Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  It was like that moment at the resort all over again, this time in reverse. Her stepbrother was a man now, with a man's body and a man's desires—and she wasn't sure she could unsee that, nor could she force out the images that came to her mind, unbidden.

  Quentin's words came floating back. There's no law that says you can't fuck him.

  The next day, Yelena came knocking on her door, wringing her chapped hands. “Hola, mija. Por favor, necesito ayuda para mover la mesita afuera de la casa.”

  “Nick's low table?” Jay asked. “¿La mesita baja? Ya voy. Um. ¿Está Nick aquí?”

  “No en este momento.”

  “Okay.” If he was out, she didn't mind helping. Jay got up from her desk, where she had been applying to more jobs, and knotted her sweatshirt around her waist. “Let's go.”

  Yelena led the way down the stairs, through the den. Jay hadn't been in Nick's room in a long time. The bed was still in the same place it had been when he was a kid, with the desk squeezed next to it. Half-nightstand, half-workspace. All mess, thought Jay, eyeing the piles of paper and trash. It looked like he'd been attempting to tidy things up, there were several plastic bags on the floor, all filled with garbage and waiting to be taken out.

  Naturally, it hadn't occurred to him to do it himself.

  His computer stood in the middle of it all, headphones dangling precariously on the edge of the monitor. She reached out to straighten them automatically and the monitor flickered on. She glanced at it, and then away, not wanting to see something she shouldn't.

  Jay quickly moved to the low table, which had once held Nick's camera and other equipment but all of that had been relegated to the desk. Looking at the Nikon he had used to take her photograph at graduation mere days ago made her throat tight. She gripped one edge experimentally and tried to lift it, grimacing a little. “Es tan pesada,” she said to Yelena, who was standing in the door, watching her worriedly. “Necesito dos personas. ¿Lista?”

  “No,” said Yelena, fingering the hem of her blouse. “Siento.”

  “Yelena?” Jay asked, feeling suddenly very nervous. “¿Qué—?”

  “Hi, Jay.” She stiffened as Nick moved to stand next to the smaller woman, who suddenly looked as if she would rather be anywhere else. He was wearing sweatpants and a faded raglan shirt that drew attention to his broad shoulders. “Thanks, Yelena,” he said pointedly. “You can go now.”

  “What—” Jay felt her voice shrivel in her throat when he closed the door. What are you going to do? What the fuck was that? The two questions warred in the back of her mouth and she couldn't get either of them out. It felt as if she might choke if she tried. “What was that?”

  “I told her that you'd been avoiding me,” Nick said, taking a few steps deeper into the room. “That we had a fight. I asked her to get you alone because I knew you wouldn't come to me if I asked. I don't think she really believed me, though—she made me promise not to hurt you.” He glanced at her. “You're her darling little mija after all. And yet, that didn't stop her from selling you out for a price. Everyone has their price. I wonder what yours is.”

  Jay's heart knocked against her chest. “I don't have one.”

  Nick stepped closer and she felt the computer chair brush against her legs. “We'll see.”

  Jay took another step backwards and just when it occurred to her that sideways might have been better, Nick caught her by the arms and kissed her.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Jay's protest cut off as his mouth sealed over hers, their noses bumping. She tried to turn away, and but he moved with her, catching her by the chin to correct the awkward angle and devour her as he'd been aching to do for years. Nick's hand nearly trembled as his thumb stroked over her throat. She tastes sweet, he thought. Of course she tastes sweet. It was like the first, illicit sip of his father's scotch burning down his throat with the taste of the forbidden.

  When his hand fell to her breast, she jerked from him, uttering a hoarse scream as she lost her balance and fell into his computer chair. It started to spin lazily until he bent a leg and stopped it with his knee. For a moment, she looked as if she were about to leap up, but he was still standing very close and her face was level with his hips.

  He watched her realize that as the color fled from her face.

