GRIND: A Stepbrother Romance Read online

  And that’s exactly what I planned to do.

  It would be my mission.

  “Well, if you will excuse me once more...”

  I knew exactly what to do.

  I’ve been known to be a rule breaker before. Hell, more than I can count. This one time more wouldn’t be any different. I could blame it on mourning my father. Or plead being under the influence.

  My adrenaline shot through my veins like a drug and I actually looked forward to this feat. I made my way back to my room like a man on a mission. I changed carefully. Reaching for an empty backpack, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Wearing a beanie low over my eyes, you could still see my brown locks. I knew what to do. Not just any glasses would do, but skiing goggles, and a scarf. And gloves. No fingerprints. To avoid questions from the staff or being seen by anyone in the home, I’d have to put my things on just around the corner outside before I made my grand entrance.

  There wouldn’t be any bulldogs waiting for me.

  No.

  And I could always stage it as an icicle breaking the system. Something like that. Now you’re thinking!

  The library was three miles away. I knew it well. I was often punished to go there during my high school days. The librarians feared me for the pranks and stupid things I’d done.

  I immediately regretted the hell I’d caused. Making a mental note to myself, I promised to make more than amends with one person this week. A letter of an apology, even a decade later, was in order even if we had already donated a million dollars to their new wing. I shook my head and sighed. I was really becoming a softy.

  “Well…at least we can move forward and turn over a new leaf.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Fuck. I spun around.

  It was her. She’d found me. And she had her sexy glasses on.

  “And what are you…doing? You look ridiculous, you know that?”

  She looked fucking hot when she wore those glasses, sporting the whole sexy librarian thing. Boy did I want to spin her over a desk and make her see stars as I showed her a thing or two with my free hand. Her eyes grew larger as if waiting for an explanation.

  Right.

  My get-up.

  “I’m going running. It’s a bit stuffy in the house and well, our last conversation didn’t go so well. You look like you’ve got your hands full.” She balanced a giant coffee mug with spiral notebooks, books, and a lantern with a candle lit in it. It was sexy, endearing, and tempting as hell as she stood just inches away from my bedroom. The very place I could take her in right now and show her how I felt instead of telling her.

  My athletic pants were thin, and I had to think of something else fast or else have her see my excitement down south.

  “I—”

  “I’m fine,” she said shortly, but the deep edge from earlier had seemed to settle. It was her empathy. “I just…anyway,” she cleared her throat and looked down the hallway as if nerves were getting the best of her.

  “I just was making my way back to the study. That stiff drink started to make me sleepy and I can’t afford to sleep right now. This whole internet being down thing has really thrown me for a ringer. All my quotes I needed…I…anyway. So, I just made a fresh pot of coffee with the French press. Thank God it’s a gas oven. I don’t know what I would do otherwise. The staff is asleep. I don’t want to wake them.”

  She was really cute when she was nervous. I remember this side of her well back in the day. She would speak so fast and her ideas would be jumbled. She was so excited and had so much to say. I wanted to just stand there and look at her. I wanted to see how ruffled I could make her before I…I cleared my throat. Stay on track. Almost there.

  “Well, it is two in the morning.”

  “Right. Which, why are you going running in the middle of an ice storm?”

  I opened my mouth to give her some bullshit about needing some air. But her hands waved me down.

  “You know what? It’s none of my business. I actually understand, a bit. Needing the fresh air. A lot has transpired in the last forty-eight hours. And well, I wanted to say, I mean, follow up about what we spoke about in the study…”

  Oh yeah. She was warming up a bit. Just a little bit longer.

  “Don’t worry about it. Let’s talk about it later. I need fresh air. Now.”

  She blew her frustration across some loose bangs.

  “Okay…well, I’ll just be on my way to write this paper. Ice storm or no ice storm, the internet still works in Cape Town and my paper is still expected.” Her tone was heavy.

  She looked worried. Stressed. And I hated seeing her all bent up about a paper. I knew academic success meant the world to her, but I wished I could just make her happy. I wished I could throw all of her books aside, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her right back to the fireplace and make love to her.

  You’re getting there. One step closer.

  “Oh, I have plenty of Adderall if you need any.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  “It’s not like that. It’s for my ADD.”

  “I didn’t know you had ADD.”

  “Well, there’s a lot that you never got to know,” I quickly got out.

  “Right, well. I’m going now. Enjoy your cold run. Don’t twist your ankle.”

  One sentence I should have seriously considered carefully. Very carefully.

  Thirty minutes later…

  It was one of those fire alarms, screeching, ringing bells type of security that welcomed me as I broke into one of the side windows. I staged a branch to “fall into the window.” As I fell on the floor rolling around like a bad ass, I wished someone could witness my skills. If this CEO thing didn’t work out forever, maybe I’d enlist in being a bad ass special ops agent. I enjoyed the thrill, that was for sure.

  I had to stifle the goofy grin. I was on a mission: grab every book I could on Thoreau and Emerson and stash them in the bag. Running around the library, I finally found my way to the American poets. It was a small library, but one well-stocked since the community was, well, a bunch of intellectuals.

