I get another email from Gaige.
Chelsea put her partition up and she hasn't poked her head out since. She slept on the flight to Vegas. You should put down your partition and entertain me.
Show me your boobs.
Have you joined the mile-high club?
I shake my head, but I lower the partition that divides us. "You're bad," I whisper.
"Aw," he says. "Why are you still wearing your shirt? I said boobs."
"I'm looking at a boob."
"Wow, you bowl me over with your witty and clever retorts, Delaney," he says, raising his eyebrow.
"Shut up. You give me very little to work with."
Gaige grins at me, reaching over to slide his hand around the back of my neck and draw me in close to him. He kisses me full on the lips, but I push him back. "What?" he asks.
"You're going to kiss me like that, right in public?"
"No one can see in here. Our partition is down but everyone else's is up. Including Chelsea's. Fool around with me."
"How many glasses of champagne have you had?" I ask. "I'm sure the flight attendants can see in here when they walk by."
"So what. Who cares?" he asks.
"So…" I start. "Despite your blasé attitude and carelessness about, well, everything, you are a minor celebrity, you know. People are interested in who your girl-of-the-moment is."
"Pfft," Gaige says. "I'm not minor. I'm fucking major, baby."
I jump back when a flight attendant interrupts us, offering champagne. Gaige charms the pants off her, and has her giggling and leaving us the bottle in less than ten seconds. With her phone number beside it.
He pours a glass and hands it to me. "What?" he asks, when he sees my face.
I shake my head. "That's what I'm talking about."
"You're jealous of the flight attendant?"
"No, don't be ridiculous. I mean, okay, you were totally flirting with her and everything. But I know that's just how you are. And she did leave you her number."
"Which I promptly tossed in the trash. Oh, you are jealous," he says, his voice sing-songy. "I love that you're jealous."
"I'm not jealous. I'm saying that people remember you. Even if they don't know who you are, they remember you. I mean, look at you," I say, gesturing down the length of him. I had a point with this. What was my point? Okay, maybe seeing Gaige charm the pants off the flight attendant threw me off a little bit. "You're hot. You're hot…and, basically, you're fucking ripped….and tattooed….and even if you weren't all of that, your eyes, I mean, they're just so…"
"No, no," he says. "Don't stop. Keep going. What else do you love about me?"
"What?" My voice comes out like a squeak. "Who said anything about love?"
Gaige shrugs. "You're the one going on and on about how sexy I am, and how you can't stand that anyone else is even looking at me –"
"That was not the point I was making," I say. "I'm just saying that you're memorable. And people do not need to remember me with you."
Gaige studies me, and the intensity of his gaze makes me blush. Damn it, he's always making me blush. "So you're just looking out for me."
"Exactly!" I say. "I'm looking out for your best interests. It's my new job."
Gaige leans closer to me, reaches over to my seat, and runs his hand up my leg. "I'm glad we're a team."
"Is that some kind of innuendo?"
He makes an exasperated sound. "I'm glad your dad assigned you to me. Not everything that comes out of my mouth is an innuendo, Delaney."
"You were just talking about joining the mile high club and you have your hand on my leg. Plus, pretty much everything you say to me is innuendo."
"That's not true," he says, and his forehead wrinkles. For a second, I think he looks almost…hurt.
"I didn't mean it as an insult," I say, my voice halting.
"Do you think he did it on purpose?" Gaige asks.
"Did what? Who?"
"Do you think your dad knows?"
My heart stops. "No, of course not," I say quickly. "Wait, do you think he knows?"
Gaige shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "I was just wondering if he was…trying to get us together or something."
I almost spit out my champagne. "No," I say. "Definitely not. Are you kidding?"
"Is it so bad?"
"What, you and me?" My voice is too loud, and I drop it to just above a whisper. "Are you asking about if you and I got together?"
"No," Gaige says, and averts his eyes. "Forget I said anything." He lies back in his seat and closes his eyes.
