Текст книги "Vulture a Stepbrother Romance"

Автор книги: Emilia Beaumont

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

10

Sara

My life was falling to pieces as the weeks passed by. During those weeks I received three missed mortgage payment notices from the bank, one of them demanding full payment of my arrears within thirty days. Did they expect me to perform miracles or something? The money I was bringing in from the minimum wage café job was simply not enough, and dark days lurked in the corner as I became more and more stressed. Desperation crept into my life, suffocating me, and though I wanted to stand on my own two feet and shy away from the damsel-in-distress routine, I knew I had to swallow my pride and ask for help.

I chewed on my nails as I placed my phone against my ear, waiting for Harvey to pick up. I hoped that maybe he’d had some luck with the insurance investigation.

When I heard his voicemail on the other end, I ended the call and tried again. I speed-dialled his number, brought the mobile back to my ear and listened intently as it continued to ring. I tapped my foot against the carpeted floor, growing restless and troubled. I began to pace around the room.

The ringing stopped and went straight to his voicemail again. A sob slipped free from my lips. Why wasn’t he answering? A worst-case scenario formed in my head, but I shoved it aside, replacing my fear of Harvey’s unanswered calls with fear of the never-ending nightmare Eric had seen fit to leave me with.

“I’m never going to get past this,” I murmured into my hands, wracking my brain for anything I could do to get myself out of this mess. Eric was dead, and yet he was still tormenting me, and I was powerless to stop it. He was still dictating the course of my life.

It had to stop.

I worried my lips and gnawed down on the flesh, nipping at it as my anxiety increased.

First things first. I had to think logically. I needed a way to pay the mortgage before the bank took possession of the house and kicked me out of my own home, forcing me to live out in the streets, or worse, with my sister or mother.

A knock sounded on the back door. With a quick look in the hallway mirror, tidying away a couple loose strands of hair and wiping my tear-stained cheeks, I went to see who it was. But I knew there was only one person who ever came to the back door. Over six feet of muscle was revealed as I pulled open the door. Harvey stood before me, looking grim.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I shouted at him, lashing out at him for no real reason other than he was there—alive. “I was worried!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. My phone must’ve been on silent.” He took a thorough look at me, the tears welling up in my eyes, and he pulled me to his chest. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. But I’m OK, I promise,” he soothed, as he held me tight.

Eventually he let me go, and I escaped into the living room, desperately swiping at my face, angry at the tears that flowed. He thinks I’m pathetic, I thought, and I blew my red nose on a piece of tissue.

“This can’t be all about me not answering my phone, can it?” he asked as he came over to me.

I shrugged and blew out a noisy breath.

“Everything’s fucked,” I declared, “and I think I need your help.”

“Tell me,” he urged and planted his feet, his hands on his hips, his suit jacket parting at the motion.

“I got another notice from the bank. I’m three months behind on my mortgage payments. I have thirty days to get the money, or they’ll take the house.”

“Is that all?” he scoffed. I wanted to hit him but made do with swatting the air in front of him instead, my eyes on fire with fury. At least the tears were gone, I thought.

“Everything’s going to be fine. You won’t be kicked out of your home. I will make sure of that. And I have some news. But don’t get your hopes up, OK?”

It was my turn to demand answers. “Harvey, tell me,” I said as the first inklings of smile graced my face.

“Well, I reached out to some people who owed me a favour, and they got in touch with the right people at Bluelife Insurance, who have agreed to open the case back up and take a second look at the car wreckage. I was adamant that they send it to an unbiased, independent evaluator, a mechanic and engineer who specialises in this type of thing.”

I let out a sigh of relief, but the weight I felt on my shoulders didn’t loosen. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” I said gratefully and rushed towards him, threading my arms around his waist. “You don’t know how grateful I am for this,” I proclaimed and shot him a thankful look, “and what you do for me, the time you spend here, keeping me company and indulging me.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. Besides,” he said and playfully poked me in the side, “when you’re not crying you’re a lot of fun.”

I giggled and sprang away from his touch as he started to tickle me.

“I’m sure you would do the same for me if I were in your position, anyway,” he continued.

“In a heartbeat. I’ll try to restrict the waterworks to when you’re not around. I just can’t help it. My emotions are all over the place these days.”

“I’m only teasing. Cry all you want. My shoulder’s right here for you,” he answered.

We spent the rest of the day hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. He insisted on doing a few jobs around the house for me despite my feeble protests.

“I can just call a plumber you know.”

