Stepbrother, Mine

by Mandy Lou Dowson

  “She's good,” he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He had no idea how Sophie was. The last time he'd tried to call her cell, lasting only a week with no contact, he'd reached an automated message telling him the number was no longer in service.

  “I bet,” Blaise winked, striding off before Logan could beat the shit out of him for the smirking look in his eye.

  “You have a sister?” Michelle asked, suddenly interested in something other than her boy.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I don't see her much.”

  “That's too bad. Family is important.”

  He nodded, agreeing. Family was important, but he'd made the mistake of letting her think she was less than family to him, when in fact she'd been more. She'd been everything to him. Before she'd cut and run. Now, she was just a memory, an admittedly hot one, but still, just a memory. His growing cock would have argued the point, but his date chose that moment to lean forward and say, “you look like a family man.”

  Oh, shit. Time to get the hell out of dodge. “Um, Michelle...”

  “Michaela,” she corrected him with hardly a wrinkle on her brow.

  “Michaela,” he agreed. “I have to go. I forgot that I...had a...meeting in the morning. I need to go,” he finished lamely.

  “Um,” she frowned in disappointment. “Sure, I'll just stay for another drink here. No sense in wasting the sitter's time.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, guilt setting in. “I'd stay if I could.”

  “Oh, don't worry about me,” she told him, already waving him away. “I'm sure I can find someone to entertain me.” Her gaze wandered to Blaise, who was busying himself with the set-up on stage. “See ya, Logan. Thanks for the flowers.”

  Damn, it looked like someone else would reap the benefits of his bouquet. Shrugging, he pushed his way through the crowd and wandered home, his thoughts turning once more to his stepsister.

  By the time he got home, his mood was so sour that he poured himself a large measure of scotch, drinking it down in one. He plonked himself in front of the TV, toeing off his shoes and crossing his ankles on top of his rattan coffee table. Sophie. Why was it that any time he managed to stop thinking of that damn girl for longer than a few days, the thoughts were always more vivid when they did return?

  He could virtually hear her now, her soft moans and whispered sighs as he brought her to orgasm over and over again, her belly quivering and her breath hitching as he drove himself inside her hot body. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried to concentrate on the TV show, only to have his mind overtaken again by the remembered feel of her flesh, the softness of the skin on her inner thighs and the taste of her lips.

  He groaned, flicking the power button on the remote. Bed seemed like a really good idea, if only for sleep to release him from the memories. Once he climbed into bed he realized he wasn't getting any sleep before he'd taken care of his arousal. Taking himself in hand, he pumped hard and fast, his treacherous mind conjuring memory after memory of Sophie damn Ellis.

  ~

  The morning dawned and his alarm woke him from a dream in which he was entangled on a bed of pure silk with a mystery blond. He didn't need a dream analyst to tell him he had been dreaming of a variation of his stepsister – he'd been dreaming of her almost every night since he was eighteen.

  His phone shrilled as he sat down at his desk. The caller ID said it was Jan.

  “Good morning my favorite little shit stirrer.”

  “Eh, good morning to you too, Logan.”

  “Paul? Shit, sorry. I thought you were Janet.”

  “Obviously,” he laughed. “My phone ended up in the dishwasher last night, it's done for. Don't ask; it's a long story.”

  “Clearly. What's up, Paul? Jan has been more closed-mouthed than a virgin in a cucumber factory. What's going on?”

  Paul laughed again, a deep rumble down the phone. “Nice imagery there, man. Listen, I've been wooing some head honchos the past few weeks. You remember that little patch of land in the city?”

  “Sure.” There was a derelict site right by the opera theater in the city that Paul had had his eye on for years. “I know it.”

  “Well, I finally managed to buy it a few months ago, and just yesterday got the preliminary permission for a build.”

  Now his interested was piqued. “What sort of build?”

  “The best kind,” his best friend's husband told him. “The big kind. And I'm throwing wads of cash at it to get it done quick.”