Shit. I feel like someone punched me in the gut. But Gaige asking what my father would think if we got together is insane on so many levels. "I thought you were joking," I say lamely.
Gaige's eyes remain closed. He was joking, wasn't he? I nudge his arm, but he doesn't open his eyes. "Stop ignoring me. Are you screwing around with me? You're asking what my father would think about the two of us? He would absolutely kill you. And me. Maybe me first. He'd definitely fire me. And you. And probably disown me. You're my…" I lower my voice to a whisper. "Brother."
He opens his eyes and looks at me. "Step-brother," he says. "And yeah, whatever, I was totally just kidding. Hooking up is one thing, but what am I going to do, date you?" His voice is nonchalant, but there's an edge to it that wasn't there before.
Crap. Now I really feel like someone punched me in the gut.
Gaige sinks back against his seat and I sit back in mine, the silence between us deafening, acting as if nothing happened.
Except it feels like everything just happened.
Sometimes the most important conversations start like the most innocuous ones in the world, no big deal, and then they just spiral out of control of their own accord. I want to rewind the last twenty minutes and do it all over again. But this time, I'd actually say the right words.
Except I'm not sure what I would say. Was Gaige hinting that he wanted to date me? I don't even know how that would work, even if we weren't step-siblings. I already know Gaige. We have history. Would we sit at dinner and go to movies and pretend to get to know each other?
I close my eyes, faking sleep. How the hell did I get myself into this situation?
And why can't I stop thinking about what Gaige said?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
GAIGE
It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks in Japan -- I don't even know where the hell we've been, to be honest. The first week I was too jet-lagged to notice much of anything, and content to just be told where to go and what to do. Photo shoots, interviews, appearances, one right after the other. I shot some television commercials, but I don't even know what the products were. Cologne, I think – nothing bike-related. And an ad for one of those little canned coffee drinks. It's all a blur.
And in the middle of that blur is Delaney. Always Delaney. I'm still hooking up with her, sneaking into her hotel room at night after Chelsea has gone to bed. The sex hasn't changed – it's still as hot as hell. That in and of itself is a fucking miracle. I've never had so much sex with one girl.
The thing is, it's bugging me.
I want – shit, I don't know what I want. I want to be around Delaney all the damn time. I can't get enough of her laugh, or the way she blushes when I embarrass her, which is a lot, or how she's so professional when we're out somewhere and she's handling me…and then she's mine, totally mine, in bed. When I'm with her…it's just easy.
Except that everything has felt off since the flight. Or maybe it's not off for her -- I can't tell. I don't know why the hell I brought up dating, anyway. I wouldn't know the first thing about dating some girl, much less Delaney. Delaney is sure as fuck not any regular girl, even if she weren't kind-of related to me. The whole stepsister thing doesn't bother me like it apparently does her, anyway.
I answer the knock on the door because I know it's Delaney. Pulling on my Marlow Oil polo shirt, I yank it open. Delaney is wearing black slacks and a polo shirt that matches mine, her hair i
n a ponytail, messenger bag slung across her chest. Her face is still flushed. "Good morning, Ms. Marlowe," I say.
It's a great fucking morning, actually. Delaney is coming from her hotel room and her shower, but only because she sneaked back over there this morning after a little morning sex.
She rolls her eyes. "Good morning, Gaige," she says. But she's smiling.
Reaching forward, I grab the front of her shirt and pull her into the entryway of my room, out of the hallway, so I can kiss her.
"Stop," she whispers. "Chelsea will be out here any second."
"When are you going to stop giving a shit what that bitch thinks?" I ask.
She slaps me lightly on the chest. "When there's no chance of my father finding out what we've been doing," she says. "Now, are you going to go over answers to questions? Remember the product placement. Do you have your hat?"
"I'm not talking about the interview with you," I tell her. "I'm bored with this shit. Pick another topic. Like how I want to unbutton your pants right now and put my fingers inside you."