“I’m here, though; you might as well use me. Plus it’s not like you can afford it.”

“Harsh, but true,” I replied.

I smiled at the sight of him hunched over, trying to fix the broken dishwasher, and I stifled a rush of giggles as I secretly drooled over his bare, muscular back. Not wanting to dirty his clothes, he’d stripped off his shirt to reveal a washboard of tanned abs, and instead he himself was becoming smeared with dirt and sweat. It was a delicious sight.

A dishcloth lay upon his thick shoulder, and beads of sweat glistened upon his skin as he worked. All of a sudden a squirt of water burst from the broken pipe, spraying him in the face. I didn’t bother smothering my laughter as he swore, his hair thoroughly soaked and his chest drenched. He turned around and patted his face with the clean towel I threw at him.

“I’m pleased you find amusement in my discomfort,” he said, grinning.

“You probably should’ve turned the water mains off first,” I teased.

“Ah. Yeah, that might’ve been wise.”

“You don’t know anything about dishwashers do you?” I said, feeling light and playful for the first time in days. I sat down cross-legged beside him on the floor and rested my chin upon a curled fist.

“Oh, ye of little faith. Now shh, let me think!”

I giggled and stayed quiet, watching intently as he prodded this gizmo and then the next, his fingers working within the tight space of the dishwasher’s mechanism. An hour passed before he managed to get it going and we heard the sound of whooshing water within the machine. I cheered him and he grinned, our eyes lingering upon one another. We were too close, our knees touching as we sat together on the floor. I could feel my heart beating in time with the swirling noise of dishwasher. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

“Your phone’s ringing,” I breathed, never taking my eyes from his.

“I know.” Then he looked away and fished it out of his pocket. He pressed a button on the keypad, got to his feet and paced into another room.

I stayed where I was and leaned against the kitchen cabinets, wondering if it was the mysterious Sadie calling him again. He never spoke about her, and I didn’t want to bring her up when he was here with me. I was content to lock out whatever he got up to when he wasn’t here. I didn’t need or want to know how many girls he shagged as soon as he left my house. It was none of my business. And if he didn’t feel the need to tell me or mention her, then that was fine with me.

He came back a moment later. His cheery, relaxed demeanour had been replaced with a serious one; he clenched his jaw and stared at me. Trying to break the silence, I teased, “Do you have to run off again? Is the girlfriend jealous of all the time you spend here?”

His face fell, his eyelids pausing a little longer than normal as he blinked. He didn’t answer my question. Instead, he told me to sit back down. He led me to a chair next to the dining table and took my hands in his.

“That was my father on the phone. Your mom passed away in her sleep this morning. He thought she was just having a lie-in. But when he went to take her some breakfast, she wasn’t breathing.”

“No. You’re kidding, right?” I blurted.

He shook his head. I tried to pull away, to reclaim my hands, but he held on tight. My eyes welled up with tears.

“No,” I repeated. “This isn’t happening. She can’t be dead, Harvey. Mom’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice calm and soothing.

I got to my feet and tried once again to yank myself free. “Let me go!” I shouted. “I don’t believe it. First Eric. And now my mom? What did I do to deserve this? Tell me, Harvey! What did I do?” I roared at him, and the countless tears slipped free and streamed down my face. And yet he wouldn’t let go. It seemed the more I shouted, the more I screamed at him, the tighter the hold he kept. “Let me fucking go!”

“No,” he stated and reeled me in like a thrashing fish, drowning in a sea of oxygen. His strong arms wrapped around me, and I buried my face into his bare chest.

“You didn’t do anything, Sara,” he whispered, as I cried. “You don’t deserve this.”

His fingers brushed my hair away from my sodden face as my self-control all but snapped, and I wept in his arms.

“It breaks my heart to see you like this.” Pulling me with him, Harvey sat down and eased me onto his lap, cradling me. His chin rested on top of my head as I nestled it into the crook of his neck. God, I felt so safe and yet so lost in that moment. My emotions on were on overload, each one warring and conflicting with the others.

I closed my eyes and confessed, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I knew my mom had a heart problem, but I was thoughtless, making her worry all the time about me, not going to see her. It’s all my fault… Everything’s always my fault. Eric might even be alive if I hadn’t teased him that morning. I brought it all upon myself. I practically egged him on.”

The dishwasher stopped its monotonous humming, and the air around us fell silent.

“What? Sara, what do you mean you egged him on?”

I stiffened in his arms. “Fuck, I’m losing everyone,” I muttered, not wanting to hear his question.

