Bad Boy - A Stepbrother Romance Page 23

  Still, I was curious…

  Chapter 2

  Anya

  I hurried into the French restaurant on East 20th Street, almost tumbling right over a few seconds later thanks to the high heels I’d decided to wear in order to look nice and presentable. It was the first time I’d worn heels in about a year, so I was off my game. I regained my balance and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed my near-fall, and a warm blush crept over my cheeks as I realized that at least one person had—a snooty-looking hostess. She pursed her lips at me as I approached her, and I was about to ask her where our table was when a familiar face caught my eye.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake…seriously?

  It was Cam, standing by the restaurant bar with a frown as his fingers danced over his phone’s touch screen. I’d seen him twice in one day now, and I’d even dreamed about him last night…what were the odds of that?

  Some people might take it as a sign from the universe, but I’d never believed in that kind of crap. I did, however, believe in coincidences and bad luck, and that’s exactly what this was.

  Hoping he wouldn’t see me or recognize my voice, I leaned in close to the hostess and spoke in a low voice. “Hi…my Mom made a reservation for four. It should be under her name—Christina Cruz.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me? Speak up,” she snapped.

  “Sorry,” I said, raising my voice a bit. “Still getting my voice back from this stupid cold I had last week. The name is Cruz.”

  She drew back from me like I’d admitted to being a plague carrier, and then she glanced down at her tablet. “You’re one of the first to arrive, and you’re a little early. You’ll need to go and wait by the bar until we can seat you.”

  “Oh. Um…sure,” I said, my shoulders slumping as I sneaked another glance over at the bar.

  Hmm…there was a fairly large decorative plant near one side of the bar room. If I could make my way over there without Cam seeing me, then all I had to do was hide out behind it until my Mom arrived, seeing as I doubted he’d harass me if he saw me with her. The fronds of the fern would cover me well enough for now, hopefully.

  Cam still seemed to be fairly engrossed in his phone, probably lining up his seventieth Tinder date for the night, so it was fairly likely that he wouldn’t notice me anyway.

  I waited for a second and then tried to slip by him, looking to the right so he couldn’t see my face. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough. Either he had some kind of radar for me, or I was nowhere near as good at blending into the background as I thought.

  “Anya?” he said, gently touching my left arm a second later. “I thought that was you I saw over there.”

  Dammit. I was caught.

  I could hardly run away, so I turned to him. “Yes? Sorry, do I know you?” I asked.

  I felt more than a little mean saying that, but I was hoping he’d believe I honestly didn’t remember him so that he’d leave me alone.

  Instead, he smirked and took a step closer. “Oh, Anya. That’s the oldest trick in the book. Don’t pretend you don’t know me.”

  Well, he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

  “Oh, Cam! Sorry, I…um…I didn’t recognize you for a second,” I stuttered, my cheeks flaming. “You look…er…different.”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on, either,” he said.

  Wow. He certainly hadn’t changed. I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m meeting someone.”

  “A date?” he asked, eyes twinkling. Was that the tiniest hint of jealousy I detected in his tone? No, surely not.

  “Sure, not that it’s any of your business,” I lied, briskly heading over to the bar. If he thought I was on a date, he’d leave me alone.

  Or not…

  “Aw, come on,” he said, following me over to the bar. “That’s not very polite.”

  I didn’t even know how to respond to that without scoffing, so I mumbled something unintelligible and pretended to be deeply interested in the bar’s cocktail menu.

  “You don’t need to waste your money on one of those,” Cam said, following my line of sight. “I can offer you a nice big free cocktail, if you catch my dri—“

  I jabbed him in the chest and cut him off before he could finish his lewd sentence. “Are you twelve?” I asked. “Jesus, Cam.”

  In the words of Chandler Bing, could he be any more immature?

  He held his hands up, palms facing me. “Relax. It was a dumb joke. If you’d have let me finish, I was actually going to offer to buy you a cocktail if you wanted one. I saw you eyeing the menu.”

