Stepbrother, Mine

by Mandy Lou Dowson

  “I can't show up on my own, Soph. I can't.” Hyperventilating, she almost screeched the words.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Soph! Would you turn up to Logan's wedding...stag?”

  She had a point. “I guess not. Don't you have any hot dancer friends?”

  “Sure,” she replied. “Tons. The ones that aren't in relationships are gay, but you know, what's a little sexual repugnance between friends, right?”

  Sophie laughed. “You don't need him to be your boyfriend, just to pretend to be.”

  “You know what?” she giggled, already sounding less harassed. “I like your twisted mind, girl.”

  “Of course you do.” She examined the state of her color charts, all sporting new scribbled blocks of black ink. If she focused hard enough, she could see Logan's name still lurking beneath, but maybe it was just her imagination. “Now, tell me, how is work?” Serena had been traveling the circuit as part of the corps de ballet in some major productions the past few years, having graduated magna cum laude from her Performing Arts and Ballet school, with Sophie and all her family sniveling in the audience at graduation.

  “Don't ask. I got laid off.” Her friend sighed down the line. “The director suggested it was time to retire,” she snapped. “I mean, it's not like I'm ancient. I'm only twenty-six for God's sake.”

  “Oh, no. What are you going to do? Are there any openings in other shows?”

  “No, that's the damn thing, Soph. They're all full up. And you know what they're like. So cliquish it'd take me months of sweet talking to even get an audition, despite my resume. Ugh.” She snorted. “I got it covered for the time being.”

  “What show are you doing? I'll come see it if you get up this way.”

  “It's not exactly a show. Well, it is...but...it's more like...I don't think it would be your type of gig, Sophie.”

  Frowning, and wondering why Serena had suddenly sounded embarrassed and hesitant. She hadn't known her to hesitate once since they got over the awkward teen phase. “Serena?”

  “Shit,” she swore. Serena hardly ever swore. “It's a burlesque show.”

  Sophie almost squealed. “Burlesque? Really? That's, I mean, that's fantastic,” she finished somewhat doubtfully.

  “It's shit, right? I'm a glorified stripper. But, here's the thing – it pays. It really pays. And it's not forever, right?”

  “Right.” At least, Sophie hoped it wasn't forever. Nothing wrong with doing burlesque – or hell, even stripping – if that's what Serena wanted to do, but she knew her friend was never happier than when touring with a production.

  “Listen, I gotta go. I'm going to send in a few more submissions before meeting up with this instructor chick, Tulip.”

  “Tulip?” Seriously wacky name.

  “She is a stripper...”

  Sophie laughed. “Well have fun with your instructor, then. What's your stage name going to be?” she suddenly asked. She seriously doubted Tulip's real name was in fact, Tulip.

  “Please don't make me say it,” she groaned. “It's awful and tacky and a complete farce.”

  Oh, now she had to know. “Spill.”

  With an audible groan, and a few more seconds of silence, Serena whispered, “Prima Donna.”

  “Oh, my God. Seriously? Serena,” a laugh bubbled up her throat and Sophie didn't even try to stop it. “That's absolutely brilliant.”

  “Says you. You're not the one who has to get on stage with it.”

  Still laughing, Sophie said goodbye to her friend and sincerely hoped she'd get back on track soon, but the hell of it was, twenty-six was around the age of retirement for ballerinas. It sucked, but it was true.

  “We're hitting the town after work,” Alex announced, drawing Sophie's attention to her weary expression. “I need to blow off some steam, and find myself a hot guy in a bar. You can show me some new pointers.” Alexis spread her lips in a grin, and Sophie wondered what she'd say if she admitted knowing next to nothing about picking up guys in bars. The last time she'd been hit on in a bar hadn't exactly turned out well. She thought of Blaise and wondered if he'd ever sorted things out with his ex-girlfriend.

  “Sounds great,” she replied, feigning enthusiasm.