“You haven’t lost me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I pushed back from his embrace, inclined my head, and with puffy eyes and a red nose I said, “Promise me.”

He nodded and took me back in his arms. “I promise.”

I closed my eyes and continued to weep. Droplets fell from my chin and dripped onto his naked chest, mingling with his sweat. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, with my face buried in his neck and my body shaking in distress, but after a while he picked me up and took me upstairs.

“Harvey, put me down, I’m heavy,” I said, though I didn’t make any move to let go of his neck.

“Shh, you weigh nothing,” he answered.

Harvey pushed through to my bedroom door and laid me down onto the bed. With his sympathetic and understanding gaze—not one hint of pity, I noted—he stroked his thumb against my cheek.

“You’re exhausted; get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he said and made a move towards the wingback chair.

I nodded, bit my bottom lip and raised my eyes to his before he turned away, hoping he’d understand. “Harvey,” I whispered and held out my hand, wanting him to take it, yearning for him to hold me again, even just for a little while. Even if it was the most dangerous thing I could do.

He studied my extended hand, wavering slightly in front of him, deciding if he was going to take it.

“Come lie down beside me,” I pleaded and added, “please, I need you.”

Nodding his head, he pushed back the covers and slipped in alongside me. He reached for me, easing his arms underneath me, his front nestled against my back and bottom, his muscular biceps strong and entangled around me. He took me in his arms, holding me closer than ever before, only one layer of clothing between his naked body and my covered back. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

11

Sara

The next morning the coldness of the room woke me. A chilly breeze wafted inside, and I shivered. I pulled at the covers, inclined my head to the side and studied the time. It was past noon. I reached up and planted both of my palms against my face, feeling a sense of loss as last night’s events came crashing down upon me. Where was Harvey?

A vague memory surfaced in my mind of his lips on the back of my neck and my shoulders, his fingers exploring and stroking the length of my arms, but as I re-examined the vision, it faded away at the edges, and a hazy fog obscured the view. It was just a dream, I told myself. And yet I dimly recalled me telling him to stop… to go. Fuck, why couldn’t I remember?

Somewhere, echoing from downstairs, I heard a loud beep, and my sister’s voice came hurtling out of the answering machine. I groaned as I listened to message.

“Sara, this is Anita. Why aren’t you answering your bloody phone? Anyway, you know why I’m calling, so get off your fat arse and do me the courtesy of phoning me back as soon as you get this. We need to figure out the funeral arrangements.”

My sister’s voice stopped abruptly, and I presumed that was the end of the message. I slumped back down into the covers and stared up at the ceiling.

Time disappeared like sand through open fingers, and I didn’t realise that I’d fallen asleep again. When I awoke for the second time that day, the room was dark, with only a stream of moonlight giving shape to the furniture.

Loud protestations came from my grumbling belly, but I ignored them and fell back down to my pillows, tears streaming down my cheeks as I thought of my mom. Nothing would make the grief I felt inside my chest fade away, not food, not water. Perhaps there was one thing, but he wasn’t here. He’d left, even though he said he’d be here.

I closed my eyes again, and by the time I resurfaced, my stomach ached from the lack of food. I didn’t know what day it was. I tried to make myself move, thought about swinging my legs off the bed and hauling my ass out to the bathroom and taking a shower. But I didn’t do anything. I merely lay there and stared into open space.

“Where the hell are you? Are you really going to miss your own mother’s funeral?”

Shit, shit, shit! I thought as the message ended. That was today? How could I have let the days slip by? And where the hell was Harvey? He should be here, demanding that I get out of bed.

Warring with myself whether I should show up to see them lay my mother in the ground, her body buried in mud, as they had done with Eric’s, I felt bile travel up my throat.

I couldn’t face it; it would be the end of me. Not another funeral so soon after Eric’s! I envisaged the white flowers, lilies no doubt, strewn over the white coffin that I knew Anita would’ve chosen. And the people and their sad, pitying faces. No. I couldn’t. I was being selfish, but it would kill me…

I continued to debate with myself, as if there was going to be a different outcome each time, anxiety building. Telling myself that I should get up now or miss the ceremony. But instead I just lay in my bed, numb. Tears poured down my face, frozen against the time that continued to tick by.

I awoke to the sound of loud footsteps thudding up the stairs, and for brief second, hope entered my head. Harvey? But a lurid calling of my name brought a quick end to that. Anita came into the room, fists clenched by her sides. There was fury and determination in her steps.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she yelled.

