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

by Layla Valentine

  That doesn’t mean I’m not still angry. When he lets me breathe again, I tell him as much.

  “This doesn’t mean I’m not still furious with you,” I gasp.

  “I know, Mel,” he replies, “and I’m sorry. I… Look, things were complicated. Your brother is a good man, but a business can’t survive without some risks,” he insists.

  “Risks are one thing,” I snap. He’s still got me around the waist, and I’m pressed against him. When he speaks, I can feel his breath on my neck, warm and close enough to send tingles down my spine. “But the amount that you offered for his half of the business is insulting.”

  He works his jaw for a moment, thinking about his answer carefully. I hate that he’s so calculating, trying to decide how he’s going to placate me just enough that I’ll see his side of things and come around. That’s not going to happen. No matter what he tries to tell me, I know in my heart what’s right.

  “Right now, VirtuGym isn’t worth more than what I offered,” he argues. “I did what I could, but listen, I don’t like this whole situation any more than you do—”

  Before he can launch into another wordy explanation of his actions, I press my lips to his and kiss him firmly, shutting him up immediately. As the heat between us builds, he pulls away for just a moment.

  “I thought you were mad at me,” he points out, and I kiss him again.

  “I am,” I tell him between kisses. “Stop talking.”

  He obeys and I keep kissing him until we’re starting to walk out of the café, my fingers intertwined in his, not breaking the kiss for longer than it takes to hail the cab and tell the driver Tyler’s address.

  In the back seat, Tyler holds me close, kissing me, softly at first. I want to hold back until we get to his apartment, but when he bites down on my lip, I can’t keep my hands off him.

  I tug off his suit jacket and reach around my back to undo my ponytail, letting my hair fall down around my shoulders. He brushes it out of my face, pulling back a moment to look me up and down.

  “You look great with your hair down,” he says, and I press an angry kiss to his lips instead of accepting the compliment.

  “This isn’t me forgiving you,” I clarify, making sure he knows that this—whatever it is—is not the beginning of a relationship, not an acceptance of what he did to Jackson, not anything beyond pure, physical attraction.

  Maybe it’s revenge, my chance to show him such a mind-blowing time that he’ll beg for more, and then I can deny him. I’m here to get what I want and then leave.

  “You don’t have to,” he replies between breaths, barely breaking the kiss to speak. He kisses all the way from my lips to my ear and whispers into it, “This is just for tonight.”

  I nod, letting him pull me further into his muscular body. He leans down and continues kissing me hard, slipping his tongue into my mouth and cupping my face in his hands.

  It’s less than a ten-minute drive to get to Tyler’s place, but every moment that we spend in the taxi seems longer than the last as I get more and more desperate to have him completely, picturing him naked and sweaty.

  The taxi finally stops in front of his apartment building and Tyler steps out first, pulling me up and to my feet outside of the cab before leaning back in to pay the driver. As he does, I straighten out my shirt and skirt, fixing my hair so that it’s not so wild and trying to look at least a little composed. I fiddle with my necklace—the one Jackson gave me—gripping it tightly to remind myself that this can only be a one-night stand, no matter what Tyler says, and allow him to take my hand and lead me inside the building.

  Inside the elevator, Tyler presses me against the wall, pinning my hands above my head by the wrists with one of his hands. Restrained from touching him, the only way I have to communicate is with my lips, my tongue, my kiss.

  I lean forward so much that I fall forward when he releases me as the elevator dings on his floor. Instead of just steadying me, Tyler sweeps my legs out from under me, scooping me up in his strong arms. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his jawline, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble on my lips.

  He carries me all the way into his bedroom before he lets me down to my feet. There, I begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, some of them popping off as I roughly tear them open, hitting the floor silently. I don’t care that I’m ruining his shirt. I want to ruin it.