  ~

  Logan

  Tapping his foot impatiently against the leg of the sprawling oak coffee table, he decided he would try her phone one last time before he marched over there and demanded to know why she wasn't picking up.

  “Hey, sorry,” she finally answered. “I missed your calls.”

  Twice, he'd tried to call her this evening and twice his calls had rang out. She sounded like she was in a bar, too. Maybe she'd decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. The four days he'd been out of contact with her had felt like knives in his chest – which was precisely the reason he'd waited until that feeling of pain and possessiveness faded before he'd answered her. No need to tell her he'd already been on his way over to her after a drink with Paul. She didn't need to know that. “Yeah,” he replied, feeling his throat tighten. “I called twice.”

  “I'm sorry,” she told him again. “I can't hear you very well, speak up.”

  He could picture her sashaying through a bar, her tight little ass swaying from side to side as she went, completely unaware of her effect on men. Why couldn't she just go to the ladies room or something?

  “There,” she announced, slightly clearer. She must have moved away from the music and general hubbub. “That's better. Was there something you needed to go over with me? I didn't think I'd hear from you until tomorrow.”

  He hadn't planned on calling her until tomorrow, but sitting here in the apartment he'd gotten on short-lease with nothing but the ticking of the travel clock for company had driven him to it. This was the excuse he used to dial her number. “I wanted to go over your design plans again,” he lied. “I didn't get a good enough idea of them at the initial meeting.”

  “Oh,” she muttered, slight disappointment in her tone. “I guess I could bring them over to you later. I'm out at the minute, you see.”

  “I see.” He did see. Was she even now looking for a better prospect than him? Perhaps she wasn't in such a messed up place now, and with her feelings for him obviously muted, maybe she felt like moving on. Over his dead body. “Where are you?”

  “Room 101. It's a little bar across the street from our office. It's actually quite nice, you know, if you like these kinds of places.” She paused. “Omigod, I'm so sorry, I didn't know this was your stool.” She laughed, a cutesy little giggle that he knew all too well. The girl was trashed. “No, no,” he heard her say to someone. “I'll just move up a couple.”

  Shit. Sounded like someone was already cozying up to her. Logan gritted his teeth. “Soph?”

  “Yes, sorry. I got distracted for a sec.” She giggled again. “You know, it's been ages since I had a girls' night out.”

  “Right,” he replied, deciding she wasn't about to have one tonight, either. Thrusting his feet into his boots, he pulled a black tee shirt on and decided his jeans were just fine for a trip to this bar.

  “Logan? You there?” she was asking as he returned the phone to his ear.

  “Yeah. I'm here.” And soon enough, he'd be there.

  ~

  Sophie

  “Tell me more about you.” The densely muscled blond Adonis was staring at her like she was Christmas morning and Valentine's day all rolled into one. He leaned forward, elbows resting against the bar, his arms bulging.

  Sophie did a quick check for Alex, who was still busy dancing with Mr. Hotty on the floor. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” came the reply, while he licked his lips, making Sophie feel vaguely uncomfortable. She was enjoying the attention from the guy – he was hot – but he had a slightly intense aura that made Sophie feel like she was a creature on display for his pleasure. “Do you want another drink?” he asked, waving for the attention of the bartender.

  “Sure,” she repli
ed. She'd lost count of the spritzers she'd thrown down her neck, all in the effort to find Alex a one-night-stand on a Monday night – which was harder than it sounded. Hardly anyone was out and about during the week, preferring to save their little windows of madness for Saturday nights. She found she couldn't argue with the logic – as it was, she'd be sporting quite the hangover in the morning.

  “I don't think you need another, Soph. Do you?”

  She whirled on her stool, losing her balance so that she had to grip the counter to stay on the damn thing, and cursing the place for not having a mirror like every other bar in the world. “Logan!”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, anger evident in the way he stood, as if readying himself for an argument.

  She smiled, slow and lazy. “I'm having a drink. Several drinks, actually. And I'm enjoying myself. You used to know how that feels.”