  ~

  July 2014

  Sophie

  Her head groggy and her throat dry, Sophie came awake. She rubbed her eyes tenderly. They were still slightly swollen and tender from the crying fest she'd indulged in the previous night. Alexis had dropped by with a bottle of wine and a stupid love story movie. She'd tried begging off but the girl was like a bulldog, insistent and bullying.

  By the end of the movie, she'd been a mess, blubbering into her sleeves. Alex had been no better, sniffing and wiping her eyes with the hem of her tee shirt. “This!” she'd told her, “is why I hate movie nights with you. You always pick the saddest thing you can find.”

  “But there was a happy ending,” she'd protested.

  “That just makes it worse,” Sophie had argued, while they both collapsed in giggles at their insane jealousy of a fictitious couple. “We're quite mad,” Alexis had told her with a glint in her eye. “I have an appointment in the afternoon. I won't make the meeting.”

  “Is this a shave-your-legs type of appointment?”

  “No. It's a lay-down-and-tell-me-your-fears type of appointment.”

  So Alexis had a meeting with her shrink slash love object and Sophie was forced to meet their biggest client by herself. That was fine, she told herself. She would wine him and dine him and in the end, he'd be delighted with any suggestion she would offer.

  Picking out her best business suit, she stepped into her favorite pair of red silk underwear, delighting in the whisper of the material as she pulled them past her knees and up her thighs. The matching bra was next, and then the plain white shirt and black pencil skirt with matching jacket. She decided against hose as it was still so muggy in September, and instead stepped into her killer red heels, pulling a brush through her hair before gathering it at the base of her neck in a smart but sexy chignon.

  Just a hint of red lipstick, paired with some mascara and a slick of gloss and she was ready. Breakfast was a granola bar and a banana on the run. It didn't make sense to drive in the city unless she was driving out of it, and she briskly walked the block or two to her office to fetch some paperwork she'd forgotten, with a smile on her face. This could be the start of a string of corporate jobs, and she was determined to make the best impression on her client no matter what.

  She had a few hours to tidy up the loose ends of the last job, and then she would be on her way to the H hotel to see one Mr. Hoster and his associate.

  ~

  “Hey Soph!” Jake called as she stepped through the wide doors of the barn conversion they were finishing up. He was balanced at the top of a very tall ladder, putting the finishing touches on the beams with a stain covered brush. “Who are you trying to sex up today?”

  “Mr. Hoster,” she told him. “He's the one building that new hotel downtown.”

  “I guess we really need this job, huh?” he asked with a wink and a smirk.

  “Damn right.” They did. Even though the jobs they brought in put meat on the table and gas in the tank, they were small-time compared to the big business of major hotels. If this Mr. Hoster was even slightly more inclined to employ their services due to her looking particularly good today, she'd take it with hardly a complaint from her feminist side. Business was business and they needed every advantage when they were competing with other, longer established firms.

  Alexis was already on-site, directing the guys as to where to place this or that, and where not to put other things. She had a soft smile plastered to her face – as she always did on
the days when she got to see Dr. Cain – and didn't look in danger of exploding any time soon. Sophie sighed in contentment. The clients were laughing over morning coffee when Sophie approached them. “We're almost done. Would you please make sure everything is satisfactory before we pack up?”

  They'd had clients call them an hour after they'd left to say they'd rethought the positioning of a certain feature or piece that was too heavy for them to move by themselves, and she wanted to make sure everything ran smoothly today. It was already eleven a.m., and she still had work to finish in the office – she'd just popped in and out before hightailing it back home for her car to drive to the site this morning.

  “Sure thing, and hey,” the charming Joseph told her. “I'll be recommending your services to everyone we know.”

  “Thank you so much,” she replied with a smile. “It's always good to know a client is happy with our work.”

  “Oh it's fab,” his wife Marsha gushed, her cheeks tinged pink. “I don't even know which end of a paint brush is up. I'm so glad Renee recommended you to me.”