  I untuck my shirt from my skirt and make a show of undoing my own buttons, slowly. Tyler is watching me as I strip, so I push him down onto the bed and straddle his legs, kicking off my heels on either side of his feet. They fall to the floor with a thud. I can feel the muscles of his chest as I lift his undershirt over his head, then move his hands behind his neck so he can’t touch me while I slowly take off my bra.

  “Come here,” he groans impatiently. “Stop teasing. I want you.”

  I glare, then turn around so he can unzip my skirt.

  “Slowly,” I warn, and he reluctantly does.

  I want to make him squirm a bit; I want to tease him.

  When I’m finally down to just my panties, I turn around and undo his belt, slipping it out from his belt loops before unzipping his pants. He kicks them off onto the floor, then looks me up and down.

  Finally, after making him sweat it out, we’re nearly naked before one another, and my own self-control diminishes as I look at his chiseled chest, his buff arms, his toned abs. He’s like a sculpture of a Greek god, with every detail painstakingly made to look perfect to the beholder’s eye. I’m just an observer, marveling at a work of art that is, in this moment, entirely and wholly mine.

  He presses a firm kiss to my lips and flips me over, pressing me down against the bed and straddling my hips with his knees. My hair fans out across his pillow, and he runs one hand through it.

  “God, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, kissing me fiercely.

  I moan a breath of air through my nose, wrapping my legs around his back and tugging him closer. He grunts in surprise, kissing down my neck, down my chest and stomach, until he’s at the line of my panties, where he tugs them down and begins to kiss me between my legs.

  It’s slow and sensual, just for me. Is he trying to win me over, or to convince me to forgive him? That’s not going to happen, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy the attention, so I just relax back against the pillows while he pleasures me, focusing on only my own desires and wants.

  Only after I’m moaning desperately do I finally pull him toward me, my breath hitching as he enters me smoothly and begins to move in and out at a steady pace. He nibbles my neck, trailing up and down with deep, breath-taking pressure.

  Tyler’s fingers are still intertwined in my hair and he tugs it lightly toward the bed, exposing my neck even further so that he can kiss it. His kisses aren’t rhythmic like the thrusting is, instead changing in intensity and speed almost intoxicatingly. I never know when the next one will come or how rough it will be, so I’m on edge and unable to so much as speak.

  “Tyler,” I breathe, unable to think anything but his name.

  I’m not sure how many times I repeat it, but I’m sure that it’s more than just the once. My mind is fuzzy, drunk on his body and high in his grasp. I can’t think about anything but him, what he’s doing, what he’ll do next. Tyler is my every thought and the only thing that matters for now. I’m still so, so angry at him, but instead of blowing out the flame, it only seems to make everything hotter, more passion-fueled. I doubt I’ll ever have sex this intense again.

  When we’re finished, I’m panting and sweaty, pleasantly out of breath and tired. I’m not in a mood to cuddle, though.

  Despite wanting nothing more than to turn over and go to sleep, I force myself up and out of bed, picking my clothes up off the floor and beginning to change back into them. Tyler sits up and watches curiously.

  “You don’t have to go, you know,” he points out.

  “I’m not staying here,” I snap. “I told you, I’m not forgiving you.”
<
br />   He snorts. “Well, it sure didn’t feel like you were holding a grudge a minute ago,” he says lightly, and I turn around to face him.

  “This isn’t funny to me,” I snarl. “What you did to my brother isn’t something I’m going to just forgive because you’re charming, or handsome, or good in bed.”

  “Quite a rousing review for someone you’re trying to insult,” he retorts.

  “I also think you’re a cheap asshole with no loyalty,” I return. His cocky smile drops. “I was angry, and I still am. Now that it’s out of my system, I never, ever want to see you again.”

  Tyler nods, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and not bothering with a shirt. I hate that it makes me want to take him straight into that bed again. I’m finally dressed, so I take out my phone to order a cab.

  “Shit,” I mutter, a rare curse passing my lips. Tyler frowns in concern.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, sounding far too worried for someone whom I just told I’d like never to see again.

  “My phone’s dead,” I admit. “I can’t call a cab.”