  The alcohol had made her brave and she dismissed him with a wave of her fingers, turning back to the almost empty glass in front of her, draining it in one swallow. Mr. Adonis slid her a fresh one and she sipped from it demurely. “Thank you.” She could feel Logan's disapproval like a tangible presence at her back. Flipping her loose hair over one shoulder, she turned her head slightly to examine him. He stood with his hands buried in his pockets, a deep frown marring his forehead, and that same lock of hair flopping over his eyebrow. Her stepbrother did not look like a happy camper.

  Screw him, she thought, before snickering at her choice of words. Screw him. Yeah, that's all he wants. Out of nowhere, she felt her anger rise. The entire situation was just wrong. She didn't want to be his paid whore. She didn't want to sleep with him for a contract. But if she had to, she would at least resurrect her sense of pride and not treat him like a lover, even as he treated her like a commodity. Atta girl, Sophie, she thought. It was about time she got angry instead of being so malleable and soft where Logan was concerned. The benefit of the doubt only went so far.

  “Sophie,” he warned, as she gulped from her glass, the sweet bubbles fizzing as she swished it around in her mouth.

  “Mmm?” Not deigning to even turn around this time, she jumped when his hand landed on her shoulder.

  “It's time to go home.”

  “Like hell it is,” she replied. “I'll go home when I'm good and ready.” Finally swinging back around to face him again, she screwed up her lips in a sardonic fashion. “You'll get what you want tomorrow.”

  He frowned, tipping his head to the side. “And what's that, huh?”

  She shrugged, not entirely sure if she was talking about the design plans or the sex, and returned to her drink and her drinking partner. “Is there a problem?” Mr. Adonis asked, visually assessing Logan – sizing him up.

  “No,” she chirped. “No problem. This is my brother,” she flicked a hand in Logan's direction. “Logan, this is...um...this is...”

  “Dale,” he replied, the white of his teeth glinting in a smile.

  “Dale, right.”

  Hissing in anger, Logan grabbed her roughly by the upper arm. “Is this how you want to play this? 'Cos if it is, all you need to do is let me know.”

  Deciding she'd had enough of his overbearing conversation, Sophie nodded. “I'll catch you later, bro.”

  “Oh, I'm not going anywhere,” he replied in a voice like ice. “I've decided you're right. It's time I enjoyed myself too.” So saying, he pulled up a stool, eyes roaming the bar until they landed on a short blond, early twenties with an ass that didn't quit, dancing alongside Alex and her hotty.

  Chapter Seven

  Logan

  If that muscle-bound creep looked at him one more time, Logan would not be responsible for the pain he would cause him. “This is my brother.” The words floated around and around inside his head, that barbed little b-word making him itch to just take her against the bar and kiss her drunken face until she admitted to no relation. He snorted as the guy placed a hand on her thigh and she brushed it off, for the third time. It was obvious to everyone that she wasn't up for anything like that. Obvious to everyone except the guy, that was.

  Sophie looked at him sharply, having caught his snort of amusement, and immediately huddled closer to the blond, simpering and smiling. She was trying to drive him mad. He realized that, and though he had no defense against it, he could fight fire with fire.

  “Logan,” his own drinking partner murmured, her talon-like nails wriggling under the sleeve of his shirt and digging into his bicep like a set of claws. He turned his head a fraction, enough to see the glazed over look she gave him. She was either drunk, or aroused, and he found he cared very little about it either way. She was a means to an end.

  “Yes, sweetheart?” he queried, flexing his arm a little so that her breath caught. He was no body-builder by any means, but he enjoyed working out and the body it gave him. “What can I do you for?”

  She tittered, her breasts heaving in the spandex top she was almost wearing. “Another drink?”

  “Cheap slut,” he distinctly heard from Sophie's direction.

  Hiding a smirk, he noted the girl – Georgina – narrow her gaze. “What did your sister just say to me?”

  Scrambling, he blurted, “Chestnut.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Chestnut?”

