My Billionaire Stepbrother by Jillian Sterling Read Free Book Online Page A

margaritas in my
kitchen?
    I guess it isn’t technically my kitchen…but…you know what I mean.
    “Seriously, why are you in my
bungalow?” I demand.
    “ Your bungalow?” The
sarcastic edge in his voice is inescapable. “Oh I am sorry, I didn’t realize
you had paid for a rental.”
    I bite my lip in frustration.
    “I didn’t, but –”
    “But. That’s a great argument. You
have me convinced.”
    He revs the blender, making any
retort impossible. I am forced to just stare at him in consternation and, yes,
frustrated lust.
    Some afternoon sweat is glistening
on his chest, and in spite of myself I am staring. His well-sculpted muscles
ripple as he slices limes and gently rolls some glasses in salt. He seems to
have a firm, light touch, and I find myself envying those damn limes. I want
him to squeeze me like that. I want him to squeeze me until all the juices come
out.
    Whoa. Down, girl.
    When did my brain get so dirty?
    Finally Remington stops the blender
blades and opens the lid. He drags his finger slowly around the rim of the
blender, lifting a stray drop of the dewy green margarita mix to his lips and
sucking it in.
    Sucking. He’s sucking. I’m watching
Remington Wilde sucking his finger. Holy god. Oh god.
    He’s trying to make me think about
sex. And it’s working.
    Yup. I’m going to faint.
    “Remington, please, this is where
they put me. I didn’t ask for it. And no, I didn’t pay for it. But all I want
right now is to be alone and take a bath and a nap and why are you here ?”
    He is obviously enjoying my
distress.
    “I live here,” he grunts with an
infuriating smile. “I always stay in this bungalow when I am on the island,
unless it has been let to an actual client. What are you doing here? I
don’t recall inviting you.”
    “I have a key!” I hold it up to
prove it.
    “So do I.” He jangles an impressive
set of his own keys, thrusting his hips suggestively. “A key for every lock.
Even one for yours.”
    The obvious double entendre makes
me blush.
    Why? Why, god?
    I look away, forcing myself to bypass
noticing how ridiculously hot and steamy he looks when he thrusts his hips like
that.
    I’m so self-controlled, I’m
definitely not thinking about Remington thrusting his hips into me and I’m totally
not even imagining wrapping my legs around his hips while he’s doing that,
naked, between my legs, into me, thrusting, hips, naked…Remington…
    Great. Now I am sweating.
    It takes me a minute to push the
image of Remington’s thrusting hips from my mind and form actual words in
English. Clearing my throat, I point to my backpack sitting on the couch right
where Shereen left it.
    “See? My luggage. I was here first.”
    He stares at my backpack, eyebrows
raised. “Your ‘luggage?’ I’m sorry, isn’t that word a bit of a stretch? Maybe
it was luggage before being eaten and thrown back up by a dog?”
    Okay, now I’m really annoyed. Now
he’s simultaneously trying to seduce and insult me in what was supposed to be
the safety of my own bungalow.
    He sure doesn’t play fair.
    “So what if my backpack is crappy?”
I fume, “It was on sale at Target, ok! I got it for ten bucks. When was the
last time you bought anything for ten bucks? Probably never, right? You’re
probably too busy under-tipping the people who make ten-bucks an hour waiting
on you to even notice how much of an asshole you are about money, you
imperialist son of a bitch.”
    Remington whistles sarcastically.
    “Oh, now I am oppressing you? The
evil rich guy and the innocent poor girl, is that it? Are those the roles you
want to play? You like role playing, is that it? I’ll play with you.”
    He steps out from behind the
kitchen counter with the margarita pitcher in hand, and in one step is standing
nose to nose with me.
    I can feel the heat radiating from
his body.
    And worse, I can feel the heat
radiating right back from my body.
    There’s even heat radiating between
us, all on its own, independently,