My Playboy Crush: A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Katerina Cole

  One of my massive hands slipped around one of her small ones, giving it a gentle squeeze that she didn’t resist at first. “Forget Jeff,” I whispered in a husky tone. “Forget the company. Think about what you want. I saw the look in your eyes a minute ago. I felt the way you groaned into me. We both want this. I want you.”

  Those words sent a shiver up her back that I could feel at her fingertips, but she drew her hand away, nearly shaking.

  “I’ve made my offer, Bruin,” she said, fighting hard to maintain her professional tone. I couldn’t help but smile. The way she was trying to keep carrying herself, you’d think we’d been having a chaste, businesslike meeting from the very start. “If you’re interested at all in selling this yacht, then we can talk. Until you decide on that, though, I think you’re wasting our time here.”

  Her face was beet-red, but she let the words come out with force before she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

  I was nothing short of stunned. That was a kind of fire I’d never known Jillian was capable of. It took me a moment to realize what was even happening. I gave my head a shake and started to walk after her.

  “Jillian,” I started, and for an instant, I almost went after her.

  But I held my place and let her go, watching her slam the door shut and listening to the sound of her hurried footsteps down the hall and around the corner while I stood in my place. Bruin Kincaid did not run after women.

  I let my shoulders relax, and I glared out the door with new resolution.

  No, I wasn’t going to chase her down the hall like a love-struck puppy. But I was going to have her.

  When I wanted to have something, I made it happen. Always.

  Twelve

  Jillian

  What the hell was that?

  I stormed out of the little bedroom, my heart pounding so hard it made me breathless. I had tears burning in my eyes, my whole body like one giant flickering flame. I was afraid to look back as I flung the door shut behind me and tore away down the hallway toward the stairs. I just knew somehow that if I looked back I would see one of two things: either he would be just behind me, following me out to stop me and pull me back, or he wouldn’t.

  And honestly, I hated either one of those scenarios. If he came after me, it would be trouble. I had been able to pull away and resist him this once, but if he kissed me again, I wasn’t so sure I’d be strong enough to step back again.

  And if he wasn’t behind me, well, then I was potentially storming out on a deal. I was leaving behind the man of my hottest fantasies. I had no idea how to feel about any of this. On the one hand, who the hell did he think he was, just grabbing me and kissing me like some romance-novel Casanova? We weren’t dating. We weren’t sleeping together. Hell, the whole time we’d known each other he had treated me like some bratty little fangirl. His best friend’s baby sister. Totally off-limits. I was never on the menu, even when I really wanted to be.

  Right there was the other confusing issue: I had wanted him to kiss me. Well, part of me did. The logical, businesslike side of me was enraged, deeply offended and embarrassed by the whole thing. But that hopeless romantic inside me longed to turn on my heel and rush back to the stateroom, throw open the door, and collapse in Bruin’s powerful arms. Oh yeah. That side of me had no qualms about the whole unprofessional angle. Especially when I considered the fact that I hadn’t been even really intimate with anyone since, oh, my sophomore year of college, when I lost my virginity to a guy I’d been dating for a few months.

  We broke up shortly after, and I was so hurt by the whole thing that I dumped all my energy and time into working hard and getting good grades. That messy, painful breakup was part of what catapulted me into the high-pressure, high-rewards career I had now. After he dumped me and promptly started dating one of our mutual friends, I needed some way to fill my time. So I landed two separate internships, one at an accounting firm, and one working as an assistant to my brother’s secretary. He was taking over from Dad and needed a friendly face around to make the transition smoother.

  It was a lot of work, but between my excellent grades, volunteer hours, and the two prestigious internships, by the time I graduated college I had one hell of a resume. Which was why I was able to so easily wiggle my way into the male-dominated field of yacht brokerage.