  “You know,” he said, looking down at her as she squirmed and looked anywhere but at him. “You talk to me like I'm your kid brother, but I'm not your brother, blue jay. I'm the next Mr. Beaucroft and I'm a man who's at the end of his fucking rope. Because of you. And who are you, anyway? You're nobody. Anything could happen to you and no one would care.”

  Jay said nothing, but the tendons in her jaw were standing out in relief.

  She flinched again when he moved, but all he did was take a step back and turn the chair back towards the desk. “Are you threatening me?” she asked. “Just because I wouldn't—”

  “Look.” He cut her off, unwilling to hear her give voice to his grievance in those low, wounded tones. She tensed as he leaned on the back of the chair, close enough to stir the wisps of hair clinging to her neck, as he dragged the mouse. “I want to show you something.”

  “Well, I don't want to see i—” She paused. “What's Jay.mp4?”

  “I thought you didn't want to see it.”

  “Play it.” There was a catch in her voice. “Play it now.”

  He played the video. He'd seen it before, many times, so he watched her face, which went ashen. When the color returned to her skin, it was in red blotches that spread from her cheeks to her throat.

  “No.” She let out a rough breath that made him hard as she looked away. “Oh my God.”

  “See?” he whispered, letting his eyes drift to the screen. He watched her fingers slide beneath her top. A few minutes later, when she moved below her waistband, the motions would be the same: urgent and ungentle. “Not so innocent. As far as videos go, it's not that explicit, but that's what makes it so hot.”

  “You sick fuck,” she said. “How the hell did you get this?”

  “Well,” he said, “off my camera, obviously.”

  Jay lunged and he backed off, throwing up an arm to defend his face. But she had been going for the mouse. Before he could stop her, she had the video deleted, and the trash emptied.

  “Fuck you.” She glared up at him heatedly, breathing hard, before swinging up from the chair.

  Nick sat back on his bed, watching her stalk to the door. He couldn't help it—he laughed. “Did you really think it would be that easy? That's not the only copy I have.”

  Jay stopped walking. “What?”

  “What you deleted—that was a copy. I have the original on a flash drive. God, you're naive. No wonder you have everyone in this fucking town fooled.”

  “Give me the flash drive,” said Jay.

  “Does Quentin know your mom's a whore?” he asked idly, crossing his legs. “Does Michael? Their parents both work in a reputation-based industry; they aren't going to want you dating their sons. Especially not if they find out just how much like your mom you really are.”

  She spun around. “My mom,” she said fiercely, “is not a whore. She was a dancer.”

  “That's not what people are going to call her when they find out.” He glanced at her face, which was pale and grim. “Or you. You'd be surprised how many people in town really aren't a fan of sweet, perfect Jay—or how eager they'll be to rip you apart. People like Angela, who want to tear you down. People like Jake, who want to make you feel dirty. And plenty more. It turns out, most people find perfection really fucking annoying.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I thought you didn't have a price,” said Nick. “Isn't that what you just told me?”

  “It's not my price,” Jay snapped, folding her arms. “It's yours. Tell me what it is.”

  “I want those snowy white wings of yours,” he said. “You think I'm such an unattractive, entitled piece of shit? Fine. I'm willing to pay with my silence, bu
t you'll have to give up some of your morals in return. I don't want to fuck an angel.”

  Jay flinched again. Her eyes looked too bright, like she was going to cry. “You're pathetic,” she said bitingly. “You're literally ruining my life because I wouldn't sleep with you.”

  “Pathetic?” he repeated, glancing at her. “No, Jay. Pathetic is burning all your bridges and then acting like a wounded deer when you're caught holding the gas can. Leave if you don't like it.” he said coldly. “Otherwise, you can take your top off and kiss me.”

  She looked at him, hesitating for so long that he thought for sure he'd overplayed his hand. He had savored the idea of making her suffer, incensed by the idea of her wanting to leave—but the thought of hurting her was unpleasant. There was no pleasure in possessing something of value if it came in shattered fragments and what he was proposing would break her, he knew.

  It had never really occurred to him what he might do if she refused.

