Forbidden Prescription: A Stepbrother Romance (14 page)

I
f I leaned back
a fraction then I'd make contact with his broad chest. I could rest there, close my eyes and forget my troubles.
As if he knows what I’m thinking he steps back and cool air rushes between us. I shiver.
"You can turn around now," he says gruffly. It’s the only indication that what’s happening between us might be getting to him too.
I turn slowly like I'm dancing just for him. I flash him a smile and stand straighter. Part of me doesn’t want him to know how much he’s affecting me, and the other half knows I need to use my assets as much as I can. When I push my boobs out even more, Officer Carlisle’s gaze flicks to my breasts and I smile with satisfaction. Just that little look feels like a victory.
I don’t think I’ve ever found a face so fascinating. The more I study his angular cheekbones and full lips that seem to be fixed permanently into a serious line, the more I want to look.
I lean in closer to him to give him a better view down my dress. "Am I free to go?"
"Sorry, Miss. I'm going to need you to walk the line." He points to the solid line on the side of the road, not sounding sorry at all. In fact, he sounds a little bit pleased with himself, as though this is part two of his repertoire of ways to check me out. First, he gets the feels, now he’s after a good look at my ass.
I know I can do this because I’m sober as a judge, but it feels humiliating. Still, I don’t want to let him see my reluctance. "I'll walk anything for you," I say, tossing him a grin over my shoulder as I step over to the line. "Any particular way you want me to walk it?"
"Straight," he says with no hint of amusement.
I put one foot in front of the other, swaying my hips as I go.
"Toe to toe, please."
I turn around and frown at him and he shrugs but his lips twitch again.
"Fine," I say, sounding as pissed as I am.
I walk toe to toe and after a few feet, I turn around. "Shall I touch my finger to my nose now?"
"I don't think that will be necessary," he says condescendingly.
Now that the test is over I sway my hips as I walk back to him, taking up a relaxed position, leaning against my car. If this was a different day and he wasn’t a cop I’d be so damn tempted to hook one of my legs around his and pull him in closer. I bet he’d be a great kisser. Those lips look so soft.
"What else can I do for you, Officer?" I ask.
My meaning is clear and his eyes seem to flash with desire for just a second. His mouth turns up into the smallest grin I've ever seen and I wonder how many women flirt with him when he pulls them over. Even if I'd done nothing wrong and wasn't trying to get out of a ticket I’d be tempted to flirt like crazy with him.
"I think that will be all for tonight."
He opens my door for me and I slide into the driver’s seat as gracefully as possible. When my legs are safely inside he closes the door and leans in the window.
"I'll let you off with a warning tonight."
Relief washes over me. "No ticket?"
"No ticket. But don't speed again, Allyson. I'd hate to have to take you in."
"I promise,” I say and on the spur of the moment I kiss the tips of my fingers and press them to his lips. It’s like touching a statue. Even that isn’t enough to make him smile. “You be good, now,” he says and turns to head back to his car. I watch him walking away in my side mirror. There’s that swagger again that I know I won’t forget. It’s a swagger that makes me want to be bad, not good.

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C
hapter
One

“
I
am most definitely not
an ice queen. I don’t care what anyone says.” I stood in front of my full length mirror, studying myself. As usual, I am reminiscing about high school. I graduated over two years ago, but I was concerned that the misery of those terrible years just might stay with me forever. I really don’t see why the other kids would brand me an ice queen. I really am a nice girl, right?

So what if I choose to show as little emotion as possible? That doesn’t make me any less human. I
do
have feelings. I simply don’t give others the satisfaction of seeing them. To me that is a sign of weakness.

My father always told me to never let anyone see my weakness because they might just end up using it against you.

I watched as my gray eyes filled with sadness as they always do at the memory of my beloved father. It has been years since he has been gone—eight years to be exact. But the pain of his loss has not dulled with time, not even a bit. I miss him with everything that I am.

It is because of such a loss that I became the way I am. I got so tired of the pitying looks from everyone that I built an impenetrable wall around myself, never allowing others to see what is really on the inside.

But here I am feeling hurt over the things my peers said about me as a child. Particularly the boys, who I always turned down when they showed interest.

“She has no feelings.”

“She is too cold.”

“Her pussy must be made of ice.”

I snort loudly in the silence of my room. It figures that a bunch of immature boys would turn on a girl for paying no attention to their advances.

At least high school is over.

I let out a deep sigh, when it hits me that I am in my sophomore year of college and not much has changed. I am
still
considered an ice queen.

