Table of Contents
Contents Double Trouble....................1
Double the Pleasure....................85
Double the Fun....................177
Read a Sample Chapter
Drive Me Wild
By P.J. MELLOR APHRODISIA BOOKS Copyright © 2009 P.J. Mellor
All right reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7582-2024-0
Chapter One "No way in hell." Ryan Wright squinted in the late afternoon sun at his twin brother, Braedon, and wondered what kind of mess his sibling had gotten himself into this time.
"Please." Braedon cleared his throat, and took a draw from the sweating longneck before setting it back on the sun-bleached wood table between them. He glanced nervously around the deck of the deserted ice house before zeroing in on his brother again. "You loved the twin trick when we were kids."
"We're not kids now. We weren't kids the last few times, in fact."
"I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. I'll never ask you for another thing. I swear."
"You swore last time." Ryan stood and threw some bills on the table, trying to ignore the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood on alert whenever he was near his twin brother. "Not only did it cost me several thousand, it damn near wrecked my life."
Braedon's hand on his arm halted Ryan's exit. "Please. Don't you think you're the very last person I'd ask for a favor?" He gave a bark of laughter. "Unfortunately, you're the only one I can ask. The only one who will do. What do you want me to do? Beg? I'll beg. Hell, I'll do whatever it takes to get you to help me, to agree to do this just one more time." He raked a hand through his short blond hair. "This is my life we're talking about here," he added in a strangled voice.
"My God, what kind of trouble are you in?" Ryan sank back into his chair and gauged his brother's expression. In his experience, Braedon's face told him more than his mouth. And right now it was telling Ryan his brother was scared shitless.
"I made some, uh, less than solid investments, took some chances that didn't pan out." He held up his hand. "I know, we all do that occasionally. But I thought I could fix it. I took out a loan. Then another. And another."
Dread clawed at Ryan's stomach. "I get the feeling these loans weren't from a bank."
Braedon scrubbed at his face and shook his head.
"How much?" Despite his firm resolution to not aid his irresponsible brother again, he reached into his open sport coat for his checkbook. When Braedon remained silent, Ryan looked up, pen poised.
"More than you can float me, this time," Braedon said in a choked voice.
"How much?" Ryan asked again.
"Eight hundred would get them off my back for a while."
"Only eight hundred dollars? Sorry, bro, but I don't understand how you can be so bent out of shape over eight hundred dollars."
"That's eight hundred thousand dollars ... bro. And, like I said, it's only a payment."
Ryan stopped writing.
"I can't help you this time," he said, closing the checkbook and slipping it back into his coat.
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, big brother. Like I said, you're the only one who can. And it won't cost you anything except a few days out of your life."
Ryan wrestled with the pros and cons. He'd told Braedon he was finished with him and his stupid get-rich-quick schemes and shell games, that he was tired of bailing him out every time he turned around. He paused, swallowing the dread. Then again, he did have some vacation time coming. He had no plans. And Braedon did look desperate. And he was his brother.
His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okay, I'll do it. I'll pretend to be you. Just one more time." At Braedon's triumphant smile, he gripped his younger brother's shirt and drew him closer until their noses touched. Eye to eye, he said, "But I swear to God, this is the last time I'm bailing your sorry ass out. And there have to be some ground rules."
Braedon's blue eyes took on the cool turquoise Ryan had come to recognize as cocky arrogance. He tugged his wifebeater T-shirt from his brother's fists and stepped back with a satisfied smile. "Thanks. I knew you wouldn't let me down." His gaze scanned Ryan head to toe. "You'll need to lose the pretty-boy haircut. No one will believe my hair grew overnight."
"What about your job? I don't even know where you work these days."
"No problemo. I'm currently on permanent hiatus. I plan to find a better job, anyway." He dug in the pockets of his jeans. "Here's my license, and the keys to my car and my apartment. And my cell. Now give me yours. Then we'll switch clothes and shoes."
"Wait. You haven't heard my stipulations."
Braedon heaved a sigh and shifted his booted feet on the deck. "Go on."
"You will not contact anyone in my address book, either on the cell or my computer. I have some vacation time coming, so you don't have to worry about going into the office. You are not to touch or even look at my stock portfolio. I mean it. No selling or trading, no matter how great of a deal you think it is. And I expect you to treat my home and my belongings, including my clothes, with respect. Is that clear?"
"Man, I told you the fire was an accident."
"Is that clear? Because if it's not, I'm not doing this."
"Yeah, okay, it's clear."
"And one last thing."
Braedon arched his brow.
"Don't sleep with anyone I know this time."
"That wasn't my fault-"
"I don't care. Swear to me you won't sleep with anyone I know. Swear, or I call the whole thing off."