  That heartbreak fueled me, and my career had become my significant other. I was married to the job, and although sometimes it did get lonely, for the most part I was content. Until now. Until Bruin Kincaid came sauntering back into the picture, looking hotter than ever before. I blew past poor Miguel, who looked pale and concerned, probably at the look on my face. It had to be a major pain in the ass to work for Bruin. The whole staff were probably on pins and needles at all times. Bruin was reckless. Wild. He did what he wanted when he wanted, and with his family’s immense fortune behind him, there were few limits. He could buy whatever he pleased, and buy his way out of whatever trouble he landed in. He had a built-in ‘get out of jail free’ card. He could just write a ridiculous check and stroll out of any situation like it was nothing. He was not used to being turned for anything, and I couldn’t help but wonder how he was feeling about the fact that I’d just run out on him.

  As I walked briskly down the docks, I whipped out my cell phone and called for my chauffeur to come pick me up as soon as possible. I waited for a few minutes, nervously glancing back toward the docks like I expected Bruin to come stalking after me at any moment. Part of me hoped he would. I wanted him. And I knew he knew it. But I also knew that if I gave in to him this way, I’d be a goner. He’d have me totally hooked, hanging on his every word, his every move. Just like when I was a love-struck, hormonal teenager.

  The big black Benz finally pulled up to the curb and I all but jumped into the back seat, telling the driver to hurry. I wanted nothing more than to lock myself into my comfy hotel suite and be alone with my thoughts for the night. I needed to think this shit over and figure out what my next move would be. As the car rolled on down the road to the hotel, several worries poked their heads up.

  What if this compromised the sale?

  What if word got out that I had behaved unprofessionally with a client? Especially since most of my clients were men. Married men. I already had to deal with the dirty, suspicious looks some of the wives gave me when I went out for business dinners with their husbands. Obviously, I had never, ever even considered doing anything untoward. I was a professional, through and through, and I was not about to put my career in jeopardy for a fling with some paunchy, grouchy, middle-aged millionaire.

  But Bruin was not a paunchy, grouchy, middle-aged millionaire.

  He was a sexy, snarky, thirty-year-old billionaire. He was drop-dead gorgeous and I could tell just from the way he kissed me that he knew exactly how to work a woman’s body. Exactly how to play me like an instrument. He had certainly gotten a lot of practice. Bruin had been a player all his life. Jeff used to tell me all the time about how Bruin was bringing home a different girl every night in college, then kicking them out the next morning so he could move on to another unsuspecting target. That alone should have made me less intrigued by him. He was a womanizer, a serial love ‘em and leave ‘em type. But God, nothing I could tell myself made me any less fascinated by him. Turned on by him.

  Except for one thing.

  If Jeff found out that anything had happened between us, there’d be hell to pay. From both of us. Jeff looked after me like a personal bodyguard, constantly reassuring me that if anyone ever messed with me, he wouldn’t hesitate to make them regret it. Luckily, I knew how to compose myself, how to behave in such a way that my clients usually treated me with respect. I dressed conservatively, kept the conversations rigidly focused on business. I never shared personal information. Apart from a firm, no-nonsense handshake, I never even made any sort of physical contact with my clients. They knew not to try me.

  Well, most of them did. There had been exactly three occasions in which a client trie
d to hit on me or insinuate something unprofessional. Once, when I was still in my first few months of the job, I had a client from France who asked me to meet him at a bar down the street from the docks. Being young and naive and eager to make the sale, I agreed. After all, my male colleagues were constantly going out to bars and posh clubs with their clients to schmooze. Why couldn’t I do the same? So I met him there and did my best to talk business. I spoke Spanish and French fluently, so I was more than capable of holding my own. But the man chose to speak English, apparently not aware that I could perfectly understand French. I had thought the meeting was going well at first. He bought us a few rounds of drinks and I was feeling buzzed but in the zone. The client seemed very interested in what I was selling.

  Until he took a phone call from a friend right at the table in French. He blatantly told his friend on the phone that I was young and pretty and that after a few more drinks at the bar I would be more than willing to fuck him. Naturally, I could understand every word he said, so I stood up and walked out of the bar without so much as a word. The man ran after me but I turned and told him off in French. Later that night, Jeff called the guy and warned him that if he ever even so much as breathed in my direction again, Jeff would cut his balls off.

