My Brother's Best Friend - A Second Chance Romance (San Bravado Billionaire's Club Book 8) Read online

  “You’re beautiful, Mel,” he tells me.

  It’s a bit unexpected, since it feels rather undignified a pose to be complimented in, but my face breaks into a bright smile anyway. This makes him smile, too—his with a devious edge to it. He waits for my approval, which I give by wrapping my legs around his back and pulling him in close to kiss me again.

  Tyler is an attentive lover, I soon realize. I’d expected a guy like him to be a bit more…self-involved, but he’s generous, almost to the point of torturous. He places kisses from my collarbone all the way down, slowly, past my midriff, until he gets to the line of my lace panties and begins to slide them off my legs.

  I undo his belt and watch him as he strips naked, then pins me to the bed with his body. His arms are by either side of my shoulders and he leans in to kiss me, a hungry pressure which slowly begins to come alive, gaining a heartbeat. I realize that I’ve unconsciously started thrusting my hips lightly forward and back. Tyler smirks at me—he knows what I want, and knows he’s the only person in this moment who can give it to me.

  “This is—” I begin, stammering a bit. “Uh, don’t be too rough.”

  Tyler looks a little surprised for a fraction of a second, but not in a way that implies it’s changed anything about his plans. I’d been considering, for just a second, telling him that this is my first time. I’m nervous, and I don’t know if him knowing would alleviate or exacerbate that feeling.

  “I’ll be gentle,” he promises, and I instantly feel better. I’m filled with confidence, feeling sexy and desirable. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that I’m a virgin, because he’s about to change that, and he knows what he’s doing.

  “Tell me what feels good,” he commands, and the way he presses his hips against mine, swaying with my own rhythm like a ship at sea, elicits a long, lustful moan of pleasure from me.

  He kisses me deeper, telling me that he likes that noise and wants to make it happen again—and again and again. He continues to rock back and forth, his bed barely even squeaking with the movement, sinking me further into the mattress with each thrust.

  It’s so slow and seamless and gentle that I hardly notice when we begin the actual act of making love. He keeps placing kisses on my cheeks and biting my bottom lip firmly but not too hard, and my eyes have slipped shut in ecstasy.

  Tyler is clearly a man very used to being the best. He’s competitive, an alpha type, who won’t settle for mediocrity. Even though I have nothing to compare it to, I know that this is exactly what sex is supposed to feel like. He’s masculine and primal in all the right ways, but sensual in others—almost protective—and I feel both comforted and daring, safe in the dangerous novelty of his embrace.

  The fireworks I see behind my eyelids when I blink don’t stop for at least an hour after we finish together.

  Chapter 2

  Tyler

  I don’t want to wake up, but I can hear my phone ringing through the fog of sleep. Shielding my eyes from the too-bright light of my phone, I check to see who’s calling me.

  It’s Jackson.

  My blood runs cold as his sister shifts next to me in my bed. She rubs her eyes sleepily, but I’m wide awake now. What if he’s calling to tell me he’ll never forgive me for sleeping with his sister? Or that he wants me out of the business entirely?

  As wild thoughts rush through my head, Mel leans over to peer at my phone, and her eyes widen, too.

  “Are you going to answer it?” she asks, still groggy.

  “Of course I’m not. You’re here!”

  Mel smiles coyly. “I can be quiet,” she whispers.

  I remember suddenly what I’d forgotten in the haze of sleep: Jackson has no idea I took his sister home last night, and no way of finding out, since we’re both still here. I press the green answer button just before it automatically carries over to voicemail.

  “Hey, Jackson,” I say as naturally as I can, my voice still thick with sleep.

  “Hey, Tyler,” he replies cheerfully. “The party went great last night. I wanted to thank you for all the work you put into it, but you kind of disappeared on me at the end there.”

  I try to think of an excuse. “Yeah, I decided to head out early,” I reply—only a lie of omission. “I wanted to get some sleep.”