"You better take this seriously," she says. "You have an interview in two hours."
"Then you should make sure I'm prepped."
"Your version of prepped and mine are not the same thing."
I hear a door slam and Chelsea comes into view. Delaney takes a giant step back from me, and the fact that she steps away pisses me the fuck off. The fact that Delaney gives a crap what Chelsea thinks pisses me off.
"Has Delaney prepped you on the interview?" Chelsea asks, her voice clipped. She doesn't wait for an answer. "Well, come on. Traffic will be terrible and Delaney, do you think that this time, you could make sure to ask for a cab with air conditioning? The heat and humidity in this hellhole are going to kill me, I swear."
"I'll do my best," Delaney says as we walk down the hallway. When I open my mouth, about to say something smart-assed to Chelsea, Delaney elbows me and shakes her head no.
And I, Gaige O'Neal, master of not giving a fuck about anything, refrain from telling Chelsea where she can put her air conditioning just because Delaney gives me a look. I just held myself back from telling someone to fuck off because a girl asked me not to.
Hell really must be freezing over.
Or I might really like Delaney.
Shit.
I'm not sure if the sinking feeling I get is because of the elevator, or if it's me.
"Are you listening?" Chelsea asks. We're standing in the lobby and Delaney is talking to the concierge in Japanese. She nods and giggles, her mannerisms different when she's speaking the language.
"Look," I say. "Delaney might think she has to put up with your condescending attitude and your bullshit, but I really don't have to. And if you talk to her again the way you did a second ago, I'll make sure Beau knows exactly how uncomfortable I am working with you."
Chelsea steels her gaze at me, but by the time she opens her mouth to say something, Delaney is back.
"The cab is out front," Delaney says brightly. "Air conditioned. And we're only fifteen minutes from the hotel where the interview is. Are you ready?"
Chelsea looks back and forth from me to Delaney. "Absolutely," she says. "Thanks so much for negotiating that, Delaney."
Delaney gives me a questioning look when we get in the cab, and I shrug. Chelsea's politeness should feel like a victory, but I just hope it doesn't blow back on Delaney.
* * *
Two days later, the blowback happens.
"Her phone is off," Delaney says. "It's going to voicemail. It never goes to voicemail."
I shrug. "We were supposed to meet here at eight, right?"
"That's what my schedule says." Delaney checks her phone for the hundredth time. "It's the dinner with Akira-san. I don't think anything changed. What do we do?"
"Do you have his number?"
"I have his office number," Delaney says, giving me a look. "I don't have his personal one. I left a message. What should we do? It was supposed to be a business dinner and then he was taking us out on the town."
I slide my hand around Delaney's waist, right there in the hotel lobby, and she smacks it away. "Gaige, don't," she says.
"There is literally no one here watching us."
"Only because it's impolite to stare," she whispers. "PDA is not appropriate here. And people will watch but not tell you you're doing something wrong, because that is not polite. But someone will notice. Trust me."
I exhale heavily. Delaney is standing there, looking insane in this white dress that shimmers under the lights. It's simple and elegant and looks like it was made for her, skimming over every curve and showing off her amazing legs.
I want to take it off her immediately. But she walks away and talks to the concierge. I see her gesturing, her forehead wrinkled up in the face she makes when she's upset, and then she bows slightly and returns to me.
"Well, that's weird," she says.
"What?"
"The concierge says that Akira picked Chelsea up already. They left."
"Sweet." I'm not even going to pretend I wanted to have dinner with the businessman who had his eyes on my girl.
My girl. The thought just popped into my head like it was supposed to be there. I have the sudden impulse to say it out loud, just to make it real. Just to see Delaney's reaction. My girl.
Fuck that guy. I've had to be in the same room enough with him already.
"What do you mean, sweet?" she asks. "This is terrible."
"Fuck that guy," I say, my voice a little too loud, and Delaney looks around, hushing me and taking my elbow. She leads me to the elevator and pushes the up button, hard. Then again, a second later.