"I don't care if you sleep with anyone I know." Braedon held up his hands. "Okay, I swear. I swear." He looked across the parking lot at the highway. "Not that I'd be attracted to the skanks you date anyway."
Ryan took a deep breath in an effort to relieve the tension radiating into his shoulders. This was such a bad idea on all levels. But he'd do it. Just one more time.
Chapter Two Ryan watched his brother leave the parking lot with a squeal of the brand new tires he'd had installed on his Lexus SC430 the previous day, then glanced down at the keys in his hand.
A long time ago, he'd been an only child for a little over five blissful minutes. Then Braedon had put in his appearance, complaining all the way out of the womb, and had not stopped whining since.
Whenever he'd bailed Braedon out as kids, their grandmother always reminded him no good deed went unpunished. He thought of that as he walked to the back of the parking lot, not at all sure what he'd find, absently scratching along the neck of his brother's T-shirt.
What he saw made him blink.
A bright red Aston Martin Vantage convertible sat alone under the streetlight.
Just to be sure, he thumbed the keypad. The car elicited a blip, and the taillights blinked at him.
"No wonder he's drowning in debt," he murmured, sliding into the glove-soft leather driver's seat. He'd just read about the car in Car and Driver magazine. It ran an easy hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars. He ran his hand along the shift box, and caressed the leather covered steering wheel.
The motor purred so smoothly it almost gave him a hard-on.
Anxious to try out the Sportshift he'd read about, he lowered the top and took off after pushing the navigation system for home, and did his best to relax and enjoy the ride.
He grinned when the sexy computerized voice told him to take the next exit. Oh, yeah, he could definitely get used to driving a car like this.
Penny Harding sniffed and wiped her drippy nose. Braedon would be back. He always came back. She twisted the engagement ring on her finger, thinking about the fight they'd had, and wondered if his return would be a good or a bad thing.
Braedon Wright was gorgeous. She'd been thrilled when he'd sought her out at their company party. Breathless when he'd first kissed her. And positively orgasmic when he'd taken her, that first time, standing up against his sexy red car, along the side of the road by the beach.
In hindsight, she couldn't help but wonder if part of the earth-shattering orgasm wasn't due to the thrill of being with a bad boy, the possibility of being caught, literally, with their pants down beside a public road. The sex afterwards sure hadn't come close to that first mind-blowing time.
Her stomach hurt, just thinking about the hateful, awful things he'd said to her earlier. She walked to the fridge and pulled out a Coke, popping the top and chugging down half the can. Her burp practically rattled the glasses in the cherrywood cupboards. She looked guiltily around the abandoned apartment, then slowly walked to stare out the sidelight by the door. Where was he?
What had Braedon seen in her that no one else had ever seen? Had their last argument chased him away for good? Why was she so hesitant about setting a wedding date? Anyone in their right mind would beat feet to the altar. She knew he could certainly do better. Her blah brown hair and pale green eyes were nothing to write home about. Allergies prevented her from wearing much makeup. Not that she'd ever been any good at applying it, anyway. She glanced at her less than impressive chest. Maybe she should ask her father to pay for augmentations for her birthday.
Braedon had his flaws, but he was handsome and would make pretty babies. And in all probability, he was her last shot at marriage. Heck, to be honest, he was her only shot in her whole twenty-nine years. She would not blow it. When he came home-and he would come home eventually, he always did-she was going to be waiting for him. She would prove she wasn't pathetic and needy, prove her sexuality. The thought of Braedon having sex with anyone else tore at her, and she made a vow to be sexier, to be the aggressor, like he was always telling her to be. Who knew? Maybe she'd discover she liked being sexier, and it would push her into making that final step in her commitment to Braedon.
Ryan turned the car into the covered space with the apartment number above it and sat for a moment. He closed his eyes, listening to the distant sound of waves in the Gulf of Mexico breaking on the shore, and took a deep breath.
Braedon's apartment was just across a short expanse of grass. Ryan snorted. His brother had no respect for money. He'd left all the lights on.
It took a second to fit the key into the lock, but the tumblers eventually fell into place and the door swung open.
The first thing he noticed was a trail of yellow rose petals leading from the tiled foyer down a hardwood hallway. Tossing his keys on the small table by the door, he followed the petals.
Light flickered on the walls of the hall, causing him to wonder if there was a fire.
The door to the right stood open. He nudged it with his toe, his breath catching.
A goddess stood by the door on the other side of the room. Totally naked, her smooth skin glistened in the candlelight, burnishing her chin-length hair. She walked to him, a small smile on her glossed lips.
