Page 33 of Her Stepbrother Master
“Of course I am.”
He swept her into a bear hug, kissing and nibbling at her neck. She moved even closer, her firm breasts pressing against his ribs. “Good,” he said, kissing her temple. “I’d better go before I pick you up and carry you into that bedroom to have my way with you.” Another kiss fell on her soft lips. “I love you, little girl. Be good today.”
“I will,” she promised.
6
LuAnn re-checked her lipstick in the mirror and adjusted her pillbox hat, poking another pin in to hold it in place. Slipping on her gloves, she gave herself one last critical look in the glass. Brad needed her to fit a certain image tonight at the Washburns, and she intended to play the part perfectly. She had been dragged to enough ladies’ teas, luncheons and formal dinners with her parents to know how to act like a lady, but even so, nerves had her on edge.
Hearing the sound of Brad’s Ducati pull into the driveway, she exited the bedroom, brushing the skirt of her black floral print dress. The petticoats underneath it made a shushing sound as she walked, brushing against her stockings.
Brad came in, looking sexier than Elvis Presley in his leather jacket. He swapped it for a suit jacket, and then swept his eyes over her in an up and down appraisal. He gave a whistle. “Baby doll, you do grown-up so well.”
She waltzed over to him and tilted her head up for a kiss. “I thought you liked me as your little girl?”
He slid his hands over her waist, brushing his lips across hers, careful not to disturb her lipstick. “I love the whole glorious package. I like the little girl in the woman’s body, and I like your serious, mature side, too.” He wormed a hand between them and squeezed her nipple through her bra. “But most of all, I like having a baby girl whose little body belongs to me alone.”
Her pussy clenched. She may not intellectually understand Brad’s game, but her body responded to it like a match to gasoline.
“I love that you never pull away from me,” he murmured. “And yet, you’re so innocent. So different from the other girls I’ve been with.”
Her face grew warm and she did pull away. “Spoken too soon,” she said lightly, to cover her embarrassment. She hated that he saw her as young and inexperienced. She wanted to be sophisticated, especially tonight with the Washburns.
He held his palm out for the car keys and led her out, holding the door for her. She wondered what Mrs. Verlaine thought about a boy who held the door open for his sister. Would she find it odd?
“Are you nervous?” she asked. He didn’t appear to be, but she thought perhaps he should worry a bit more.
He glanced over and dropped a hand on her thigh. “Not with you by my side,” he admitted gruffly. “Knowing I’m acting for two changes everything. I want to make you proud to be my wife.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes and tickled her nose. She’d felt the same way. She had never studied harder than she had that day, suddenly determined to do her very best in case he needed her to get a job.
He pulled up at the Washburn’s house and opened the car door for her, holding out his arm for her gloved hand. “Mrs. Stanford,” he murmured.
She glowed. “Mr. Stanford.”
Mr. Washburn met them at the door and ushered them into the parlour, where his wife offered them cocktails. Brad had a martini, and she accepted a spiked punch, sweet and delicious.
“How delightful to meet you,” Mrs. Washburn said. She couldn’t be much older than LuAnn, although Mr. Washburn appeared to be middle-aged. She had a youthful eagerness LuAnn found infectious. “We are so thrilled that your husband agreed to meet with us away from his office,” she confided. “We just knew from the start that he could design our dream house within our budget.”
“It’s true,” Mr. Washburn interrupted, overhearing their conversation. “I want my wife to have everything she desires, and we think you can give us that house, Brad. Are we right?”
“Yes, sir, I believe you are,” Brad replied. “At least I can promise you I’ll give you the best design I can and keep it to whatever budget you set for me. That’s the true art of architecture, at least the way I was taught.”
Mr. Washburn looked pleased. “I have a wide circle of influence, you know,” he said. “And if you deliver on your promise, we will be sure to give you all the referrals you deserve. You shouldn’t be working for that hornswaggler Jones.”
Brad shoved his hands in his pockets. “Actually, Mr. Washburn, if I take this job with you, I will be obligated to terminate my employment with Mr. Jones. Otherwise I risk being fired for stealing their business.”
Mr. Washburn gave him a shrewd look. “You do have moral standards, don’t you? Well, I’m glad. That was what made me trust you in the first place. Will you have enough business?”
Brad smiled wryly. “That remains to be seen. But this is a step I wanted to take, anyway, and you’ve just given me the opportunity, so I’m grateful, sir, for your confidence in me.”
“Well, dinner is ready. Let’s go in and sit down,” Mrs. Washburn said, ushering them into the dining room, where she’d set the table with china and silver.
The couples enjoyed a comfortable meal together, and afterward, the men adjourned to the study to talk business and she and Mrs. Washburn—who insisted she call her Babs—drank more punch and talked about their dream houses. LuAnn realized she would probably have this conversation a thousand times in her future as Mrs. Brad Stanford, and it delighted her. All her studies in interior decoration and family finance would support Brad’s career perfectly.
When they left, Brad walked her to the car, but instead of opening the door, he pushed her up against it, pressing his knee between her legs and kissing her, hard.
“Brad,” she gasped, breathless. “Please, they’ll see.”