  I never heard from the guy again. And the other two times weren’t as bad. Just touchy-feely clients who kept stroking my hand or putting their arms around me. I backed away quickly and rerouted the conversation back to business. I kept my cool and made the sales, even though I felt so grossed out by them. That was the job. And I was damn good at it, too.

  But with Bruin, it was totally different. This was a guy I did want to sleep with. I had wanted that for years and years. And now to find out that he seemed to want the same thing? Well, it was going to be one hell of a rollercoaster trying to stick to business.

  When I got back to my hotel room, I ordered a sandwich and a dry martini from room service, then stripped down and got into a hot bubble bath. I needed to melt the day away. I had ignored several calls from Jeff, and I knew eventually I would have to call him back and reassure him that everything was okay, but not right now.

  I was only about thirty minutes into my bath when there was a knock at my hotel room door. I sat up and looked around, confused. The clock on my phone said 8:37 p.m. Who the hell would be here this late?

  I figured it was a maid or someone bringing me more towels. Or perhaps room service had the wrong door number.

  I called out, “No thank you.”

  But there was no reply. Just another hard knock at the door. Annoyed, I got out of the bath, quickly toweled off, and put on a silky robe to go answer the door. I opened it just a crack and the person on the other side shoved the door wide open, barging into the room before I could say a single word. He quickly shut the door behind him and grabbed my face, kissing me.

  It was Bruin.

  There was fire flashing in his beautiful blue eyes, his strong arms wrapping around me, holding me captive while he kissed me, hard. His tongue pushed into my mouth and I moaned, feeling my body go weak. His hands roamed down my neck, my arms. He walked me backwards against the wall, then took my wrists and pinned them above my head with one hand. His other hand trailed down to cup and caress my breasts through the thin fabric of the silk robe. I gasped as his fingers stroked over my nipples. He rolled the stiffened peaks between his thumb and forefinger, sending spirals of intense pleasure down through my body. He pressed himself against me, his cock hard and long against my hip.

  “Bruin, what are you doing?” I managed to whisper.

  “Taking what I want,” he answered, his voice rough and low. I could feel myself getting wet, slicker by the second. Every cell of my body burned for him. Begged him to touch me.

  “We-we can’t do this,” I gasped as he began to kiss my neck.

  I let out a little yelp as his teeth grazed my skin. I arched into him and he slid a hand down between my thighs, cupping my mound through the robe. I pushed against him, my body giving in without a fight even as my logical side shouted at me to stop this before it went any further.

  “We can do whatever the hell we want,” Bruin replied gruffly, sucking my neck as he pushed my robe open and ran one finger along my slick pussy. I cried out and closed my eyes, rolling my hips toward him.

  “What about the deal?” I asked breathlessly. “I’m here on business. For Jeff.”

  “Let’s not talk about your brother right now,” he growled, grinding his hard shaft against me as he teased my clit with the tip of his finger. I was on fire, trembling already.

  “Bruin,” I hissed. “I-I have a job to do.”

  “So do I,” he said. “I’m doing it now.”

  “No, not this—”

  “Listen,” he said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look down at me, his eyes flashing. “If you agree to spend a week with me on Mirabella, I’ll close the deal. No strings attached. Jeff gets his yacht, you get your cut, and I get what I want.”

  “And what is that?” I breathed.

  “You,” he growled, sliding two fingers inside my dripping pussy.

  I cried out and bucked my hips against him, my eyes rolling back in my head. He kissed me, swallowing my moans as he fucked me with his fingers, pumping in and out. I hadn’t had anyone inside me in years. I was so tight, so wet. My body ached for him, for a release.

  “Oh fuck,” I mumbled. “Oh God. Bruin.”

  “So fucking tight,” he whispered, his breath hot and ticklish on my neck. “Just like I always imagined you’d be.”

