Wrecked: A Stepbrother Romance Novel Page 8

  He didn’t seem to know why either, then again, he didn’t even seem to recognize my terrible attempts at flirting as what they were. When I took advantage of the fact that I was wearing a short sundress and leaned over his desk a little too suggestively to be appropriate, I only heard the sound of his throat roughly clearing before his footsteps moved to the other side of the room where he refused to even look my way.

  The entire tour was maddening. Every time I’d try to give him a subtle hint, he would become incredibly flustered, which only served to turn me on more. I didn’t know how else to spell out for him that I was interested in something other than the tour besides saying it outright, and I was way too much of a chicken to risk a repeat of his rejection.

  “What’s down here?” I asked after opening a door near to the kitchen that revealed an ominous looking staircase.

  “The pool and gym.”

  “The pool? Why do you need a pool when you live on the beach?” I asked incredulously.

  Brandon shrugged and shyly looked away. “For laps.”

  I figured I would have to be a total idiot to pass up any chance I got to compliment him, especially since I imagined the rude words of Dr. Shaw were likely still rolling around in his head like they were in mine.

  “I suppose you must be doing something to keep your body in such good shape,” I told him, allowing my eyes to wander down and linger on his abdomen for a moment before looking back up to his eyes.

  As I expected, he blushed furiously. “Well, I-I haven’t been using it lately. My leg... the pain got a little too intense. I would’ve been doing more harm than good. But I still lift.”

  “Trust me, I can see that,” I mumbled, eyeing the bulge of his bicep beneath his button-down shirt. Sensing another awkward moment about to happen, I swiftly changed the subject. “Can I take a look?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  He gestured for me to lead the way and started to follow behind me when I stopped on the stairs and turned to look up at him.

  “I’ll check this out myself. You shouldn’t add any unnecessary strain on your leg so close to the surgery.”

  Brandon scowled. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “I didn’t say you were. Just let me take a quick look and I’ll meet you right back up here.”

  Before he could even open his mouth to respond, I was making a mad dash down the stairwell. I didn’t want to tell him that after spending a good chunk of time in such close vicinity to him, I was desperate for just a few moments alone to gather my thoughts and rein in my wild hormones.

  Once I spotted the glass doors to the pool and stepped inside, I let out a long sigh of relief while covering my eyes with my hands. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me—or what could have changed in me in the past few years to now think that starting something with Brandon might be a good idea—but the urge to have him was stronger now than it had ever been.

  It didn’t make sense. Logically, I should have wanted him more back then. Back when he was warm, sweet, and totally smitten with me. Now he was cold and even more aloof than ever before, not to mention the scars that nearly ruined his face and apparently other parts of his body as well. So why now?

  I glanced around the room, taking in the pool, the hot tub, and the door to the gym and made sure to make a mental note of where everything was before I started the walk back upstairs to face him again. As much as it contradicted my thoughts, the only way I was going to find any answers was to spend more time with the man in question.

  * * *

  Since he hadn’t responded to any of my advances, I decided to shelve my terrible attempts at flirting for the rest of the day. When Brandon suggested we eat dinner in the den while watching a movie, I happily agreed, grateful that it would save us both from more stilted small talk.

  But when he plopped beside me on the couch and propped his feet onto the coffee table, I was struck by a sense of familiarity that I couldn’t ignore.

  “It’s been a long damn time since we did this.”

  Brandon turned his head away from the screen and smiled at me. “Over a decade. But it still feels...”

  “Familiar,” I finished, assuming he was feeling the same thing I was.

  Brandon blushed and nodded, pressing his lips together tightly before turning away. I cocked my head to the side and gazed at the side of his face, waiting for the heat of my stare to make him look back my way.

  When he did, I immediately asked, “What were you going to say?”

  He half-shrugged and mumbled something so low that I couldn’t hear it. When I asked him to repeat himself, he turned to face me full-on and let out a pained sigh.

  “I was going to say it still feels right. It still feels comfortable, like it did when we were kids.”

  I had no idea how to respond to his honesty without sounding like a lovesick fool, so I settled for a quiet, “Oh.”

  He scratched at his day old scruff and made a vague gesture to the television set.

  “Do you want to pick? I’m fine with anything.”

  With a tight smile, I accepted the remote control, chills running up my arm when our hands briefly brushed together. I didn’t particularly care what we watched either, so I settled on the first movie title I recognized as something I’d seen before. Brandon’s attention was riveted on the screen while he ate, but my attention was focused entirely on him. On his light chuckles at the bad puns, on the light in his eyes during the action scenes, and on his sad expression during the romantic parts.

  After the film ended, Brandon wished me a good night’s sleep and took off to his own bed, leaving me alone in the den to consider the day we’d spent together. But my mind kept going back to that sad expression and the truth of just how lonely Brandon had been these past five years finally sunk in.

  And it killed me. He deserved so much more than this miserable isolation and the loneliness that came along with it.