"I think it takes more than a half a second for the elevator to get here," I say.
Delaney glares at me. Shit, she's pissed. "You can't say that here," she says.
"I can't talk about the elevator?"
"You know what I meant," she says. "You can't say fuck anyone here."
"The fuck I can't," I say. "Fuck him and fuck Chelsea." The elevator door opens and we get inside.
"Why would she leave without us?" Delaney asks. "You're the most important part of this trip. The dinner and the tour were a big deal."
God, I can't resist the way she looks when she's upset. She's so damn cute when she's angry that I want to hug her. But more than that, I want to tear her dress off. I put my hands on her arms, and press her up against the side of the elevator.
"Gaige, what are you doing? Not here," she protests.
"I'm not doing anything," I say, looking down at the eyes I haven't gotten the least bit tired of looking at. "There's nothing on the agenda for the weekend, right? This was it. The Tokyo tour tonight, right?"
"Yeah, and we're supposed to make nice with Akira," she says. "It's a big deal. A traditional Japanese dinner and a tour before the trip is over. If you don't show, it's an insult."
"Maybe he decided he wanted to take Chelsea out," I say. "He seemed like a bit of a ladies man, didn't he?"
She shakes her head. "I think Chelsea ditched us," she says.
"Delaney," I say, tilting her head up and looking in her eyes. "Calm down. It'll be fine. I think she had the hots for Akira anyway. Chelsea is pretty ruthless in what she pursues."
Delaney is silent. "Well, shit," she says. "What do we do now? And I swear to God, if you say we go back to the hotel room and do it, I'm going to knee you right in the balls."
"You don't want to do it?" I ask, running my finger down her arm until I reach her fingers. I take her hand and slide it along my chest, just because I want to feel her touch. "It might make you less stressed."
Delaney purses her lips and looks at me, then she finally sighs and smiles. "There's nothing we can do about it, can we?" she asks. "Do you want to go back to the hotel room?'
I look at her for a second, and then suddenly I don't. When the door opens, I hit the down button. "Nope."
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"We just got ditched, and
I've got a night with you," I say. "A whole weekend, come to think of it. Here you are, looking fucking stunning, and I have you all to myself. I don't want to take you back to a hotel room."
"You don't," she says. "Where are we going?"
I can't resist doing what I do next. I slide my hands underneath her, cupping her legs and picking her up. "I'm taking you out."
"What? No."
"This city is huge, and I'm not wearing anything Marlowe-related. No one knows who the hell I am," I say. "No one knows who the hell you are, either. And I want a tour of Tokyo."
"I don't know Tokyo," she says.
"You've been here before."
"Only for a semester," I say. "Only some of it in Tokyo."
"I don't care about the city," I tell her. And I mean it. "I want to hang out with you. So, show me around."
"Fine. On one condition," she says.
"What?"
"Put me the hell down so everyone in the lobby doesn't see my ass when the door opens."
"Deal." I cup a handful of her ass for good measure, and feel the lace thong she's wearing. "Panties again?"
She drops to the ground, and slaps me playfully on the arm. "It was a work dinner," she says. "You think I was going to go commando? That's kind of sketchy, isn't it?"
"It's not a work dinner anymore," I tell her. "So those are coming off."
But the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Delaney smiles triumphantly. "Saved by the bell," she says, as she walks out ahead of me. She doesn't consult the concierge this time, just walks out the door. "Okay. Let's do it."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DELANEY
We sit across from each other in a crowded izakaya in Shibuya, after passing a million little bars and restaurants that showcase plastic versions of their foods in the windows. Gaige sips his beer and laughs, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and the sound is infectious. He's relaxed, for the first time in weeks, and I finally feel calm, away from Chelsea and work and the hotel and everything. The izakaya is crowded, yet it feels like Gaige and I are the only two people in the room.
"You love it here," Gaige says.
Prince Albert: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance Page 39
