Page 1 of Good Girl and Grinches

One

Ruckus

I scan the club, my attention drawn past the glittering chandeliers and velvet drapes of Aubergine Affair. The annual Christmas Cherry Auction has drawn a smaller-than-usual mix of wealthy bidders and curious onlookers.

Tough shit for the fundraising, but the only thing in the room that matters is my stepsister, Sabrina.

She bends to pick up a dropped napkin, giving some silver-haired executive a view that makes my blood boil. My feet itch to march over there, to stand between her and the vulture’s hungry stare.

But I can’t. I won’t be that guy—the controlling older stepbrother who ruins her night. At more than ten years hersenior, I shouldn’t be standing here with my cock thickened. I curse myself for not being any better than him.

“Look at that creep.” Ghost’s jaw clenches as he leans onto the hi-top table. “Accidentallybrushing against her.”

“She’s capable of handling herself.” The fact of the statement doesn’t change how hard it is to contain my need to possess Sabrina. I’m eager for the day that she gets her event planning business up and running, so she doesn’t have to put up with all of these jerks thinking she’s a piece of meat.

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it.” Flame’s voice carries that charming calm that usually precedes someone getting their ass handed to them. His gaze tracks Sabrina’s movement from table to table.

Ghost says, “Remember when she was getting bullied so we picked her up from school and scared the crap out of those jerks?”

“She’s not twelve anymore.” I force the words past the knot in my throat. “And these aren’t middle school bullies. And—”

Ghost’s shoulders tense as another suit-clad businessman approaches Sabrina. “She’s a waitress, not one of the virgins being auctioned, and they’re still circling like wolves.”

“Wealthy wolves,” Flame mutters. “The most dangerous kind.”

I watch Sabrina laugh at something the businessman says. Her smile seems genuine, but when her fingers creep into her cleavage where she fishes out that ever-present lip gloss, I’m more than aware that she’s nervous.

“She’s just doing her job,” I say, more to convince myself than them. “Keeping the alcohol flowing before the auction.”

Flame downs his beer. “Then why does every laugh make me want to fuck somebody up?”

Ghost’s hand clamps onto Flame’s shoulder. “Because we’re her brothers. But we’re going to sit here, enjoy our drinks, and let her handle this her way. Just like we agreed.”

“Unless she needs us.” Flame shrugs off Ghost’s hand.

I nod and hope like hell she needs us. Crap. That’s a shit thought. I don’t want anything to go wrong. I want something far more impossible—for her to want me. Good fucking luck.

She catches my eye across the room and waves, her smile bright in the dim club lighting. My heart does that thing it’s not supposed to—that forbidden flutter that makes me hate myself.

I raise my glass in acknowledgment, keeping my expression neutral. She’s an adult. She can make her own choices. Even if those choices include waitressing at a virgin auction where several of the men are old enough to be her father.

My mere presence proves that I don’t fully respect her choice. It would kill me if she got in over her head.

Another laugh, another stranger making way too much of a casual touch or lingering glance. I drain my whiskey, the burn in my throat blends with the ache in my chest. Thirty-two is too old to be thinking about a twenty-year-old like this. Especially one who shares my family tree.

I force my gaze to the crystal glasses lined up at the bar, try to focus on anything but her, and count them one by one.One, two, three… My jaw clenches as her melodic laugh carries across the room.Four, five…dammit.

My eyes betray me, drawn back to the aubergine cocktail dress that hugs every curve, making her look older than her twenty. More sophisticated. More… everything.

I grip my whiskey glass harder—the way I’d like to grip every neck that turns to watch her. And who is it that’s staring more than anyone? Me.

Sabrina offers a drink to a man who’s back is to us, making it impossible to tell what he says.

But he leans too close, brushes her hair behind her shoulder way too slowly, and makes her eyes light up far too bright.

“He needs to let her do her fucking job,” Ghost mutters.

“Think that’s her type?” Flame’s question carries an edge.

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