Wicked Game: a Billionaire Stepbrother Romance by Bella Scully Read Free Book Online Page B

thud.
    Oh God, I thought to myself as I laid back on the bed.  
    So that’s what he was after?
    So maybe Damien did want me, at least for a night.  
    And, honestly?  I wanted him just as bad.  Probably worse.  I calmed my breathing as I stared at the ceiling, trying to gather my thoughts.
    Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.  After all, I was a grown woman, wasn’t I?  I could make my own decisions.  I was here for the money, but if I happened to get out some frustration by banging my smoking hot psychopath stepbrother…  That wouldn’t be so bad….
    Oh God, Cleo, what are you thinking?
    I glanced back at the TV, and memories of the baby bump segment flooded back to me.  
    No.  Get a grip, Cleo.  
    I was here to pretend to be his wife, get the money, and get out.  
    That’s it.
    That’s all this ever would be.  

The sounds of scuffling feet and folding sheets woke me up.  
    I peeked over my blankets to see three different maids scurrying around the grand bedroom as they dusted, folded laundry, and changed the trash.  I rolled over, burying my face in the pillows.  
    God, I had to learn to get used to this.  I had spent nearly a week in the Blackwood mansion, and I still had a minor heart attack every time I woke up to strangers raiding my room.  
    As an aspiring hermit, that wasn’t too fun.  
    Add that to my list of things I had forgotten: what it was like to live with the Blackwoods, where “privacy” was a fairy tale.  I couldn’t even stroll out into the gardens for fresh air without a wild paparazzo sneaking from the bushes or shoving his camera through the iron gate.
    I pulled the blankets over my head, only to hear the tinkling of porcelain against a silver platter.  
    I peeked over my comforter.  At the foot of my massive California king bed was breakfast—a complete meal of eggs, bacon, toast, and a tiny cup of coffee in a floral teacup.  The only perk to living with Damien.  When I was living alone, I hadn’t had a proper breakfast in… what?  Seven months?  I’d been surviving on dry cereal and rice.  
    Eagerly, I threw the blankets off of me and grabbed the toast.  
    But I had barely crammed the crispy goodness in my mouth when I heard his voice:
    “Damn, Cleo.  Slow down—you don’t want to get sick before the big day.”
    Fuck.
    Damien.
    I glared at him where he leaned against my dresser.  I swallowed down the crispy toast, and it scraped my dry throat painfully.  
    “Will you never leave me alone?”
    “Of course not, wifey.  Till death do us part.”
    He grinned at me, the same cocky grin I ached to slap off his face every time I saw him.  So far, Damien had made it his life mission to stalk me into loving him.  Or at least being a good fake wife.  Normally he was busy at work, but when he wasn’t, I was sure to find him behind me, grinning that cocky grin and mentioning something about how sexy my bunny slippers were.
    I’m sure he thought it was working.
    To the contrary—I was pretty sure every day brought me closer to homicide.  I justified it to myself by deciding I was just being a Good Samaritan, selflessly wanting to reunite the Blackwood father and son.  The fact that it was in death was just a coincidence.
    “You ready, wifey?”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    My gaze darted to the slinky black dress one maid had hung on the wardrobe.  
    Ready.  Of course.  
    Today was my big day, the day I was officially coming out the public.  
    “Interviews aren’t that bad, Cleo,” he said, sitting down on my bed.  “Just smile, repeat what we practiced yesterday, and try not to grope me too much.  Unless you want to.”
    “That won’t be a problem.”
    “Say what you need to to convince yourself, baby.”
    I forced myself to stroll to the wardrobe, turning my face away from him so he couldn’t see the blush rising in my cheeks.  I had forgotten what an effect he had on me.  I had managed to keep my hands off him, but the memory of that