cold.

  “Actually,” he says confidently, “I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here.”

  I flush bright red, and there’s no hiding it. “And go where?” I ask.

  I have no idea what he might be thinking that could possibly be more fun than this party…

  “I was thinking maybe we’d go to my place,” he suggests.

  Oh. Well, that might qualify.

  I don’t want to make assumptions, so I ask, “To do what?”

  Instead of replying verbally, he leans down to my level (quite a stoop, since he’s several inches taller than I am) and slides a hand down my face and under my ear, cupping my cheek almost possessively.

  He doesn’t rush, staring into my eyes deeply, and though I know I shouldn’t want to kiss him—he’s my brother’s best friend, I’ve only known him for one night, and I’m not that type of girl—I don’t pull away as he leans in and presses his lips to mine.

  It starts soft, gentle, but as soon as I kiss back just a little, he tightens his grip on my waist and pulls me in close, kissing me deeper. It feels as if a magnet is pulling us together; the closer we get, the stronger the pull. By the time he pulls away, I’m pleasantly breathless, and I wordlessly follow him to his car.

  The sports car he drives is clearly expensive, though I don’t take my eyes off Tyler for long enough to really assess his vehicle.

  The car is nothing compared to his loft.

  “This is where you live?” I can’t restrain the embarrassing question, but when he laughs, it sounds more amused than mocking.

  “I told you,” he says with a shrug. “My parents have money. I’ve been very fortunate.”

  He had failed to mention that his parents had the kind of money that would buy a place like this. My entire apartment could probably fit in his living room, and though it’s minimally decorated, that’s probably because he’s a man living on his own.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I marvel, momentarily distracted by the view of the city from his front window—until he comes up behind me
and wraps his arms around my hips.

  Lips pressed to the nape of my neck bring me back into the moment, and I melt into his strong arms as he slowly drags the kiss to my jaw, then up just a bit more to my earlobe.

  He presses me against the glass of the tall window and kisses my mouth, deeper and more hungrily than he had in the parking lot.

  Tyler continues kissing me, barely even allowing me to come up for air, while his hands reach behind my back to begin unzipping my dress. As I shift to allow him to drop the dress to the floor, I realize that I’m in new territory here. It’s uncharted waters.

  This isn’t how I pictured I would one day lose my virginity, but now I’m here in his arms, there’s nothing I want more than to feel all of him.

  I reach for the top button of his shirt and begin undoing each of them, one by one, until he’s ready to shrug it off to join my dress on the floor, next to the door of his penthouse balcony. My leg wraps itself around his, and he reaches under both my thighs to support me, lifting me up off the ground entirely and slipping me easily out of my high heels.

  I lean into him to stay balanced. It’s precarious, floating above the floor of the lavish apartment, kissing a man more handsome than I’ve ever thought I would hook up with. He’s the kind of intimidating ten out of ten that I’d never hit on at a club because he’d have a dozen women already working on it—but tonight, he’s here with me.

  I take off my bra and let it fall to the floor as he carries me to the bedroom, then take his tie—the only thing still left covering his chest—lift it over his head, and let go, leaving a breadcrumb trail of clothing from the door to his bedroom.

  Tyler’s bed is just as big and expensive-looking as the rest of his house, covered in a plush gray comforter. It’s soft when he lets me down on it, despite how he throws me in a way that should take my breath away.

  He looks me over slowly, as if to take in the entire picture from afar before he gets too caught up in the intimate details.