  “A kiss,” she said. “That's all you want?”

  “For now,” Nick said. “You were careless, blue jay. The video is just the tip of the—”

  “That's enough.” Jay crossed her arms to pull her shirt off, muffling her voice. “Fine.”

  He studied her hungrily as she looked down at her hands. She had a curvy figure, not quite thin, with a thickness in her hips and belly that gave her body an enticing softness. His eyes drifted up her waist, to her ill-fitting bra. “The bra, too. Give it to me.”

  Jay threw it at him, taking it off quickly and folding her arms before he could get much of a look. She came towards him on shaking legs and pecked the corner of his mouth before trying to pull away, but Nick was expecting that and managed to grab her by the hips and pull, lifting her beneath her backside as he did so she ended up spilling into his lap.

  Holding onto herself the way she was, there was no way for her to push him away and she ended up loosely straddling him, with her back to the floor. She yelped, and for a few disoriented seconds, her arms slipped, giving him a brief but unimpeded glimpse of her breasts.

  Nick leaned in. “Don't give me that schoolyard shit. Kiss me.”

  Jay wouldn't look at him. She could clearly feel his erection and it was making her very uncomfortable, because she was shifting all her weight to her knees in an effort to keep herself off his lap. He turned her face towards his and kissed her again, stroking along her jaw as he coaxed her lips open with his tongue as he pushed his way into her resisting mouth. She remained still, so he let his hand spread, caressing her neck.

  When his fingers drew over her nape, she shivered, and he whispered, “Like that?”

  Her shoulders immediately hunched. “No,” she hissed, her voice full of venom.

  “You're a terrible liar.” Nick stroked down the silky skin of her back and her eyes drifted again, fixating on something over his shoulder, even as her skin jumped under his touch. He pressed his mouth to hers again, still cupping her throat. “Your heart's pounding. I can feel it.”

  She gave him a look that seared him to the bone. It was filled with anger, and gave her clear, hazel eyes the stultifying power of a calefacient.

  “You know why I wanted you?” he spoke against her mouth, running his hands up and down her sides as her bare arms prickled with goosebumps. “You've never been like the other women in this town. They know they're going to marry rich and everything they want is given to them, so they don't try to be interesting. They don't want to save the world or see the sights; the only thing they care about is framed in their bedroom mirrors.”

  Jay pulled her head back, squirming in his lap in a way that left him breathless. “I don't want to hear this.”

  “But you need to hear this, Jay.” He kissed his way up from the corner of her mouth, across her jaw, until he reached her ear. She let out an unsteady breath when his teeth grazed over the tender shell of it. “Your mother is one of those women. She fits right in with the rest of that sorry fucking crowd. But you—you surprised me from the very first day. You're so goddamned good. Really. I hate your mother but I'm also so glad she married my dad because she brought you home . . . to me.”

  She was still stiff, arms tightly folded. He gave her a cool smile and spread his hands along her ribs, trying to cup her breasts. Jay folded her arms tighter, shaking her shoulders to shrug him off, grinding against his hips in a way that had his breath coming out in a shuddering gasp.

  “What are you—” Jay bucked, horrified, as his arm tightened around her waist, keeping her pressed against him with one hand knotted loosely in her hair as the dampness of his come seeped into her jeans through his sweatpants. “Oh my God,” she said. “You're disgusting.”

  “Get used to it,” he told her, tugging at her lip. “Next time I come, I'm going to be inside you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  2008

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Jay fled from Nick's room, pausing only to zip herself into her sweatshirt before flinging herself into the den. Her lips were burning and her jeans were—no, she wasn't going to dwell on that, or the terrible things he'd said to her, the way his hands had felt on her back, the way he'd looked at her—

  God, the way he'd looked at her.

  People often told her she was pretty. Sometimes it was the first thing they said to her, and they often said it in a way that suggested that looking the way she did made her face and body theirs to comment on. Whether it was a woman saying “I wish I had your skin” or a man shouting “nice ass” out his car window, it always carried a vaguely possessive tone, as if she were something they could acquire, even if it was in pieces.