  He laughs. “Right, sleep,” he scoffs. “I heard through the grapevine you went home with a girl. Tell me, was she cute?”

  As the conversation edges closer to danger, I groan. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” I say, and he laughs again.

  “Yikes,” he says. “All right, then. See you at the client meeting tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course,” I say easily. Slipping back into the business conversation is easy, even with his sister still naked in my bed. “I’ll be there.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then,” he replies, hanging up without waiting for my goodbye.

  Mel looks up at me with big, gray-blue eyes. “What did he want?” she asks.

  I lean down to kiss the top of her head. “Nothing important,” I dismiss. “Are you hungry? I can cook.”

  Another teasing smile spreads across her face. “You can, can you?” she taunts.

  “Why so skeptical?” I ask indignantly. “I cook.”

  Mel sits up and wraps herself a bit self-consciously in the sheet, then looks around before realizing that all her clothes and most of mine are in the other room. Instead of fetching her dress, which doesn’t sound like a comfortable option for so early in the morning, I go to my dresser and hand her a T-shirt. She slips it over her shoulders while I get dressed.

  When I turn around, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. The shirt is big on her, hanging loosely around her body and covering a few inches of her thighs. I hadn’t realized how much shorter she is than me.

  “Pancakes sound good?” I ask.

  She nods enthusiastically, following me to the kitchen and sitting down at the island while I get to work. Then, she’s suddenly next to me, pointing to my coffee maker.

  “Do you want a cup?” she asks. “I can start a pot, since you’re busy.”

  I nod. “That’d be great, thanks.” I try not to stare as she bends down, looking for my coffee in a cupboard. “It’s in the fridge,” I tell her.

  “Ooh, you get the fancy kind,” she marvels, opening the bag. “It smells so good. I always just buy instant.”

  “Well, you’ll change your mind once you try this stuff,” I promise. “You might not want to make it too strong, though.”

  “I could probably use the caffeine,” she sighs. “I’ve still got so much unpacking to do.”

  I’d forgotten that she only just moved here and that this is her first weekend in San Bravado. She could’ve gone sightseeing, toured her area for the places she’ll be frequenting, or even been grocery shopping, but instead, she’s with me.

  “So tell me, Mel,” I say, pouring a generous scoop of batter into the buttered pan. “What brings you to San Bravado?”

  She’s pouring two cups of coffee, adding a dollop of milk to her own before sliding a black mug to me.

  “I left you some room for cream,” she says offhand, “and lots of things brought me here. It’s a beautiful city, first of all.”

  I nod, but I’m not really satisfied with that answer. “That’s true, but Jackson’s showed me pictures of your hometown, and it’s gorgeous. Not far from the Grand Canyon, clear night skies where you can actually see the stars… You didn’t move just for a view.”

  She sips her coffee and looks steadily at me over the brim, probably wondering why I’m interrogating her. I’m not totally sure myself.

  “No,” she agrees mildly, “you’re right. Well, you know how close I am to my brother, so it doesn’t hurt that he lives here, too.”

  For some reason, even though that’s a perfectly acceptable answer, it doesn’t sit right with me. There’s something she’s not telling me, some reason she’s hiding that had made her pack up all her boxes, dip into what little savings
a nineteen-year-old girl has, and venture out on her own for the first time, hundreds of miles from home.

  Flipping the final pancake onto a plate and turning around to set them on the island, I put my elbows on the table, take a long drink of the black coffee without breaking eye contact, and feel her crumble under my gaze.

  “Okay, fine,” she says, flustered. “Really, I moved because I’ve got this crazy dream—and it’s really a one in a million chance, anyway—but if I’d stayed in Nevada, my chances were zero. So, I went out on a limb, took a risk, and moved.”

  That’s what I’d wanted to hear. Her face is pink at the confession.

  “And what is this crazy, one-in-a-million-chance dream?” I press.

  Mel’s smile falters just a bit, but I can’t tell if she’s nervous or sad or something else entirely. Whatever it is, when she looks back up to meet my gaze, if she’s faking the assertive fire in her eyes, then she’s doing it well.