I am taken back to last night’s fiasco. After studying with a group of friends—or, rather, acquaintances—I was offered a ride home by a seemingly nice young man.

I accepted, of course.

To my horror, Mark stopped the car a block down from my house. By the time I realized what was happening he had already pounced on me like a tomcat.

I pushed him off and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing.

His response was that of surprise. According to him, I was giving off signs of serious interest in him.

I was outraged. The only thing I remember doing is smiling at the guy once. One time! And it was only because he picked up my pen, which had fallen on the library floor. Fuming, I let him know how stupid he was to even think that
I
would be interested in
him
.

He threw me a look of disbelief and asked me if I thought I was better than everyone else.

Of course I don’t think that!

But I don’t go for men—no,
boys
—who troll the library for female flesh instead of studying.

I winced when I remembered how he pretty much told me that I am nothing but a cold-hearted tease and that no man would ever settle down with me, and he certainly did not use such nice words.

I exited his car and slammed the door behind me. I had no problem walking the short distance to my house.

I have heard those things said about me so many times; I am beginning to think they might be true.

Well, not the part about me being a tease. I am positive that I did not lead him on in any way.

I should have driven my own damn car. Then this whole incident could have been avoided.

Mark’s words had cut deep, not that I would ever let him know that.

Scrunching my nose, I silently berated myself for allowing what happened last night to take me back to my high school years and reminding me of my insecurities that I keep buried deep inside.

I glanced at the clock on my night stand and my eyes widened, I had better get a move on or I will be late for class. I quickly pile my long raven hair into a messy bun on top of my head. I grabbed my coat and threw it on over my sweater and leggings, at the same time reaching for my bag. I rushed down the spiral staircase and head toward my heavy black boots and the door.

“Alice, honey slow down and get in here,” I hear my mom shout from the kitchen. She is still here. I had assumed that she had left for work already. I swerved and head to the kitchen.

“Morning, mom, I didn’t know you were here.” I wind my way around the island in the middle of the room and plant a kiss on her cheek. “I have to run.”

“Oh no you don’t, sit and have a chat with your old lady and eat something for goodness sake.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but the pleading look in her eyes has me shutting my mouth and pulling up a chair.

She smiles and turns to put two slices of bread in the toaster.

I am a twenty-year-old college student and I still live with my mother. I should be living on campus, and enjoying the true college experience. The college life which includes partying every night, getting wasted and sleeping around, yeah, right. As if I ever could fit in to such a life. But, still, it would be nice to experience being on my own for a little bit.

I glance at my mom; she catches me looking and smiles tenderly. I return her smile warmly. I had the option of going to university out of state, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave her all alone. After all, it been just the two of us for the last eight years. So, I opted to attend college not too far from where we live so I could stay at home with her. She works part time as a columnist for the local paper but it’s not as though she has to work. My dad did a great job in making sure that his girls would be well taken care of financially after he was gone. I know she keeps a job because she wants to keep busy, which is basically what I do to keep my sadness at bay.

Mom places a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me, which instantly makes my mouth water. When was the last time I had sat down and had a decent meal? I relaxed into my chair and dig in.

“So how is school going?” Mom inquires.

“Great,” I mumbled with my mouth half full. The academic part is going well, but the social part, not so much. But mom doesn’t need to know that.

In my opinion, a perfect grade point average is more important than making friends. I figure that I can focus on a social life after I have graduated with honors.

“Any boyfriends?” she asks.

I nearly choked on my buttered toast. I take a moment longer than necessary to chew. I finally swallowed. “Um, not really. Not right now.” I make it sound like I can get a boyfriend anytime I am ready, when in fact I haven’t the first clue how to even talk to a guy. “I’m just focusing on school right now.”

Mom sighs, “That is what you have been doing since you were a child. Honey you never bought any friends over back then and you still don’t. You do have friends, don’t you?”

I scoff. “Tons.” I know I deserve to choke for lying. She doesn’t look too convinced.

She throws me a concerned look. “You should have a little fun while you are young, honey. Sure, school and good grades are important, but you are a beautiful young woman, so act like it and have a little fun once in a while. Okay?”

“I hear you, Mom. I will move fun to the top of my list very soon,” I declare.

She rolls her eyes and begins to clear the table. “I worry about you sometimes,” I hear her whisper.

I frown at her words. She has nothing to worry about. I have my priorities straight. She should be happy and proud.

I push my chair back. “I have to get going, Mom.” I grab my bag.