My head pounded, and I winced from the pain. “Lower your voice, Anita,” I said, my voice coming out as a croak. “I have a migraine.”

My words seemed to infuriate her more. “Keep it down? Do you even hear yourself, Sara?”

“Please,” I begged.

“You have some fucking nerve. Why didn’t you come to the funeral?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to go, Anita,” I said, rubbing one of my temples. “Not another one.” It was self-preservation, I failed to add, knowing she’d never understand. She’d never had to deal with anything but light in her life.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” my sister continued, ignoring my request to lower her voice. “Do you think it was easy on us? Easy on me?”

“I never said that. This is not about you, Anita. I couldn’t handle the grief.”

Anita stared at me as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You don’t see me giving up, do you? I have kids to look after. I can’t afford to crumble, Sara.”

I shook my head and sent locks of hair flying across my face. I brushed them away. “I’m not as strong as you, Anita. I’m different; we’ve both known that since we were little. I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, I absorb the pain, and you just brush it off—water off a duck’s back.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Grow up! I can’t look after you and my family and everyone else, too. I’m not some superwoman, Sara.”

“I’m not asking you to look after me!” I yelled, surprised at my own voice. It was stronger now than it had ever been. “I never have. You just choose to think everyone needs you. Well, I don’t!”

She gasped at the words I’d spoken, and my head reeled with pain from the noise I’d inflicted upon it. Anita threw up her hands and turned on her heels without another word. I stared after her receding back, finally feeling like I was finally making some progress in my life.

12

Harvey

Loud screaming sounded through the brick walls and greeted me as I stood at the front door. If it weren’t for Sara, I would’ve turned my back on this drama-fuelled nightmare of a family. I was a glutton for punishment, though; I just couldn’t keep away from her.

The others weren’t worth my time. Fuck knows how my father put up with it, I thought. Mind, I’ve never understood him, anyway. He let my skank of a mother walk all over him; why should his new family be any different? I should give him a break, though. He’s never really been lucky in love, and now that Victoria was gone, the twins were all he had left. Well, except for me.

Angry voices continued to echo down the stairs as I let myself into Sara’s house. The moment I stepped inside I knew that something was wrong. This wasn’t the typical sisterly screaming match I’d grown accustomed to.

I wandered towards the kitchen instead of going straight upstairs. I wanted to give Sara some room to stick up for herself. Stacks of plates covered the sink. The repulsive smell of a full bin, neglected, wafted in the air. I backed away from the odour and walked into the living room, gritting my teeth as Anita continued to hurl abuse at her sister.

Lines of photos decorated the white walls. The bright faces of Sara and Eric and the memory of their grins and laughter echoed throughout the whole room. During the last few years, she had always made it her mission to tell everyone that this was her favourite part of the house, where she was surrounded by photographic memories. But something had never felt quite right when Eric was alive. Sara always seemed on edge, her eyes flickering to her husband’s every time she uttered a single syllable, as if she were looking for his approval. Or gauging his reaction—studying him as if he were a kettle on the boil.

A sudden ache blossomed in my chest as I viewed their wedding photo at the centre of the display. There was a tiny part of me that didn’t like seeing Sara with any man. I couldn’t imagine her enfolded in Eric’s arms, or any man’s at all. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.

The only arms that should be wrapped round her body were mine. She’d invited me into her bed the other night, and god only knows I never wanted to leave it. I wondered if she remembered as clearly as I did. The room was dark, making it feel that if something happened, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because it would be absorbed into the blackness of the night, never to be spoken of again. My legs and arms had covered her own; I held her body tight, close, and contained against my muscular chest. Her curvaceous bottom filled up the empty space between us, pressing into my groin, demanding attention.

I’d struggled to control myself, wanting nothing more than to strip her naked and take away all the pain she was feeling. Make her feel like there was some light at the end of the tunnel of this dreadful year. But I’d gone too far, lost myself in her warm scent. She’d fallen asleep, and I couldn’t resist brushing my lips against the back of her bare neck, tasting her for the first time.

She’d moaned softly. My dick reacted as if it was the most natural thing on earth to do. I did it again, and her breath suddenly changed tempo, no longer the smooth intakes you hear when someone’s in deep sleep, but controlled, tense, alert… Sara woke and my heart pounded, reverberating against her back as I waited for her reaction.

I shouldn’t have kissed her again.

I shook the thought aside and chuckled beneath my breath. What was I worrying about, anyway? Sara was not my type. It was only natural for a man to react in such a way while lying in bed with a woman—wasn’t it? Of course it was.