  “Oh. No, thank you.”

  “No worries. So what have you been up to for the last eighteen months?” he asked.

  “Been counting the days since you last saw me, huh?” I said, unable to resist getting in a little dig at him.

  He grinned. “How could I not? I always wondered what happened to you.”

  I blushed even more as I finally looked up into his eyes. God, he was handsome. It was no wonder I’d fallen for his charms and subsequently fallen into bed with him when I’d met him. But I had to remember—he was a player, and I’d already experienced that firsthand. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  “So…you gonna answer my question?” he asked.

  “Huh? Which one?”

  “I asked what you’d been up to.”

  “Oh. Study, mostly,” I mumbled, resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to leave me alone anytime soon. “College has been really busy.”

  “And yet you still have time to meet guys in fancy restaurants,” he said, glancing around. “So where is your date, anyway?”

  I folded my arms, knowing the jig would be up when my mother arrived with Pierce and her son. “If you must know, I’m actually meeting my family here.”

  Cam’s shit-eating grin grew wider. “I knew you weren’t really on a date. That’s not because of me, is it?”

  At first I didn’t understand what he meant, but his meaning became clear as he smirked again.

  I snorted with derision. “Please. You really think you made me give up on dating? Even you aren’t enough to put me off men forever…as bad as you are.”

  “Nah, not that. Just thought I might have ruined other men for you,” he replied with a lascivious wink. “Hard to go back to B-grade stuff when you’ve had the best.”

  “I see you’re still a disgusting, arrogant sleaze. Nice to see some things never change.”

  “C’mon, you didn’t seem to think I was disgusting when I had my head between those luscious legs of yours,” he murmured, leaning forward so that his lips were grazing the shell of my ear.

  A jolt of electricity hit me at that exact second, and a multitude of images from our previous tryst flashed through my mind again. God, why did he have to be so sexy? I almost sighed as goose bumps cropped up all over my neck, but instead, I pushed him away.

  “I guess those gossip columns are right. You really are the dirtiest bastard in this city,” I said, glaring at him.

  “I seem to recall that you liked it dirty. So what d’ya say, Anya? One more go for old time’s sake? There’s a cozy little coat-check closet over there,” he said, motioning back towards the restaurant’s foyer.

  Ugh. Did he honestly think I’d say yes to a quickie in the closet? He grinned, and I almost blew a fuse right then and there. Stay calm, I told myself, gritting my teeth.

  “Save your breath, Cam, you’ll need it to blow up your date later on tonight,” I hissed in response to his gross request.

  He wasn’t fazed yet. “Closet offer going once, going twice…” he said.

  I rolled my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes. Guys like him were the worst. They thought that all they had to do was smile at a girl and say a few sleazy lines, and her panties would melt right off.

  Right now, he was doing a lot more than simply smiling and talking. When I didn’t acquiesce to his ridiculous closet r
equest like he expected, he actually leaned in like he was about to freaking kiss me, and I finally reached my breaking point. He just didn’t know when to give up, did he?

  I picked up a half-full glass of water from the bar next to us and dumped it right on his head, just as he delicately removed a stray eyelash from my cheek.

  Oops. He hadn’t really been about to kiss me.

  We were interrupted by a familiar voice before either of us could react to the awful thing I’d done.

  “Anya? What on earth…?”

  Cam whirled around, and I looked past him to see my Mom and Pierce standing there with mystified expressions on their faces.

  “Anya?” Mom repeated.

  I was still too tongue-tied to reply, and Pierce raised his eyebrows.

  “Er, thanks for meeting us here. Sorry we’re late,” he said. “I see you two already know each other? And Cam, I see you’ve already annoyed your new sister long enough for her to throw a drink at you.”

  What?

  Oh, shit. No…this couldn’t be happening. Cam was my new stepbrother?