  My fingers scrolled across the many titles and I finally settled on a few. After grabbing everything I could manage to stuff in my pack, I zipped up the bag and made my way out of the window. Mission accomplished.

  As I picked up my jog, I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face as I solved her problems. Hopefully, she’d run into my arms and I could feel her body against mine before trailing my hands across her shoulders, a soft graze down the small of her back. Oh yeah. She’d pull away and I’d leave my hand on the side of her waist, letting her feel my firm grip, before innocently but very suggestively trailing my thumb across her lower stomach. I’d….

  Wham.

  I hit the ground just like that. A ice covered fall tree limb laid in wait for my demise. And just like that I was down on the ground.

  Fuck.

  It hurt like hell.

  I could feel my ankle pounding and swelling instantly and there was no one I could fucking call. The cell phones were all down.

  Chapter 7

  KATE

  * * *

  I was seriously, really fucked. There was no way to finish this paper now. I was ten seconds away from searching for his Adderall to cure my wandering thoughts. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t numb this feeling.

  He told me he loved me.

  That I teased him.

  That I was the girl he never could have.

  My heartbeat quickened and my racing thoughts sought to understand what it all meant. What would happen when he came back? Was the ball in my court now?

  Did I dare tell him how I felt?

  Ugh!

  After going back and forth in my mind like a ping pong match, I was insanely aware of the lingering time; he was not back yet.

  Had something happened to him? He was in a great deal of pressure with work. Was someone lying in wait to trap him? To bend him to their will with physical means? Could someone
have the bloodthirsty means of actually …killing him?

  My overactive imagination pictured the worst headline possible. Two Rainshaws dead within two days of each other. Sinister play suspected of the youngest.

  “Where the hell is he?” I blew out worried steam and tapped my pen against the note pad, trying to rid myself of such morbid, irrational thoughts. There was not a single clock on the wall so the time could not be read. My poor phone on airplane mode was hanging on for dear life. At 4% the white numbers eerily read 4:15 AM. It was almost dawn. I couldn’t call him because the stupid lines were down from the ice storm. And it was going to get worse.

  I shivered as I wrapped my shaking arms. I shook my head to shake my thoughts. My breathing had heavily increased from my overactive imagination. I could see the fog escape my breath.

  Suddenly a deep hum rattled and the lights flickered back on. It was like lighting up Times Square. In an instant, the home’s electricity returned to normal, which meant the generator must have finally decided to work.

  Thank goodness.

  Naturally I went to my laptop in an eager attempt to pull up my school e-mail, a brief distraction from my worry, praying to God the internet worked.

  Nothing.

  No signal.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and made a mad dash to my room.

  Bundling up, I grabbed my ski coat left from God knows when, and I grabbed everything possible to that would keep me warm from the incoming storm. With my flashlight in tow, I opened the front door.

  It was the type of quiet one expects in the middle of nature. The type of solace where tree branches knocked and trunks hummed from wind.

  The ice was falling heavier now and I secured my hood to brace the storm.

  I trekked down the driveway to the security guard’s base. A twenty-four-hour officer guarded the estate at all times.

  “Can I help you, Mrs. Rainshaw?”

  My heart dropped to my toes. I did get that sometimes. People often said my mom and I were sisters. After all, why wouldn’t I be confused for her? I was never there at the Manor. The staff probably forgot I even existed! But just hearing that last name, my cheeks flushed and I felt like a little silly schoolgirl playing M.A.S.H., trying on your crush’s last name.

  “Actually, it's Kate.”

  “Oh, forgive me. I'm sorry, I thought your mother had taken a Xanax and a sleeping pill and maybe drank too much and was now walking around in a sleepy, drunken oblivion.”

  “Well as you know, that did happen on—”

  “Season two,” he cut in and finished for me, his jolly laughter lifting the air like Christmas magic.

  It was a hilarious moment in which my mother really caused a scene while she was on one of those Housewives trips. One that the entire world saw, that took me awhile to lighten up to and actually think it was hilarious, as well.

  “I’m, um… looking for Bradley. Have you seen him?”

  “You know, I did. He said he was going running, that he needed to clear his mind. And given what happened with his father I didn't even think it strange.”

  My teeth clattered. Worry mixed with terror traveled down my spine of the thought of him in a gutter somewhere. Or frozen to death, like an icicle.

  “Yeah, but that was like an hour ago, I think.”

  “Well, he does do those Iron Man competitions.”

  “He does?”

  I mean of course he does. With a body like that, at least the one I saw on the cover of People magazine. Smoking, sizzling hot. Every muscle had its own shiny place to be seen across that tight core and limbs, and chest…and calves…and…I cleared my throat. I had a thing for pecs, washboard abs, and that edge on the sides. God help me.

  “Well, I'm kind of worried about him. I think I'm going to look for him. Which way did he go?

  He pointed to the left. “He went that way, but of course you know these Hampton trails, so I don't know where he could be.”

  More panic flooded my chest. “With the freezing weather, he could have collapsed on the side of the road with hypothermia or something.” Finally my fears became public.