  “I want to be a personal trainer,” she says.

  It makes sense. She’s fit—I learned that much last night—and her endurance is…well, she’s got a lot of energy. From what Jackson has told me, she’s good at motivating and encouraging people. I can’t even count how many times over the years Jackson has been too stressed or faced with a seemingly insurmountable challenge and decided he’d quit, then come back with a fresh attitude of courage and determination after a phone call to his little sister.

  In fact, it makes so much sense that I’m not sure why it’s such a long shot in her mind.

  “That’s all?” I ask. “You could do that, easy.”

  She blushes red and shakes her head so that her curly brown hair sways back and forth above the countertop in front of her.

  “Maybe, but I want to work with high-profile clients,” she explains. “I want people to know that when they’re hiring me, they’re hiring the best.”

  I blink wordlessly. “Like, athletes and celebrities?” I question.

  “Yes,” she says, “like that.” She catches my budding smile and covers her face with her hands. “I told you it was crazy!” she laments, and I realize that she thinks I’m mocking her.

  “No,” I reply, reaching out and taking her hands by the wrists, pulling them gently away from her face so that she has to look at me. “Mel, no. I’m laughing because I think you could absolutely do it. I’m just wondering why you doubt yourself so much.”

  Instead of answering that question, she bites her bottom lip, and I realize that I’m still holding her hands, so I let them go, feeling slightly embarrassed. I mutter an apology under my breath and chase it down with another swig of coffee.

  “We should eat before these get cold,” I say, sliding a plate toward her, which she gratefully accepts.

  Breakfast conversation isn’t my forte. Despite what the rumors might lead people to believe, I’m not in the practice of inviting women to stay the night, and if I do have a partner over, she usually takes a cab home before the morning.

  This is fresh territory for me, and I find myself feeling almost self-conscious. I don’t want to make her talk so much that she’s uncomfortable, but I don’t want to be so silent that she feels unwanted, either. I care about what she thinks of me, and that’s new.

  “I was wrong,” Mel admits, chewing and swallowing a bite of pancake.

  “Oh? About what?”

  She smiles brilliantly. “You can cook,” she says, sounding slightly more impressed and astounded than she should.

  “I told you,” I say, chuckling lightly. “I know you’re new here, so you’ve still got some things to learn. I’ll give you a break this time, but your first lesson is that you shouldn’t doubt me.”

  She tosses her hands up in a surrendering motion. “I never will again, Tyler Cross,” she promises, meeting my eyes.

  After looking at me for a moment so intensely that I feel electricity coursing through my blood and all I want to do is take her right back into the bedroom and rip that T-shirt off her, she sets her fork down and sighs.

  “I was thinking…” she begins, trailing off.

  “A dangerous pastime,” I say, and she smirks.

  “Yes,” she says, “it is.” She pauses, then gets her nerve. “I was thinking that maybe it’d be best if we kept last night a secret from Jackson.”

  I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but Mel’s right. Jackson has enough stress on his plate with the opening of the gym and worrying about his sister being here in San Bravado in the first place; knowing that she and I had spent the night together would only make him either worried or angry, neither of which is productive.

  “You’re right,” I say. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to him.”

  I hadn’t really planned to, anyway, but it’s going to be difficult to get him off my case since he already thinks that I went home with someone. Jackson and I aren’t exactly the kind of friends that brag to one another about sexual conquests, but he’ll catch on if I act too aloof or too avoidant. I’ll have to play my cards just right, and I hate lying to him.

  She smiles. “Good,” she replies, a little bit of nervous tension visibly releasing from her posture. “It’s not like we’re going to do this again, anyway, right?”

  That shouldn’t offend me, but my reply of “yeah,” is clipped and irritable, anyway. I could swear that she looks a little bit disappointed, but that can’t be the case—she’s the one who suggested it, right?