  Even as I thought that it couldn’t possibly be true, I finally remembered Pierce’s last name. It wasn’t Morris. It was Meyers. He was Cam’s father! How the hell had I never made the connection? I guess it was a fairly common name, but still, I should have figured it out sooner.

  It was common knowledge in the tabloids that Cam came from the wealthy Meyers family, who’d made their fortune in the railroad industry decades ago before branching into hotels. Mom had told me ages ago that Pierce worked in the hotel business, so I should have known that he was one of those Meyers.

  Yep, I was an idiot for not having figured this all out before now, especially seeing as the restaurant hostess had told me I was ‘one of the first to arrive’. With the distraction of seeing Cam when I’d stepped up to her, I’d somehow interpreted her words as meaning that I was the first to arrive, but obviously, she’d meant that one of the other party members was already here.

  Cam’s eyes widened for a split-second as the shocking news washed over us, and he turned back and stared at me. He regained his composure almost immediately, that trademark smirk of his returning as he murmured something to me, quietly enough so that only I would hear.

  “So I guess that’s a no on the closet, then…?”

  Chapter 3

  Cam

  No way. This was too fucking weird.

  Even though I’d been looking right at Anya for the last few minutes, I still couldn’t believe it was her. She was really here. I never thought I’d see her again—let alone be linked to her in a familial sense—but here she was, glaring at me as our parents hovered in the background.

  “So I guess that’s a no on the closet, then?” I said, murmuring in her ear.

  I’d only been kidding about the whole closet hook-up thing, just to watch her squirm. She looked so cute when she was pissed or embarrassed. I knew that from experience…an experience which I’d longed to repeat for the last year and a half. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had the pleasure, for reasons I was still unsure of.

  I’d spent one amazing night with her after a party at my penthouse apartment in Tribeca, and one night only. She’d woken up while I was still asleep, left an abusive note on my mirror in lipstick and then vanished, never to be seen again.

  Until now.

  “Shut up,” she hissed back at me through her teeth before plastering on a smile. “Pierce…nice to see you! I had no idea Cam was your son.”

  “Oh? Sorry, I thought I’d mentioned it before. Anyway, is everything okay?” my Dad asked, his eyebrows still raised as he took in my soaking wet head and shirt collar.

  “Um…”

  Anya’s voice faltered, and I wiped my dripping brow and grinned. “Sure, it’s all good. We were just playing around and Anya’s hand slipped. She didn’t actually mean to tip the water on me. She was just pretending like she was going to and did it by accident.”

  I was still a bit ruffled that she’d left me the way she had eighteen months ago, but I wasn’t going to hold that against her and make life difficult for her by making her look bad to our parents for ditching a glass of water on me. She was too beautiful to stay mad at. Besides, I was stuck with her now, seeing as she was apparently my new stepsister, so I figured I may as well throw her a bone and help her out. Ha…throw her a bone.

  Yeah, she really wasn’t wrong about how immature my sense of humor was. I was kind of infamous for it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only thing I was infamous for.

  “Ah, I see,” Dad replied. “So where do you two know each other from, then?”

  “Some party ages ago,” I said, slinging an arm around Anya’s shoulder. She stiffened but didn’t protest. “We’re old buddies, aren’t we?”

  I gave her a pointed look, and she nodded awkwardly. “Uh-huh. We’ve known each other since my freshman year of college,” she said. “I just never realized you guys were related.”

  “Well, this is lovely!” Christina said, her face lighting up. I’d met her a few times, but I’d had no idea she and my father were so serious; serious enough to get married behind our backs. I’d also had no idea she was Anya’s mother.

  “Yes, it is,” Dad agreed, his voice booming. “It’s much less awkward this way, with you two already being friends. Anyway, let’s go find our table.”

  I guess I couldn’t be too surprised that Dad had married Christina so soon. After all, he’d been married five times already, and three of those marriages had occurred less than a year after meeting the respective women.