Yes. Sara will never be my type. She’s the complete opposite of what I want.

More shouting from above caught my attention. Enough was enough. I’d given Sara enough time to grow a backbone and stand up to her sister. I reached the stairs and took the steps in two as I climbed until I reached the brash, angry voices.

I craned my head to hear Anita screaming at Sara. Her tone was harsh and cruel, and I didn’t like it one bit.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Anita called out.

My hands balled into a pair of fists, and I saw a flash of red. Why Anita caused this reaction in me I don’t know. Or maybe it was more obvious than that… maybe it wasn’t Anita at all that was provoking the reaction, maybe it was Sara.

Finally, Sara shouted back, and I smiled.

Anita came storming out of Sara’s room, her footsteps loud and livid. Behind her the door slammed shut, and the click of a lock sounded.

Anita walked past me and seemed to take a breath as she noticed me standing in the middle of the landing.

She glared at me with her red face. Her cheeks puffed out and her breathing was ragged, as if she’d run a marathon and couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

“You causing trouble again?” I asked, holding back what I really wanted to say.

“Me? I’m not the one missing funerals! Go talk some sense into her. She’s clearly needing a touch of reality.”

“That’s not what Sara needs right now, Anita. You of all people should know that.” I held my hand up as she started to open her mouth again. “She needs support, not your bloody abuse.”

“Fuck you, Harvey. You go and support her then. She’s acting like a spoiled brat, and I’m the one in the wrong?”

“There’s more going on with her than you realise. And I know you’re grieving, too, but she’s been hit hard these last months, so why don’t you get off your high moral horse and have some fucking compassion for the person you shared a womb with?”

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.” Anita began to march down the stairs, her back turned to me.

“You’re right. Why don’t you fuck off, Anita! I’m sure Sara will call you if she ever wants to speak to you again.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. I hadn’t meant to turn on full-on offensive mode, but I couldn’t help it.

Rubbing a throbbing spot around my temple, I knocked on Sara’s bedroom door, and I heard a faint rustling in the background.

“Sara,” I said, “it’s me.”

“Go away, Harvey,” she grumbled.

“I’m not going to do that. You have to come out of this room or I’ll burst in. Your choice.” It was low of me to make such threat, but if anything, Anita was partially right. Sara did need some talking to.

“You have till the count of three, Sara,” I warned.

“Just leave me alone!”

“One.”

“I’m serious! Go away!” she responded, though her voice sounded unsure.

“So am I. Two.”

“Don’t even think about it—” she cried. I turned, facing away from the door and donkey kicked at its weak spot. The flimsy lock gave way after a few hard kicks.

“Harvey! What the hell…?”

I grinned; there was nothing like acting like a crazed caveman to get me all worked up. I walked towards her, ready to grab her out from under the covers she’d buried herself beneath. “I warned you.”

“But I didn’t think you were actually going to do it,” she said in a muffled voice. Only her eyes were visible; her body was covered, nowhere in sight.

“You can’t stay in here forever, Sara,” I said, as I searched under the duvet, ready to grab a limb the moment I found one.

“I know,” she muttered quietly but then squealed and kicked her legs as I found and claimed an ankle.

“Stop squirming!” I yelled as I managed to get control of her other foot. I pulled, and half her body, the upper half, disappeared beneath the sheets, while the other half, her legs, were dragged out across the bed.

“Let me go, Harvey!” Sara screamed. She managed to twist and turn her body so that she was now on her stomach, and her hands took hold of the edge of the mattress. I pulled, and she hung on.

I had a perfect view of her round bottom, tight in her little pyjama shorts. I ran the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip.

“Don’t make me spank you, Sara,” I growled, wanting nothing but.

“You fucking wouldn’t dare!”

No, she was right. As much as I wanted to slap my hand across her cute bottom and watch it wiggle from the contact, potentially leaving a bright red mark against her lily-white ass, now definitely wasn’t the time. And god only knows what would happen if I gave in to what my cock was demanding.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you go on one condition. You take a shower and come downstairs,” I said.

“But I don’t want to.”

“Stop being a brat, Sara.” I let her go, and she turned onto her back to look at me. That got her attention. Her eyes bored into mine.

“I hate you,” she said, frowning, her eyes thinning into two little lines.

“Liar. Come on, I’ll make you something to eat, too.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

With that, I left her alone and went downstairs. Mission accomplished, I thought when I heard the pipes knock from the sound of water travelling up to the shower in the upstairs bathroom.