  “Oh,” Tyler breathes. “If that’s all, I can—”

  “I’d rather walk than let you drive me home,” I snap.

  I know it’s a bit petulant to respond so rudely to someone who’s offering me something kind, but I can’t help it.

  “No,” he replies, “I was just going to say I could get you a cab.”

  I nod, feeling foolish. Refusing to thank him, I just tug on my shoes and head out of his room. He stops me at the door before I can leave.

  “Hey,” he says, “I’m sorry you’re upset about what happened between me and Jackson. I didn’t mean—”

  “You’re sorry I’m upset?” I echo mockingly, unkindly. “That’s a bullshit apology,” I growl. “Being sorry that I’m angry isn’t taking accountability for what you did.”

  “It’s not,” he affirms, “because I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. But…you’re…well. Anyway, I didn’t intend for this to come between us.”

  With renewed fury, I turn toward the door.

  “Yeah, well,” I snap, “it did. Goodbye, Tyler. Thanks for the cab and have a nice life.”

  I slam the door behind me as I leave, stomping toward the elevator. How dare he say something so insulting, so belittling? Who does he think he is?

  When I get down to the curb, I realize that I actually have no idea where the taxi is going to be or when it will arrive, but before I can start to consider options or walk around to look for it, a limousine pulls up in front of me, stopping and rolling down the window.

  “Mel Page?” the driver asks, and I curse under my breath once again.

  “Yes,” I confirm, already resigning myself to riding home in such a ridiculous vehicle. Tyler is so extravagant that it makes me see red once more.

  The driver steps out and opens the door for me, though I reassure him that it’s not necessary, and I sit in the back of the car. It’s only going to be a twenty-minute ride, and I’m alone, but the limo is stocked as if I’m going to be throwing a party back here.

  “Help yourself to anything,” the driver chirps politely. “It’s all-inclusive, of course.”

  I don’t touch anything: not a chocolate from the small refrigerator or a glass of champagne. This exact type of extravagant display of wealth is what had made me so mad about the offer Tyler gave Jackson in the first place, and it only proves to heighten my anger.

  As the city lights fly by in a blur, I wonder if Tyler is still thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him. Had I not called him tonight, would he have slept with another woman? While I’m the new girl in town, the stranger who doesn’t know anyone and has no real social outlet aside from her older brother, he’s more like some kind of San Bravado royalty. Tyler, with his looks and his money and his status, could find a new fling in a heartbeat, and I don’t see any reason for him not to.

  The limo stops in front of my apartment and I step out, thanking the driver for the ride. I reach into my purse for my keys and unlock the door, reaching up to grip my necklace, a sort of comfort motion, and gasp when my hand grabs around thin air.

  Panic overwhelms me as I realize I left my necklace at Tyler’s place. I can picture it on his nightstand, right where I placed it to ensure that it didn’t break while we rolled around, and in my fury, I’d forgotten to grab it on my way out.

  For just a moment, I debate going back to Tyler’s apartment before shoving that thought down, knowing I absolutely can’t do that. After the dramatic exit I made and all of the talk about how I’ll never see him again, I can’t just show up and ask him if I can come inside to grab it.

  I’m not a particularly sentimental person, nor do I have a personal attachment to any of my other jewelry, save for that necklace. Jackson gave it to me right before he left for San Bravado, and since then, it’s become a sort of talisman, something to remind me to take a breath when I was stressed.

  Still, losing the necklace is a much more preferable alternative to seeing Tyler again tonight. Seeing a cocky, half-naked Tyler before I’ve had a chance to get my head on straight again…I don’t trust myself not to jump right back into bed with him again.

  Chapter 8

  Mel

  Five Years Later

  Jackson is already sitting in our normal diner booth when I arrive, almost fifteen minutes late, to meet him for our Sunday brunch. Even as I approach our booth, I can tell that it’s been quite a while since he’s shaved, and it sets a pit of anxiety in my stomach. I know I’ve canceled on him the past few weeks, but have things really been going so badly for him recently?