  I took the long route to my bedroom and as I laid down, I made a promise to myself and to Brandon that after he recovered from the surgery, I’d find a way to make damn sure that he would never be lonely again.

  Chapter 11

  I found Brandon in the foyer the next morning, overseeing things as a number of men carried all sorts of machinery into the house and down the hallway. I lingered at the top of the stairs for a few moments, recognition dawning on me as I spotted pieces of equipment I used to see every day at the hospital.

  “You’re having the surgery here?” I asked incredulously, storming down the stairs and straight to Brandon’s side. “What if something goes wrong, Brandon? We’re on a fucking island.”

  “Nothing will go wrong. We have all the proper equipment and Shaw does this all the time. There will also be another doctor to assist him as well as an emergency boat docked outside, just in case. Everything will be fine,” he explained, stressing his final word by placing his hands on my shoulders.

  The contact seemed to surprise him even more than it surprised me and he abruptly tensed before pulling away. Without thinking, I blindly reached out for his hands and pulled them back to my shoulders, watching all the emotions that swirled around his face like a storm.

  “Thank you,” I breathed out, hoping he’d understand the dual meaning of my words. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m just... worried.”

  “I... Well, I do appreciate your concern,” he whispered, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly as he stared down at me. “Is there anything I can do to ease your worry?”

  The smile I gave him was genuine and I shook my head, the movement jostling my shoulders and giving me the very real reminder that I was still clutching his hands on my shoulders. I swallowed hard and hesitantly let go, a shiver going up my spine when he gently squeezed before he let them slip away. Brandon’s head titled curiously to the side and he quickly licked his lips before they fell open.

  “Vanessa, I’d—”

  “Good day, Mr. Jensen. Miss Jensen.”

  I could ha
ve murdered Shaw as he approached us, totally unaware of the possibly huge moment he had just stomped all over. Brandon looked almost embarrassed, backing away with reddened cheeks and clearing his throat before he offered his hand to the doctor. I did the same before I excused myself to eat breakfast.

  I glanced back before turning the corner down the hallway, immediately locking eyes with Brandon as he watched me leave.

  * * *

  The rest of the day was... strange.

  It took the better part of the day for Shaw’s crew to set up the makeshift surgery center and test all the equipment for functionality. I popped in a few times over the course of the day to watch, noting that the team worked like a well-oiled machine. Brandon had been telling the truth— it was obvious that they did this often. Between that and the fact that they so thoroughly tested everything, I felt much more at ease.

  The weird part came in when I noticed Brandon popping up in random places throughout the day. He was adamant about supervising the staff along with Shaw, but he also found the time to randomly check in on me.

  Only, there weren’t any actual words spoken between us. Most of the time, I could just feel his eyes on me and whenever I turned to search for him, he’d just blush and disappear again. If I called out to him, I’d get a bashful smile and a shake of the head, a silent indication that he was busy and we’d talk later.

  When the sun started to set and I still hadn’t actually spoken to him, I decided to relax with a walk on the beach. The view from the island was incredible, but I made it a point to stay close enough to be able to see the light from the house as the day faded into night. I plopped down on the white sand, still warm from the sun, and leaned back while I listened to the waves crash against the shore.

  The sound of the boat departing pulled me out of my daydreams and I idly wondered whether or not I should return to the house for dinner. The surgery was set to begin right at sunrise and I wanted to make sure Brandon ate something before midnight.

  Before I could decide whether to head back right away or not, I noticed Brandon strolling down the beach towards me. When he got close enough to clearly see, I realized that he was sans shoes and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his perfectly muscled forearms down to where his hands disappeared into the pockets of his slacks.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I parroted back, then waited. When he didn’t say anything else, I asked, “Do you want to sit?”

  He hesitated for a moment before gingerly lowering himself to the ground and I couldn’t tell whether his discomfort was because he was getting sand on his work clothes or because the position bothered his leg. Probably a bit of both.

  “Did you have a good day?” he asked, cutting off my train of thought as he stretched his legs out in front of him and flexed his toes.

  “It was fine. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  Even with only the moonlight on his face, I could still see the hint of a blush staining his unscarred cheek. He titled his head forward with a nod, acknowledging the fact that he spent quite a bit of his day watching me, but offering no explanation. Despite wishing to know why he had followed me around all day, I decided to let it go.

  “Are you nervous?”

  He angled towards me and shrugged, the movement pulling the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders. I struggled to control the way my breathing hitched, swallowing hard as he replied.

  “Kind of. But probably not for the reasons you assume.”

  “Well, I’d probably be nervous going under the knife for any reason. There’s a lot that can go wrong.”

  “I know, but I have faith in Shaw and his team. They’re the best that money can buy.”

  I watched him shift around on the sand and pushed myself up, deciding to make it easier on him by sitting on my knees and facing him. He offered me a genuine smile as he relaxed backwards, no longer having to put the uncomfortable pressure on his leg and hip.

  “So tell me. What are you nervous about?”