  Renee had been the owner of a small art gallery in town, and had highly recommended Sophex Designs to all her friends and family. While she appreciated the business, she'd much rather be recommended to high-end businesses.

  ~

  “Thank you again, Joseph, Marsha. It was lovely to have met you both and I wish you every happiness in your new home.” Alexis punctuated her statement with a slight wave from the window of her sports car as she pulled out of the drive. Sophie smiled behind the wheel of her own little car and waved at the couple before following her friend into lunch time traffic. She had half an hour to make it to the hotel for her meeting. The once over had taken longer than necessary and then of course, they'd had the obligatory glass of champagne to celebrate the end of the job, and the start of the couple's enjoyment of their home. After that, Sophie had checked her watch to find it was past midday, and in a panic had made eyes at Alex.

  Now, sitting in her car in the stop and go traffic, she found she'd been forced into a hurry up and wait situation. She was three blocks from the hotel when, in a fit of pique, she pulled over and parked her car outside a gym. Ten minutes. Crap. Grabbing her briefcase from the car, she locked up and ran flat out, heels clicking on the pavement. In her haste, she forgot to buy a parking ticket, and only remembered half way to the hotel. Double crap. If she got back and found a clamp on her car, she'd never live it down. Alex would taunt her with it forever.

  The first drop landed on the tip of her nose and she gazed upward. No. Please, she thought. Don't rain. The sky rumbled, as if to disagree with her and the heavens opened. Like a madwoman, she dashed toward the hotel with her briefcase held over her head to protect her. She wasn't the only mad person running through the rain, but most of the others had planned for the unpredictable weather and extended umbrellas over their heads. Triple crap.

  The concierge gave her a very dirty look as she approached the front desk. She smoothed her jacket, dripping on the vast marble floor of the lobby, as she waited for him to finish up with a customer. Her hair hung in sopping tendrils sticking to her neck where the run had jogged it loose and even with the briefcase over her head, the rain had drenched her face. Catching sight of herself in the mirror behind the desk she vigorously scrubbed at the panda eyes it had made of her mascara, and hastily took note of the location of the ladies room.

  “Can I help you?” His tone implied he most certainly thought not, and Sophie repressed the childish urge to ask if they rented rooms by the hour.

  “I do hope so,” she replied, in her best snooty voice. “I got caught in the rain on my way to a very important business meeting. Could you please inform Mr. Hoster and his associate that I will be joining them presently? There's a dear. Excuse me,” she whispered as his face expressed the question his voice would not. “I must use the ladies room.”

  With her head held high, she sashayed into the bathroom, the swinging door closing with a soft swish behind her. Releasing her breath, she approached the mirror to conduct a thorough investigation of the mess that was her. Oh, great, she sighed. No wonder the concierge had been looking at her as if a dog had just regurgitated her onto the floor. Her jacket, stylish but impractical without a clasp hung open in a sopping mess, while her pristine white blouse had gone utterly, utterly see-through, showing off her penchant for blood-red bras. Wonderful.

  As if that weren't enough, her skirt was sticking to every curve of her hips and butt, and the small tattoo she'd had done of a daisy chain around her belly button was plainly visible through the sheer blouse. Her legs were splashed with dirty rain water and her shoes were filthy. In short, she looked like a high-class hooker on a bad day.

  Grabbing handfuls of paper, she dried off her shoes and wiped the rivulets of water from her legs. With a sigh, she realized there was nothing she could do about the sheer blouse, unless she wanted to turn her jacket back to front, and while that might make her look less like a hooker, it would certainly make her look like a loony. So, with a deep breath, she set to fixing her hair, and slicking on more lipstick. Grabbing another couple of tissues, she wiped the remains of her mascara from under her eyes and nodded. She would have to do.

  Making her way back through the lobby, she ignored the pointed look the concierge gave her, briefcase clutched in both hands in front of her chest. With any luck she'd be able to distract the clients from her state of dishevelment or, worst case scenario, bedazzle them with her ample – and on show – cleavage whilst still retaining their business.