  Like he’d always imagined? All this time that I lusted after him, fantasized about him, he wanted me, too? For how long? All these questions rushed through my head, mingling with the waves of powerful pleasure Bruin wracked through me. He stroked that deep, dark, delicious spot inside me. The part that nobody had ever touched before. I was losing control, my whole body shaking. Bruin held me up against the wall as I started to go limp, my climax quickly approaching.

  “Fuck,” I murmured, my heart pounding. It had been so fucking long.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it, Jillian?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. Oh God, it feels so good,” I whimpered. I was so close.

  “You want to come,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of my ear. I shivered.

  “Yes. Yes. Fuck, Bruin. I want it.”

  And all at once, he stopped. He pulled away, my climax interrupted as I struggled to stay on my feet. I stared at him with wide, confused eyes. Why did he stop? What happened? I wanted to drop to my knees and beg him to touch me again, to make me come the way I knew he could. But instead he merely smirked, raising his fingers to his mouth to suck my sweet juices off. He looked pleased with himself, but that flash of danger still lit up his blue eyes.

  “If you want that deal, if you want to spend those seven days with me onboard, you have one chance. Tomorrow, show up before push-off, or the deal is moot,” he said, his voice rough.

  “What?” I asked, still reeling from disappointment.

  “Nine in the morning,” he said, and with that, he walked out of the room and left me standing breathless and alone, my body still shaking.

  “Damn it,” I swore. I knew I had no choice. He had me right where he wanted me.

  Thirteen

  Bruin

  My teeth nipped at her neck as she squirmed in my grasp in bed, my strong hands guiding her around as she kicked at the sheets and let her hands feel my body. My name was on her lips every few seconds, a hot, breathy gasp that made me harder with every syllable. I worked my stiff cock toward her slick lips and sank into her, pinning her wrists to her sides as my every sense went wild, overwhelmed with her. She was sweeter than anyone I’d ever tasted, and the piercing gasp she cried out as I penetrated her was enough to bring me to my knees.

  I groaned at the sound of my alarm going off, early in the morning. As usual, the sun wasn’t up yet, and as if on reflex, I rolled out of bed, preparing myself to get my running outfit
on and get that out of the way as I watched the sunrise.

  But when I stood up, I realized I had an erection so stiff I might as well have been inside Jillian already. I ran my hand through my tousled, bedhead hair and groaned. The thought of Jillian really wasn’t cutting me any breaks. I went to the bathroom to splash cold water in my face while I waited for my erection to lessen, but it was taking its damn time, and my whole body was keyed up.

  I gave some serious thought to skipping my morning routine and instead spending some time in the shower, massaging my cock at full mast until I could release myself in the steaming-hot water.

  But with the prospect of seeing Jillian in person today, I wasn’t going to let that happen. I kept my body disciplined, obedient to my will, even when it wanted something more than it had wanted anything in a long, long time.

  So I slipped into my shorts and tank top, jogged one last time around my usual beachside path, watched the stunning Florida sunrise kiss my body with morning light, got back to the yacht, and showered off.

  I didn’t care about being overly professional, this time. Once I was out of the shower, I dressed myself in deep blue jeans, brown dock shoes, and a tight-fitting white henley, all top-of-the-line designer brands from my last visit to Milan.

  All I had to do now was wait, and the morning routine was good for keeping my mind from getting agitated. Because if there was one thing that had frustrated my younger self more than anything in the world, it was waiting around. I could have paced around the yacht like a caged animal if I’d wanted to, easily.

  But that wasn’t me anymore. That was a younger man. I was experienced with my body and my mind, and I knew how to handle both.

  And if I had my way, I’d be handling Jillian’s before the day was over.

  After I was dressed and had put on a spray of Italian cologne, keeping up the theme, I headed to the dining room, where Miguel already had a mug of fine Jamaican coffee brewing for me. It was a brand I’d gotten a taste for during a two-week stay on the island a few years back, and starting each day with the smell of it still brought me back to that drop of paradise in the Caribbean. The mug Miguel had by the machine was handmade in the same place, too.