Page 1 of Crushing On My Brothers BFF

PROLOGUE

Sophie

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say as his powerful hands push me against the wall. Heat pulses through my body, originating from his touch. He groans and leans down, giving me a snapshot of his intense blue eyes that seem to hold me in place.

It’s like he’s paralyzing me with passion. He’s making it possible for me to do theimpossible… or whatshouldbe impossible anyway. Kaleb is making it possible for me to forget that my big brother—Kaleb’s best friend—is resting in the same house. Not just resting, but ill, relying on us, yet here we are, caught up in the steaminess.

“I know,” he finally says, painting me with his hot breath, adding to the steaminess as he brings his body closer to mine.

His manhood brushes against me, rock-solid, pushing against my belly. I’m breathing too fast to think. It’s happening now, after all those years of crushing and wondering if Kaleb Kennison would ever notice the shy girl in the braces. Obviously, he didn’t. That would’ve been wrong, but I’m all grown up now.Except this giddiness has got me feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.

It would be perfect if it weren’t for my brother.

“Tell me to stop,” Kaleb says almost desperately, shuddering as if he can’t hold himself back. His black hair has fallen across his forehead, making him look even more dreamy. “Sophie,tell me to stop.”

His hands are already on my hips. It’s like some magnetic force is drawing us together. It has nothing to do with what’s right or wrong. Morality plays no role here. It’s just his bulge pushing against me. It’s the warmth in his hands as his grip tightens against my hips.

Paul, my brother, is bedbound. There’s no chance of him walking in here unless he suddenly recovers, but that doesn’t make it right. He mighthearus if we get carried away.

Kaleb shakes me by the hips as if he wants an answer. Does hereallywant me to tell him to stop? Or maybe he knows what I know, what I feel deep down, what I’ve always felt on some level when the crush started so many years ago. We can’t fight this. He smooths his hands down to my ass, then pulls me against himhard, his lust pressing through our clothes.

“Fuck,” he whispers, with a note of defeat in his voice. “You’re too damn irresistible.”

I place my hand on his chest, almost push him away, almost tell him that if we’re going to do this, he’s going to have to show me how. He’s so much older than me, my forty-two-year-old Kaleb. Notmine, I correct myself, even if that’s how I’ve often thought about him.

I’m nineteen. Some would say that’s too young for a man as experienced as him. Yet, somehow, it makes this hotter.

He leans down closer. Time seems to slow. I’ll never be able to use the excuse he caught me off-guard. I’ll never be able to tell myself I was too stunned to respond appropriately. I know what I’m doing. I’m betraying my brother. I could stop now, but I don’t.

His body is too hot. There’s too much intense possession in those gleaming blue eyes. His hands feel like they belong on my ass, making my whole body ache with lust. Most of all, there’s the fact he’s my crush. My dreams are coming true, even if they’d be nightmares for Paul.

Finally, our lips touch, and I know nothing will ever be the same again.

CHAPTER ONE

DAYS EARLIER

Kaleb

“We’re not going to say we’re sustainable just for the sake of it,” I tell the boardroom, standing at the end of the conference table. Many of them stare at me with poorly hidden resentment, especially the two at the end: a Brit called Lisa Townsend and an American called Mark Russel. They exchange a glance. It’s quick. They probably don’t think I notice.

“It will help our rating,” Lisa points out after a pause. “A better rating means higher profit margins. Obviously, I don’t have to explain that to you.”

I almost close my eyes and massage my forehead, but I’ve decided to stop doing that so much. I can’t let the board know how much this life is beginning to weigh on me—the grays of the corporate world, the flatness of it. Ichosethis life. I’m good at it. Yet sometimes, I feel like something’s missing, but only in quick moments.

My business relies on me. Countless clothes manufacturers right here in the US depend on me: advertising agents, dealmakers,janitors, everybody in this building. Since making the company public three years ago, I’ve stood between our workers, customers, and wolves like Lisa and Mark.

Lisa smooths down her pristine bob of dyed blond hair. She does that often, though there’s never a strand of hair out of place. She’s as uniform and orderly as the cubicles here.

“And anyway,” Mark says, “wearemaking sustainable changes.”

“Sourcing ten percent of our packaging from so-called sustainable sources isn’t enough to suddenly declare ourselves eco-warriors,” I tell them, my tone firm, letting them know we’re not going down this dishonest road.

“Our profits have declined the last two quarters,” Lisa points out.

“Slightly,” I tell her. “That’s business. Initially, we’d sometimes lose money for two years in a row. All it takes is the right product and angle, and everything turns around. Business is often a long game.”

“Not for the shareholders,” Lisa mutters.

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