  I sit down at the booth, startling him, and he sets his phone down with a smile.

  “Hey, Mellie,” he greets cheerfully. “Long time no see.”

  I feel a bit guilty about how busy I’ve been. I haven’t even called him.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I reply sheepishly. “I’ve just been so busy, and I can’t really cancel on my clients, even if their requests can be kind of last-minute…”

  Jackson waves my guilt away. “It’s no problem, I get it,” he tells me. “You’re living your dream. If you start canceling on celebrities, they’ll leave. I’m just glad you’re doing what you love.”

  I nod hesitantly, still feeling like he should be more upset with me but not wanting to push him. Every time we talk about how well my own career is going, I feel a little guilty about it, but I don’t know how to bring that up either, without sounding like a complete ass.

  Instead, I change the subject.

  “So, how are things going with you?” I ask, accepting the sparkling water that the waitress sets on the table without me even having to order it. Despite the few weeks of interruption in our routine, I guess the wait staff still recognize me well enough to know my order. I make a mental note to tip extra today.

  Jackson sighs, laughing a little bit self-deprecatingly. “Oh, you know,” he says, bringing his coffee cup to his lips to avoid answering.

  “No,” I press, “I don’t. We haven’t talked in a while, and I want to know how you’re doing. What’s changed? How’s the job treating you?”

  Though he hasn’t hurt financially these past five years, Jackson hit a creative wall, so to speak, after taking the buyout from Tyler. VirtuGym had been his dream, and he’d poured all his best ideas into it. When Tyler bought it from him, he took my brother’s passion for success with him.

  Since then, Jackson gave half-effort at a few jobs before finally settling, a little over a year ago now, into a managerial position at a smartphone store. His sales numbers are good and his branch is doing well, but the light that used to ignite in his eyes when he talked about VirtuGym has gone out. His job now is passionless; it only serves to fill his time.

  “It’s treating me exactly the same as it always has,” he answers, a slight bitter edge to his voice. “And nothing’s new; you know that. Nothing is ever new.”

  I frown. “Jackson,” I start, “d
on’t be like that. There’s so much that you could—”

  “Mel,” he interrupts, stopping me in my tracks. “Please, give it a rest,” he says tiredly. “I’m doing fine. I don’t love what I do, but I don’t hate it. Just because you love what you do, doesn’t mean everyone has to.”

  I blink, taken aback. Jackson never talks to me like that, and it worries me a little. At the same time, it’s clear that he doesn’t want me to push the matter, and he’s right, in a way. He’s getting by in life, and I guess that’s what’s important…right?

  “Okay,” I relent, “I’m sorry.”

  Jackson smiles at me, a devious glint in his eyes. Growing up, that look always meant trouble.

  “Oh, God,” I groan, “what’s that look for?”

  “It’s been too long since either of us has just had a chance to relax,” he announces, “so I think we should do that.”

  “Day drinking?” I ask, unable to fully restrain my amused smirk, which turns into a full giggle when he nods.

  “Day drinking,” he agrees, beckoning the waitress over. “We’ll each have a mimosa, please,” he tells her.

  I’m not surprised when she asks for my ID—even though I’m 24, I still get carded on the regular. I should probably be thankful for my youthful complexion, or whatever, but generally, my young looks just make me feel awkward when ordering booze. Not to mention that I have to try harder to be taken seriously. Jackson’s beard seems to be enough to convince her of his age, so as soon as she hands back my ID, the waitress is off to the bar to get our drinks. She returns a few minutes later with two mimosas, an egg white omelet for me, and a plate of chicken and waffles for Jackson.

  I shoot him a questioning look, since he’s normally as health conscious as I am, but he simply shrugs.

  “It’s my cheat day,” he explains, digging into his meal while I take a long sip of my mimosa. “Now,” he begins, “I think it’s time we talk about something more interesting than work.”

  I feign outrage. “What could be more interesting than work?” I ask, aghast, and he rolls his eyes.