  Wanting to strangle Sophie, he nodded quickly and without doubt. “It's was her first pet. A dog. She gets drunk and starts rambling on about him.”

  “No offense,” she leaned in closer. “But I think your sister is a bit loco.”

  “Says the tramp.”

  “Did she just call me a tramp?”

  “Hell no.” He panicked.

  “Well what did she call me?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” Growling in frustration he grasped for something, anything. Georgina was looking at Sophie like maybe she wanted to claw her eyes out. “Set the trap.”

  “What?” Now she was looking at him like she was rethinking her choice of partner for the evening. “What trap?”

  “She's still talking about that damn dog,” he whispered, distracting her by running his index finger along her collar bone. “He got caught in a farmer's trap. Excuse me a moment. Sis, could I talk to you for a minute?” Not giving her a chance to reply, he dragged her off the bar stool and into the corridor behind the frosted glass door that read, WC.

  “What the hell are you doing? You can't sit there and insult someone like that.”

  “Oh?” she challenged, tipping her chin up in defiance. “Why's that? 'Cos I might ruin your chances of bringing her home? What's the matter, bro? Got a dining table that needs Christening?”

  He laughed, a low rumble that started in his chest. Her hair flicked as he dragged her to him quick as lightening. “Does that bother you?”

  “Why should it? I have my own dining table.”

  “If you...”

  “If I what?” she demanded, going on tip-toe to try and gain some more height. “If I bring Dale home? Is that what you were going to say?” She laughed, blowing alcohol fumes in his face. “You'll what?”

  He stared at her, not quite knowing what to say without tipping her off to the fact that he wasn't as cold as he'd like her to think. “I'll have to insist that you get tested for disease.”

  She snorted. “If I didn't catch anything from you, I never will.” Shoving him away forcefully, she strode back through the doors, leaving him standing open-mouthed and agog. What a little bitch. He felt another sliver of his heart slide into place. She never did tell it any other way than how it was, with him. He'd missed that – the naked parade of yes-girls since had done nothing to mentally stimulate him.

  Sophie and her drunken pal, Alex were slinking around the dance floor when he finally got his shit together and strode back out into the bar. Their sinuous movements, the way they played off on each other led him to believe this was a rehearsed act designed to raise the damn blood pressure of every male in the vicinity. It was only a little after eleven, and the bar had begun to steadily fill up as late n
ight drinkers trickled in in their ones and twos.

  The sensual beat of Missy Elliot's One Minute Man was blaring from the speakers, and he – and every other fool guy in the bar, as well as some of the women – watched as they wound around each other, their hips popping and rolling. With a smile in Logan's direction, Sophie went down into a slow squat, one knee placed on the floor for balance while her hips writhed as if she was riding a horse – or a man, his cock decided to suggest.

  Upon her rising, Alex wrapped her arms around Sophie from behind, both of them laughing and smirking like a pair of Sirens. That shit should be against the law. Damn. He guessed Serena had a hand in this spectacle, seeing as she was a dancer, trained in all sorts of ways to move her body. Next time he saw her, he'd either kiss her face or shake her. He wasn't quite sure yet.

  Glaring at the blond creep who was even now making his way to the dance floor to get some of the action, Logan decided enough was enough. He had to get Sophie and Alex out of here before they found trouble they didn't want. It was all fun and games until some opportunistic asshole decided he wanted more than was on offer.

  Both girls tugged out of his grip as he tried to maneuver them off the floor, and Sophie even tried a drunken swing at his head, her little fist whistling past his head like the buzzing of a bee. “Soph, what the fuck?”

  “Sophie, I don't like your brother, he's cramping our style,” Alex complained, her words slurring.

  “Ladies,” he released them for a moment. “It's time to go home. You're both tanked.”

  “We are, aren't we?” Sophie cackled. “Isn't this fun?”

  “Not especially, unless you enjoy the vultures circling,” he jerked his head in the direction of the few guys who had stalled their progress when Logan had approached them both on the dance floor.