  When we’re done eating, I call Mel a taxi and she changes back into her clothes from the night before. I usually eat breakfast alone, even if I’ve had someone in my bed the previous night, and I expected spending the morning together to be weird, maybe uncomfortable. When she leaves, however, I find myself feeling more aware of the loneliness in my apartment than grateful for the quiet, and I secretly begin to wonder when I can see her again.

  Chapter 3

  Mel

  A week after Tyler and I spend the night together, I’m sitting in my living room on the couch, staring at his name on my phone and willing myself not to text him.

  Jackson gave me Tyler’s number as an emergency contact in case something happens and I can’t reach him; Tyler was given my number for the same reason. Of course, Jackson doesn’t know about Tyler and I going home together on the night of the opening party, and I want to keep it that way. We agreed not to talk about it to Jackson, and I’d justified lying to him in my own mind by telling myself that it would never happen again, that it was a one-night stand and nothing more.

  Still, when Tyler so easily agreed to that suggestion, it hurt my feelings a little. Had he not felt the same way I felt that night?

  No, no. I’m pushing it out of my mind, but the problem with that is that I’ve already finished all the tasks I’ve been using to distract myself from thinking about Tyler and his stupid gorgeous body and stupid magnificent apartment and stupid delicious pancakes. I spent the better part of the week unpacking boxes, cleaning furniture, and job-hunting. Tyler hasn’t messaged me a single time, aside from one text just to ensure that I’d saved his number like Jackson had asked.

  I haven’t messaged Tyler either, for obvious reasons. All the magazines that I used to read in high school advised that the best course of action in a situation like this is to play coy, to make him beg for your attention. I don’t want to seem desperate—or worse, come across as Jackson’s clingy younger sister. First impressions are important to a man like Tyler and I’m determined to make a good one.

  Still, to not text a girl at all after a night of passion seems just plain rude. Even if he doesn’t want a relationship with me—and, given the situation, that’s probably for the best, anyway—hadn’t we hit it off enough to be friends? Did he have nights like that often enough that I wasn’t even on his radar, that he’d already forgotten about me entirely?

  Maybe he’s been waiting for me to say something first. I’m going to see him tonight, anyway, since Jackson asked me to dinner to talk about his business, and I’m assum
ing that Tyler will be there too. I’ll just pull him aside after dinner and ask him why he hasn’t so much as texted me.

  The dinner is much, much less formal than the party that the boys threw. The restaurant we’re meeting at, it turns out, is a casual bar and grill. I dress comfortably, but still in a way that’s sure to grab Tyler’s attention and make him regret not texting me.

  I arrive before the boys do, so I let the waitress seat me and text Jackson to let him know I’m here, then order an iced tea to sip while I wait.

  It’s only a few minutes before I see Jackson walk through the doors, looking around for me and waving back when I flag him down. He’s dressed down, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and looking decidedly like this was not a business meeting, as I’d thought.

  “Hi, Jackson,” I greet, standing briefly to give him a hug.

  “Hey, Mellie,” he replies, using a nickname I haven’t heard in years. The last time he called me “Mellie” was when he told me that he was moving out and to a different state for college, so its use puts me on edge immediately.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask, pulling away from the hug and sitting back down. “Or would you rather wait until Tyler gets here to tell me?”

  Jackson stiffens in his chair at the mention of Tyler’s name, and I briefly wonder if he somehow found out what we did.

  “Tyler won’t be joining us,” he says tersely, almost angrily.

  My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What? Why not? Did something happen?” I know I ask too many questions when I’m nervous, and Jackson smiles at me in a way that calms me down a bit.

  “We just had a…falling out,” he says, his tone cold, but still calm. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

  A million thoughts start to race through my mind.

  “What did you two fight about?” I ask. Friends fight all the time, right? I’m sure they can talk it out.

  “Turns out, we don’t exactly see eye to eye on the future of VirtuGym,” he says. “Tyler wants to take out a loan for $500,000 so we could open up in new locations and move toward becoming a nationwide chain.”