  “You’re the writer, right?”

  Taken aback by the comment I looked down at my feet for a beat. “No, I'm just a student in grad school.”

  “Well, everybody was really proud of you for publishing that one piece. But I can tell with that wild imagination of yours that it's time to put your speculation at ease. Let’s go look for him.”

  Moments later we were in his car driving down dark, dark, dark streets from the power outages. We rolled down the windows so we could get a better look instead of squinting through the fogged-up windows. The tires crunched the ice and the first fresh snowfall. The roads were slick and I feared that we were going to crash off the road, but we drove very, very slowly.

  After minutes of driving, my worst fear came to life; there he was on the side of the road. Lying down, not moving.

  Oh my God.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  Claire's words instantly rang in my head. “Don't let too much time pass and harden your heart.”

  I was too late. It was my fault. I should've been there for him. I should have been softer, not so damn hard and judgmental. Tears pooled in my eyes as I ran out of the car, running like a bat out of hell.

  Bradley I shouted. “Bradley!!!” I shouted out like a starlet from a Stephen King film. My entire being was covered in absolute horror and fear.

  He moaned.

  Oh thank God, he speaks! But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? He was obviously in pain as he moaned.

  Panic surged. Was he hit by a car? Was he dying?

  “Oh thank God, you're alive. Oh my God!” I was by his side inspecting his body for blood. Mr. Jackson’s headlights lit the scene.

  Moaning, he rolled around on his back and looked up at me. He reached for my face with his gloved hand as a slow smirk appeared on his face.

  I quickly wiped at the tears, embarrassed, but he didn't miss a beat.

  It felt like a moment that lasted for an eternity. Our moment. This moment. But then suddenly Mr. Jackson was by Bradley’s side.

  “Mr. Rainshaw, let me help you up.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve twisted my ankle pretty badly.”

  “Here. Let me help you,” he continued.

  As soon as he was lifted, I was aware of his absence.

  I reached for his backpack but it was so heavy I could barely lift it. It was stuffed to the max.

  Mr. Jackson came to my rescue once Bradley was set inside the car.

  “Were you weight training there, running around with this thing?” he joked. “Miss Kate, please sit in the front. I put Bradley in the back so he can immediately elevate his ankle.”

  Once the doors were shut and mystery was solved, the heater warmed my worried bones instantly.

  Bradley murmured in pain, “There's just one thing I would like to do right now. Soak in the hot tub. But the fucking generator decided to bust.

  “Oh, not true. It’s up and running now,” I informed him.

  It was beginning to look like a winter wonderland with the mysterious icicles hanging from trees, the cold air and the silence that hung. It filled the air with a mystique and I couldn’t help but also feel an excited jolt of expectation of what the morning may bring. That is, if I didn’t crash from fatigue and jet lag.

  “I’ll buzz Mr. Fox and have it warm and running for you at once, sir. Anything else?”

  “Scotch, please.” He winced in pain. “And a bucket of ice to ice this blasted thing while I soak.”

  “A bottle of champagne please. Uh, for mimosas,” I quickly added to the mix.

  I could feel all of their perplexed faces on me. I never, ever had a single request.

  Well, if we were going to do this, have this talk, if I was going to see what he really meant behind those words he uttered to me, hell yeah. Bottoms up.

  I wanted to ask him what he was doing
running so intensely, with such training. I wanted to tell him I would join him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for his father’s death, for not forgiving him, for him not being able to share what really happened. To apologize for all the lost time. So much I wanted to say and yet it was as if the trees were not the only thing frozen over; my tongue wouldn’t work.

  The Rainshaw manor terrace was not just your typical terrace. Designed for sleek opulence yet efficient usability for the insane parties and functions they would host, there was more than just one hot tub surrounding their grand Olympic sized pool.

  One hot tub in particular was near the outdoor kitchen, close to a gigantic flat screen television. It was perfect for the men to watch all their sporting games.

  It was also perfect for filming my mother’s reality show. Their home was the largest ever featured on the network.

  We made our way back to the manor where we were greeted by Mr. Fox, who had crutches awaiting Bradley. Forget service at the Four Seasons, the Rainshaws’ staff were the best of the best.

  Standing in the grand foyer underneath a dazzling chandelier, Bradley stripped out of his wet clothes down to his boxer briefs while leaning against the men. I nearly fell over from the shock of it all. I mean, sure I had entertained perhaps joining him outside, but there he was. Right next to me nearly naked without an ounce of body fat. And hot damn, did he look sexy as hell. And his ankle was swelling by the minute.

  “Oh my God.” I covered my shock of seeking his nearly naked body suddenly with the fake awareness of his swelling of his ankle. I had to remember to point, to point at his package. I shook my head, I mean…to point at his ankle to match my confession.

  “You were worried about me, huh?”

  Shy and feeling the heat on my cheeks from blushing, my eyes dashed down to his backpack as a book slid out.

  It was a Thoreau history book.

  “Why…why do you have a Thoreau book apparently from the Hampton library?”

  “Help yourself,” he said without a care in the world. “I figured you could use the help since the ‘net is down.”