"Braedon," she purred, stopping just short of rubbing the tips of her tits against his skimpy shirt. "I was getting worried. It's not like you to be gone so long. Where have you been?" Her pale eyes widened. "I-I'm not quizzing you, honey. I was just worried." She stroked his erection, then slipped her hand into his jeans to hold him. "And horny." She smiled up at him. "You, too, I see." She reached for the top button of his fly. "Let's see if we can do something about that."
"Ah, I need a shower." Who the hell was she, and why was she in his brother's apartment? "I'm sweaty. Drove with the top down, then stopped and got a haircut, so I need to rinse off."
She frowned. "I thought you got a haircut yesterday."
Shit. "Yeah, well, I had to go back and have it redone."
"Are you okay?"
"Sure ... why?"
She shrugged, causing him to force his gaze from her well oiled chest. "Your voice sounds odd. Like maybe you're coming down with something."
He coughed for effect. "Probably from the night air."
She nodded absently and he slipped into the bathroom, closing and locking the door. He dug in his pocket and pulled out Braedon's BlackBerry. "C'mon, pick up!"
When his own voice came on the line, he hung up and twisted on the shower controls, cursing his brother for forgetting such an important detail, like the woman standing naked on the other side of the door.
Rather than clear his mind, the steam of the shower wove around him, stroking his sudden erection, making him impossibly harder.
He jumped when the shower door opened and cool air surrounded him. Before he could find his voice, the woman stepped in. How had she gotten in?
"I locked the door!" Smooth, Ryan, real smooth. It was a safe bet those would not have been Braedon's first words.
She smiled and placed her cool hands on his chest. "Why'd you do that? You know that lock hasn't worked since you moved in." The steam activated the warm, sultry scent of her perfume to waft around him, making his mouth water. She took the soap in her hand and began lathering him. All over.
No working lock. Great, Braedon, another thing you neglected to mention.
He reached down to push her away and somehow ended up with his hands full of breasts. Slippery, warm breasts with pebbled nipples.
She stepped closer, evidently thinking he wanted to play. Given the circumstances, not a stretch of the imagination. Her tan hand, with short unpolished nails, dragged over and around his pectorals. Then that same hand stroked the quivering muscles of his abdomen, gliding lower to travel to the part leaping to attention. When she gently fisted his length, he closed his eyes, shuddering as he tried to dredge up thoughts of baseball.
Unfortunately, all he could see behind his lids was the woman in front of him with nothing on except umpire padding.
He groaned.
She must have taken that as a sign because she climbed on his body and took his mouth. Her kiss was teasing, innocent yet sexy. Before he realized what he was doing, his arms held her high against his chest, while his mouth devoured hers.
Stop, his mind screamed. You don't even know her name. You're standing in a shower at your brother's house. The naked woman in your arms has probably fucked your brother in ways that are illegal in most states.
She shifted position, breaking mouth contact to push down on his shoulders, bringing her breasts in line with his mouth, her warm, wet pussy branding his abs.
He'd stop. His tongue ringed a plump nipple before drawing it into his mouth. Soon. Just a few more seconds of luxuriating in the tactile pleasure surrounding him, in the smooth sexiness of the woman softly moaning in his arms. He would stop very soon. In a minute, at the most.
She bent to whisper in his ear, her boobs temporarily cutting off his air supply. Not that he minded. Her panting breath in his ear sent shivers down his spine.
"I'm so sorry, Brae, so very sorry," she whispered, nipping at his ear. He wasn't sure exactly how it happened, but her breast had once again insinuated itself into his mouth. Had that not happened, he was sure he would have stopped her.
"I hate it when we fight." She reached down and drew his hand up, guiding him until he stroked the smooth hairless skin between her legs. "Feel that? I had it done, just for you. It wasn't as unpleasant as I thought it would be. Maybe because I kept thinking about how much you would like it, imagining you licking me and kissing me there." She pushed his hand down farther. "Feel how much I want you, how much I need you." She shoved his fingers inside her wetness and gasped. "I don't know if I can wait until we get dried off."
The next few minutes passed in a sexual haze. Before he realized what either of them was doing, his dick was buried deep within her heat.
It liked it there.
* * *
Gasping for air, he waited for his muscles to stop vibrating. He'd never come so violently, so completely. And he could not do it again. He firmly set her on her feet, then turned off the shower, hoping she would take a hint.
His spine stiffened at the warm feel of female anatomy against his back. Evidently he'd have to hint harder.
Gently disengaging her roving hands from his chest, he stepped away and grabbed two towels from the heated rack just outside the glass door, and handed her one. The fact that the rack was heated-yet another frivolous way his brother spent his money-distracted him for a second. When he glanced back, she was gone.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Drive Me Wild by P.J. MELLOR Copyright © 2009 by P.J. Mellor. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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