“Okay, honey, I will see you later. Have a great day.”

“Thanks, you too.”

I head for the door once again. Stepping outside, the crisp November wind bites into the small areas of my skin that are left exposed. I pull my heavy coat tighter and shiver just a little. It isn’t even really winter yet and I’m already freezing my buns off.

I dived into my silver Honda to get a little reprieve from the freezing temperature. I start the ignition and wait for the vehicle to warm up.

I frown as my mother’s words are still playing in my head.

I need to have fun, and she worries about me.

She is worried about me...and I am worried about her.

I didn’t know she was concerned about my social life, or lack thereof. We really need to communicate more. Of course, it’s probably my fault that we don’t. I’m always busy studying.

I slowly reverse out of the drive way and head out. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement. I turn my head to glance out my window. A small gasp escapes my lips.

It’s
him
, the love of my life and future husband.

He doesn’t know that I exist, but a girl is allowed to dream. He is dressed in a gray sweat suit, but his bulging, toned muscles are still evident through the thick material. He is jogging moderately and nodding to the music playing through his earphones. My mouth actually waters at the sight of him. His chiseled features are set in concentration. His blond hair is windblown, with a few strands falling forward over his forehead. He is male perfection. I have been in love with him since he and his father first moved into the neighborhood seven years ago.

I remember the first time I saw him. I was a sad thirteen-year-old girl who had lost her father the previous year. I was walking down the block from where the school bus had let me off. I spotted a moving truck and my interest was piqued, I wondered who our new neighbors were. I wanted it to be a family with a girl my age so maybe I could have someone to hang out with. I crossed the street out of pure curiosity. My gaze took in the moving men lifting heavy furniture and moving in and out of the house, and a man who looked like a movie star giving orders. I took him to be the patriarch of the family. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and I bumped into something solid. My books fell from my hands and scattered on the sidewalk, before I could issue an apology, my gaze traveled upward to land on a young boy’s face. My mouth fell open and my eyes widened; he was the cutest boy I had ever seen. I looked into his green eyes and my little teenage heart was instantly captivated. “S-sorry,” I muttered.

He smiled and said, “It’s cool,” and then bent down to retrieve my books. He handed them to me and I reached out my hands to take them, still staring at him.

“Uh, thanks. See you around.” I rushed out, immediately pushing past him with my head held down. I cursed myself now for not saying anything more to him.

I found out later that he was fifteen at the time. I saw him almost every day at school, yet we never exchanged another word. The only acknowledgement I received from him was a curt nod every now and again. I sometimes glimpsed pity in his eyes when the boys would relentlessly tease me and call me a freak.

I still don’t understand how not wanting to talk to people made me a freak. I had just lost my father, for goodness sake. Why the hell would I want to engage in useless chatter? I was too busy being miserable.

I took a deep breath to release the anger that often mounts when I remember my high school years.

My thoughts return to the now grown man jogging. He attended the University of Wisconsin and I had the pleasure of admiring him on campus from afar for two years. He graduated a few months ago. I am saddened by the fact that he will probably move somewhere far away to work. I might never see him again.

If only I had the courage to talk to him.

Countless times, I have fantasized about telling him how I feel and he tells me he feels the same way. The fantasy always ends with us sharing a passionate kiss.

My hands grip the steering wheel tighter. This is what my life has come to, dreaming and drooling over a man who doesn’t pay me the least bit of attention.

I suppose I am to blame. I mean, I don’t really put myself out there. Maybe, if I was more like the cheerleaders I have seen plastered to his side all through school I would have a sliver of a chance. But I’m just plain old me. I have been told that I am pretty, but I really don’t feel or see it.

I roll my eyes. Why am I even thinking about looks anyway? The most important thing is what I have in my brain. I square my shoulders.

I can’t resist glancing at him again, it’s like he is moving in slow motion.

My God, he’s gorgeous.

My eyes revert back to the road just in time to swerve around a garbage can lying in the street.
Damn it!
Who put that there? I catch his expression of disdain in the rearview mirror. His lips are pursed and he is shaking his head at my near accident. I groan, he must think I’m a total nut job.

I shouldn’t even care what he thinks of me. But I do. I am annoyed with myself for almost getting into a senseless accident because of
him
. The only thing that consumes my thoughts other than schoolwork is
him
. Damon Ryder has me under his spell and he doesn’t even know it, he doesn’t even know I’m alive. I take one more look at him in my mirror before turning around the block.

C
hapter
Two