  Brandon was silent for a long moment, his gaze so intense on my face that I felt like he was looking into my very soul. Memories that had blurred from time began to resurface— memories of the two of us lying together on the couch in the den during spring break, just staring into each other’s eyes while the television blared in the background.

  I wondered if he could see the nostalgia written on my face. I wondered if he could sense my desire to have him kiss me lightly on the lips like he had done all those years ago.

  “Maybe nervous is the wrong word. I’m just... trying to keep my expectations low for the scar removal part of the surgery.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced the thoughts of his lips touching mine out of my head, instead taking my chance to touch on a subject that I’d been wanting to mention since the day before.

  “I didn’t like it when Shaw said... what he said about your face.”

  Brandon’s throat visibly bobbed, but the only other physical response was one shoulder rising and falling. “I’m sure he could have found a better way to phrase it, but—”

  “If you’re going to say he wasn’t wrong, don’t you dare finish that sentence. Your face is not mutilated, Brandon,” I said forcefully, hoping he would be able to hear the honesty in my voice. Before he had a chance to argue, I raised my hand to lightly graze against the rough flesh as I whispered, “They’re just scars.”

  “I’m a monster, Vanessa. Why do you think I came here after the accident? Isolated myself like I did?”

  His words said one thing, but the way his wide eyes searched my face for any sign of dishonesty told me that he was desperate to believe what I was telling him. Desperate for me to argue my point.

  But first, I needed a clearer picture.

  “You never told me what happened.”

  His eyes fluttered closed when I let my fingers trail down the scars on his neck and he sucked in a shaky breath. I used the brief reprise from his attention to roughly swallow down my nerves, then closed my eyes when his warm fingers came up to lightly rest on mine.

  “There’s not much to tell. I was on my way to meet with a potential client who was located out of the city. On the highway, the eighteen wheeler in front of us took the off-ramp too fast and flipped. Between the impact with the truck and the pile up of cars that smashed into us from behind, I’m lucky to even be alive. Toby—my driver—didn’t make it.”

  When I first saw Brandon’s scars, I knew that the most likely cause was from a car accident, but that didn’t make hearing even the barest details about the wreck any easier. It hurt my entire being just imagining the crash—the sounds, the pained cries he likely let out before succumbing to unconsciousness. Judging by the state of his face and the little he had told me about the rest of his body, he was right. He was incredibly lucky to be alive.

  I couldn’t even consider how I would have felt if I’d lost him. In a way, I had sort of lived it with his disappearance, but it wasn’t long before I knew he was at least alive. I’d take never speaking to him again over knowing he was really gone any day of the week.

  I didn’t even feel the tears rolling down my face until he leaned forward to brush one off with the pad of his thumb, the tender touch jolting me back to the present and making me even more emotional. I felt my face beginning to crumble as light sobs started to shake my shoulders.

  “Please don’t cry,” he whispered, his eyes briefly closing with pain before opening to refocus on me. “I’m okay, Vanessa. Don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m trying not to,” I admitted, drawing in a shaky breath before I cleared my throat in a vain attempt to stop myself from crying. “It’s just— I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Brandon was silent for a long time, staring at my face intently while I tried to keep myself from breaking down. I could always let everything out later, in the isolation of my own bedroom. But right now, I needed to hold it together.

  “Our last brid
ge was burned down long before the accident.”

  “Then why reach out to me now?”

  “Because as much as I’ve tried to deny it, I’m not ready to give up on you yet.”

  There was a moment of shock that I’m sure crossed my face if the look of regret that showed up on his face was anything to go by. When he moved to pull his hand away from my cheek, I firmly gripped it and leaned forward, unwilling to let this monumental moment slip by.

  It felt like I was moving in slow motion. The closer I got, the wider his eyes got until our lips finally met and they fluttered closed. I let go of his hand and softly moaned when he slid it behind my neck, his other strong arm wrapping behind my back and pulling me flush against him. Our lips moved together as he leaned us back, ending with me sprawled across his chest as he laid in the sand and kissed me.

  More memories from teenage years began to pop up, but I shoved them away as soon as they surfaced, determined to stay in the present. Back then, I let my awkward feelings about being related to Brandon by marriage ruin what could have possibly been the best thing that ever happened to me and I wasn’t about to let those feelings determine wherever we would go from here. Things were different now. I was different.

  I cupped his face with both hands and slid my legs to straddle his waist, smiling against his lips when he gasped with pleasure. I felt him smile back for a moment before he recaptured my lips, slipping his tongue out to sensually caress mine.

  To say I was turned on would’ve been a hell of an understatement, but after a few more minutes of the most passionate make out session we’d shared to date, I somehow found the strength to pull away. He made a soft sound of protest, looking up at me with furrowed brows and sad eyes as I sat up on my knees.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked as he propped himself up on his elbows.

  “For the first time in a long time, I can honestly say that everything is right.”

  He half-smiled and cocked his head to the side before he asked, “Then why did you stop?”