Cannon (A Step Brother Romance #3) Read online

  "You eat all of this every time you come here?" I stare at the pile of food in disbelief. "I'm not sure whether to be disgusted or impressed."

  "Now, hang on," Beatrice says. "That's not all of it. I didn't have enough room on the tray for everything, so I'll be back with the pancakes and pie." She flounces off.

  "Did she say pancakes and pie?"

  Hendrix grins. "They have good pie," he says.

  "Who eats pie for breakfast? And who eats pancakes and pie?"

  "I can have pie with breakfast. I'm an adult."

  "You sure could have fooled me," I say, taking a long gulp of my coffee. I don't know whether I believe there's a new and improved grown-up Hendrix lurking under that muscled exterior.

  But Beatrice brings the pancakes and the pie, and I suddenly realize I'm ravenous. We dig into the food and Hendrix is Hendrix -- inappropriate and stupid -- and soon I'm forgetting everything that's passed between us, and I'm laughing so hard I snort coffee up my nose, which makes me laugh even harder. It feels good to laugh. It's been a long time since I laughed the way I'm laughing now.

  And then we're finished eating before I remember that I've forgotten to ask what the hell the plan is here.

  "Well, fuck me sideways," Hendrix says, whistling as he stands in the foyer to the apartment and looks around.

  "You're very classy."

  Hendrix shrugs. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I've never pretended to be classy, sweet cheeks."

  "Stop calling me that," I say, shutting the door. "It's too – "

  I pause. I want to say that it's too much like something a pet name a boyfriend would use, but just the thought of equating Hendrix with my boyfriend makes my heart race, and I don't know why.

  "It's too what?" he asks. "I can't just call you Addy all the time. What would be the fun in that?"

  I roll my eyes. "I call you Hendrix."

  "That's because you're boring."

  "Whatever. I'm a music star. As if you're more interesting than I am."

  Hendrix laughs, and as annoyed as I am with him, the sound immediately fills the room with warmth. "Sure you are, sugar tits."

  "That's a much worse nickname."

  "Well, I told you to be happy with sweet cheeks." Hendrix walks across the living room, pulling back the blinds by the window and peering outside, then surveying the room like he's on a mission. I watch him for a minute, before following him into the kitchen and down the hallway.

  "Need help with anything?" I ask, not even trying to hide my sarcasm. I was playing nice before, but he's basically invited himself into my apartment and now he's walking around like he owns the damn place.

  "Nope." Hendrix peers inside one of the bedrooms.

  "That wasn't an offer," I say. "I was being sarcastic. Most people don't just poke their noses around someone else's house. Most people say, oh you have a lovely home, why yes, I'd love a cup of coffee, and then they sit their asses down on the sofa and have a cup of coffee. Or whatever."

  Hendrix turns around to face me, and I inhale sharply at his proximity. He smells like soap and aftershave, something clean, with just the hint of cologne I can't quite place. It's woodsy and manly and…I can't help it, I breathe in his scent deeply. Suddenly, I'm some kind of weirdo that goes around sniffing men.

  I hope Hendrix didn't notice. How would I explain that? Sorry, I was just inhaling your scent? I promise I don't keep a lock of your hair under my pillow.

  I haven't gotten enough sleep. That's what it is. I must be losing my mind.

  "You're vulnerable," Hendrix says, looking down at me. His voice is deep, ragged, and electricity runs through my body at the sound, making me jump just as if he had touched me.

  "Ex – excuse me?" I choke out the words.

  "This apartment," he says. "You're vulnerable to a security breach. Do you know that? Has my dad had this place checked out?"

  I exhale heavily. "This place is vulnerable."

  "Yeah," he says, stepping back from me. He's already down the hall before I catch my breath again. "What did you think I meant?"

  "I don't need security," I call after him, following him into one of the bedrooms. "I don't want security. I'm not a damn rock star. This is Nashville, not LA."

  "You've had crazy fans. I remember some of them."

  "That was back in the beginning, Hendrix. When I was a kid." I'd had some obsessive fans here and there, and some that were mentally ill, like the woman who showed up at our house because she swore I was her granddaughter.

  "It doesn't stop because you're older, Addy," he says. His voice is softer, and he looks at me now with an expression I can't quite place. "You need to be careful. You have to stay safe."

  "I'm fine. I don't want a babysitter," I say. I make my voice firm. I try to sound sure of myself. "Especially you, of all people."

  Hendrix narrows his eyes, and the muscles in his face ripple as he clenches his jaw. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, me of all people?"

  What was it supposed to mean? "All of this...the meeting, you as my bodyguard...was just thrown at me," I say, my voice a lot steadier now. "I don't want you here."

  "Well, I've got news for you, Addison," he says, his eyes steady, trained on mine. "I didn't particularly want to be here either."

  "Then why are you here, bothering me?"

  Hendrix pulls one of the corners of his mouth up in a smirk. "Well, hell, I didn't realize that's all it took to bother you," he says. "But you want to really see me bothering you, I'll try a little harder."

  I feel like sticking my tongue out at him, but that would be especially juvenile. Instead I roll my eyes and sigh. "Whatever."

  Hendrix laughs. "Whatever," he says. "That's an awesome comeback."

  "I don't know what our parents promised you, but I can tell you I don't need you."

  Hendrix leans forward, his mouth close to my ear, and when he speaks, it's a whisper that sends a shiver reverberating down my body. I'm not sure if the shiver is due to anger or arousal. "Oh, let's not kid ourselves. You need me, Addy-girl," he says, using the name he used to call me. Addy-girl. It makes me feel like I'm sixteen again.

  Sixteen and wide-eyed and positive, still eager and learning about the industry. Before I started feeling world-weary.

  Before Hendrix left and I spent the next five years wondering if he was okay or if he was going to die in Afghanistan.

  I shake off the feeling. I refuse to remember how I used to feel about Hendrix. I won't.

  Hendrix's voice, low and gravelly in my ear, breaks through my thoughts. "Too bad if you think you don't," he says. "Because I'm back. And I'm not going anywhere."

  It takes all the strength I have to tear myself away from Hendrix when I feel pulled toward him by a practically magnetic force. I don't say anything, because I can't think of anything to say. Instead, I take the oh-so-mature route. I just walk down the hallway and shut my bedroom door behind me. The sound reverberates through the cavernous penthouse apartment, an echoing thud that has an air of finality.

  The problem is, I think as I sink onto my bed, absolutely nothing is closed between Hendrix and I. I've spent the last five years trying to convince myself it was. And now, it takes one look from him and it's reopened, as if I just saw him yesterday.

  Leaning back and closing my eyes, I try to stifle the flood of memories that comes rushing back – and the more than mixed feelings I have about seeing Hendrix again.

  SIX YEARS, ELEVEN MONTHS AGO

  I inhale deeply, the nicotine hitting my bloodstream and immediately making me feel slightly calmer, less on edge than I was a few minutes ago. I should feel better being out of the hellhole of a school I was in before, with all the military bullshit, but somehow I'm more annoyed than ever.

  "Can I bum a smoke?" The voice belongs to a guy my age, flanked by two of his friends, who join me under the bleachers by the football field.

  I shrug, holding out the pack of cigarettes. "If you want."

  "This is Brandon,"