  Nick had looked at her as if she were already his.

  Don't think about it, she instructed herself. Just run.

  It wasn't until she was safely locked into her bedroom that she realized he still had her shirt and bra. In her blind panic, she had forgotten to take them. Instinct and nebulous suspicions made her suspect she probably wouldn't want them back now.

  With a shudder, Jay stripped off her remaining clothes and took a long, hot shower, trying not to think about why her skin felt so sensitive under the beat of the spray.

  Next time I come, I'm going to be inside you.

  When would that be? He was having a party on Saturday to celebrate the end of summer and his acceptance to his top choice. Damon and her mom were going to Vegas to renew their vows or something stupid like that. It had been her mother's idea and she wasn't sure why Damon had agreed, since he obviously didn't love her mother anymore if he ever had, but neither would be back until Monday, which meant she'd be stuck here alone with him.

  And he—Nick—was going to fuck her.

  Jay wondered if he was going to do it before or after the party. Was he planning on giving his friends a play-by-play of her performance? The thought made her eyes prickle with unshed tears as she punched her arms through the sleeves of the ratty old sweater she liked to sleep in.

  It's going to hurt, her brain whispered. He said he'd destroy you, and this time, he will.

  She checked her email again but none of the places she had applied to called her back and there were no messages or phone calls either. She was so disheartened that she closed out of her pending applications without finishing them. If things were this bad now, no one was going to want to have anything to do with her at all if Nick followed through on his threat.

  Her phone buzzed. She looked at it dully. Quentin. I'm sorry Jay.

  She put the phone down and didn't respond.

  Through the door, she could hear Yelena calling up for dinner. Jay stayed in bed. She didn't think she would be able to meet Nick's eyes and see the expectation in there.

  Yelena knocked on her door. “Jay? Mija?”

  You sold me, Jay thought. You sold me to him.

  “¿Estás bien?”

  Jay said nothing, rubbing her face, unconsciously tracing the path Nick had blazed with his mouth. No, she thought. Nothing is ever going to be okay again.

/>   Yelena eventually went away, presumably to report to her family that she wouldn't be coming down. Her phone buzzed a few minutes later and she picked it up in irritation, thinking it was Quentin and another one of his useless apologies. She nearly dropped it.

  Are you hiding from me?

  Nick. The last thing he had sent her had been a heart, which unnerved her enough that she hadn't responded. She could see it there in the history, mocking her. How quickly he flipped from “I'm in love with you” to “I don't want to fuck an angel.”

  She stared at his message for a long time, trying to read the tone. Was it a taunt? Did he feel remorse? Or was it a reminder that she was trapped here and that for her, there was no escape?

  Leave me alone sounded too pathetic. Go away was too confrontational. And fuck you sounded like a challenge. In the end, Jay said nothing, which probably only proved him right.

  She was hiding.

  Jay went to her computer and booked a room for the weekend at the Bayview. If Nick thought she was just going to lounge around and wait for him, he was wrong.

  When it came to hiding in plain sight, she had ten years of practice.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  The next morning, Jay noticed her booking had been canceled because the charge had been declined. That made her angry—Damon oversaw their accounts and she had never been one to make wasteful purchases. The last thing she'd gotten that had exceeded $100 was her graduation dress. In college, most of her budget had gone towards school materials and food.

  Jay pulled on jeans and a tank top and the sweater she'd slept in. She'd used to wear her hoodie around the house, but now she no longer wanted to. She pulled her hair into a tight ponytail as she went down the stairs. The kitchen was empty, except for Yelena, who was doing the dishes. Nick was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably still asleep, and her mother was outside in the garden.

  Jay knocked on the door to Damon's office. “Come in,” she heard him say.

  I can't believe I'm doing this. She entered, mapping out all points of escape. Damon was sitting at his desk. “Justine,” he said, smiling in a way she didn't care for. “What a surprise.”