  They’d also all ended after less than a year.

  When he’d told me that he’d married Christina in Vegas last weekend, I hadn’t reacted with the excitement he’d obviously expected, but could he really blame me for that? Christina was relatively nice and all, but if this marriage lasted longer than six months, I’d eat my hat. Figuratively speaking, of course.

  It wasn’t like my father cared all that much about my opinion on his relationships, anyway. He’d long since given up on trying to mold me into the perfect son and resigned himself to letting me be exactly who he thought I was.

  The rebellious trust fund kid.

  The irresponsible, arrogant race-car driver who’d been fired amidst a drug scandal.

  The popular playboy-slash-model with a revolving door of women through his bedroom every week.

  Those things were only half true, but if you read the newspapers and kept up with online gossip blogs, then you could be forgiven for thinking they were one-hundred percent true. In regards to the drug scandal, I’d been ousted from my racing gig a few months ago for alleged cocaine use. I’d never actually touched the stuff, but all my pit crew members were on it, so I’d been seen as guilty by association. The police had tested me, realized the truth and then let me go without laying any formal charges, but by that stage, the scandal had already broken in the tabloids.

  Now every second person in the city thought I was addicted to blow, or at least formerly addicted to it.

  It was bullshit, but that’s how things were when you were a big name in the city. Every detail of your life became public knowledge sooner or later, and when people got bored enough, they’d simply make shit up.

  Considering all that, I certainly didn’t blame my father for thinking poorly of me sometimes. Even though I was innocent of the drug charges, I knew I’d fucked up more than once in my life in other ways, and he’d still always been there to quietly bail me out of my troubles. I was lucky to have someone as cool as him as a father, even if he was the only real parent I’d ever had. It was better than having two shitty parents.

  After losing the race car driving gig, I’d vowed to do something to make it all up to him, but I hadn’t settled on what exactly that would be yet. I still had my modeling gigs, but modeling wasn’t a stable or serious enough job that would impress him and make him feel like I’d paid him back for all his help. He’d already made that all too clear when I’d
first gotten involved with it. Oh well. I’d figure something out eventually, hopefully sooner rather than later.

  Till then, I was keeping myself occupied with mindless hookups, club visits and drinking sessions with friends. It was shit, but it kept my mind off how fucked up I’d felt in the last few months amidst the drug allegations.

  We headed back over to the restaurant hostess, who smiled seductively and slipped me a piece of paper with what I assumed was her number on it as she brushed her hand over my pocket.

  “Your table is this way,” she purred, keeping her eyes fixed on me. “Please, follow me.”

  I smiled back and promptly screwed the paper up in my pocket, making a mental note to dispose of it later. I’d noticed Anya as soon as she walked into the restaurant earlier, and that hostess had been a complete bitch to her…so fuck her.

  Not literally, of course. The only girl I wanted to fuck right now was Anya. She looked unbelievably sexy in her black stilettos; shoes I could tell she wasn’t used to walking in. They made her hips sway from side to side as she walked, albeit in a slightly wobbly way, and they added an extra curve to her already amazingly-rounded ass. I resisted the urge to smack it as I followed closely behind her towards our dinner table.

  The thought triggered a distinct memory of the night I’d spent with Anya last year.

  She was on all fours, balancing near the edge of the bed with her back arched and her perfect ass staring me right in the face. I was standing beside the bed, slamming in and out of her tight, wet pussy as she moaned and gasped, and I grinned and lightly spanked her gorgeous ass cheeks. Her flesh wobbled slightly as I pulled my hand away, and she let out a louder gasp than before.

  ‘Mmm…do that again,’ she moaned.

  ‘You like that, do you?’ I growled before slapping her ass again, drawing another long, whimpering moan from her throat.

  She’d been so innocent when I’d met her, and now, only an hour later, she was already the best lay I’d ever had. She was wild, uninhibited and dirty; just how I liked it.