  She spotted Mr. Hoster immediately, as he had described himself well. Brown hair with thin-framed glasses, drinking a sauvignon blanc, with a wine-colored briefcase sitting on the floor beside him. He'd even told her what food he'd order, in case his previous descriptions of himself, his briefcase and penchant for white wine went unnoticed. He sipped his wine whilst pushing some sort of seafood concoction around on his plate. She could see mussels, shrimp and at least one tentacle. Shivering in distaste, she approached more directly.

  His companion sat with his back to her, his dark head tilted to one side, deeply attuned to every word that came out of Mr. Hoster's mouth. There was a set to his shoulders that seemed familiar, and when he laughed, she felt things that she hadn't in over a year. Lust. Desire. Interest. Great. Here she was, half-drowned, now wearing very little to the imagination courtesy of the shower that had soaked her, and she just had to feel an instant attraction to a guy she hadn't even met, whose rear view reminded her of Logan. Could the situation deteriorate any further?

  Mr. Hoster noticed her first, seeing as he was facing her. His look of shock quickly disguised, he offered her a warm palm and she held her briefcase in a death grip by her chest as she reached one hand forward to take his. “Oh, dear,” he murmured. “Did you get caught in that shower?”

  She nodded, refusing to look at the second man until she had to. “Yes, I left my car a few blocks from here and didn't even think of bringing an umbrella. I'm dreadfully sorry about my appearance.”

  “Not to worry,” he replied, smiling gently and indicating to his companion with a flick of his gaze.

  “Sophie Ellis, may I introduce you to– ”

  “Logan Castle. We've met. I must say Soph, you're certainly all wet.”

  As the liquid rush settled low in her body, she felt she had to agree. She nodded, dumbfounded. “Logan...” His hair was a little longer, slicked back and business-like, but she could imagine it free of product, all hot-surfer-guy-esque. His lips twisted into a rueful grin and Sophie had to restrain herself from latching on to them like a crazed thing. His strong jaw ticked with something dangerous and his eyes, once so kind and filled with heat, narrowed in an icy stare.

  Paul cleared his throat. “I take it you know each other.”

  “We used to,” Logan replied, with a grimace. “Sit down, Ms. Ellis. We're here to discuss business.”

  “Oh, I...yes, of course.” Get a grip on yourself, S
oph. Logan isn’t' here for you. She could tell by the look in his cold eyes that he'd been just as surprised by their meeting as she was, and vastly less interested in her than he'd ever been.

  Chapter Three

  Logan

  “So, I have the proposals here. Let's hope they survived their trip in the rain,” she laughed nervously, fingers fumbling to open the latch on her case. Logan watched in fascination as they reached inside and took out several sheaves of paper, each one with various designs and tables, indexing cost and design and whatever else she thought would get her the job.

  Logan would personally see to it that she didn't. He couldn't stomach the thought of working with, near, or around her. Even sitting in a chair beside her was testing his limits. The deep well of resentment hit him hard and he grimaced when her hand accidentally brushed his where he'd reached for his scotch. It was a little early for hard spirits, like Paul had already told him, but now that he'd met their prospective designer, he damn well needed it.

  She still clutched that briefcase to her front as if someone were going to steal it. He wondered at the resentment he was feeling. The many various scenarios he'd ran through in his head involving their meeting again did not involve resentment. A raging hard on and a soppy reunion, sure, and while the hard on was present, he had no desire to speak to her more than was necessary, even going so far as to half turn in his seat so that she was out of his direct line of sight.

  Logan shifted, uncomfortable in the sudden silence. “What? Did I miss something?” He made sure his stare was glued to the passing ass of a waitress for a moment before returning his attention to Paul, noticing in satisfaction as Sophie set her mouth – her soft, moist mouth – in a hard line.

  “I was asking when you think it would be prudent to bring in the designers. Should we go ahead with Sophex Designs, we would like to get things done as efficiently as possible.”