Off Limits
By JL Paul
4/5
()
About this ebook
OFF LIMITS!
What was I supposed to do?
I desperately wanted to take that summer art class – one that would count toward my college credits come fall.
But it was far from home and the only option I really had was to stay with Jackson, my stepbrother – the very stepbrother who detested me and my mother.
Surly and sullen, he was still the sexiest man I’d ever seen. He wasn’t thrilled to have me invade his home or his life.
Slowly, though, he warmed toward me. Was it because of the electricity that crackled between us? The irresistible pull we both felt? Or maybe it was the searing kiss we’d shared that night...
Whatever it was, he was teaching me things that I’d never learned in art class – things I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone.
What would our parents say?
JL Paul
I've been writing for years mostly as a hobby. I read constantly, although I'm pretty particular about what I read. I do not have a website for my work yet (yeah, I know, what is wrong with me, right?) but once I do, I'll post the link here.
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Reviews for Off Limits
31 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A clever romantic story with surprising twists that keep you reading with enthusiasm! Extra, a happy ending.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Strong grumpy dude, weak female character who never shows any strength.
Lots of missed words and grammatical errors. Over all an easy quick read but no real passion is built for that characters and their plight.
Book preview
Off Limits - JL Paul
OFF LIMITS
JL Paul
Copyright © 2014 JL Paul
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved worldwide.
No part of this ebook may be copied or sold or distributed or posted to any website without prior written permission by the author -- if you have this file (or a printout) and didn't pay for it, you are depriving the author and publisher of their rightful royalties.
All characters in this book are entirely imaginary and any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Raised voices lifted me out of sleep, like a large hand ripping warm blankets off my body in the dead of winter. Groaning, I buried my head in my pillow, hoping to drown out the argument. It was no use, though. They’d hit their stride and there was nothing to do but ride it out.
Dragging my body out of bed, I walked across the hall to the shower. Once I finished and dressed, the argument seemed to have blown over, at least for now.
When I got downstairs, Kalvin grinned over his paper, his chunky face alight with pleasure.
Good morning, India,
he said. Sleep well?
Sure,
I mumbled, digging a box of cereal out of the cabinet. Kalvin had greeted me the same way for the past three years, ever since he’d married my mother and moved us into his huge house.
Are you excited about camp?
he continued, his face behind the paper again.
I guess,
I said. ‘Camp’ was actually a six week summer course that I’d signed up to take. It was being held at an art gallery in Chicago and would take up my entire summer until I started classes at art school in the fall.
And I wasn’t sorry one bit.
It wasn’t that I hated my stepfather or the big house or even my mother. I just hated this small town with all the gossip. I hated the people that I’d gone to high school with. I hated my life.
We’ll be heading for the airport in about half an hour,
Kalvin said, shaking out his paper. You’re all packed, right?
Yes,
I said, shoveling cereal into my mouth. I’d started packing almost as soon as I’d been accepted into the program. There was only one thing bothering me – my living arrangements.
Jackson will pick you up at the airport,
Kalvin continued, folding up his paper and sipping his coffee. He has a nice place. You should be very comfortable.
I nodded, not wanting to argue. I’d tried to dissuade Kalvin from the idea of me living with his son, but Kalvin wouldn’t hear it. He was determined that we all become a loving family, even though it was quite obvious his marriage was in trouble.
Is Mom coming to the airport?
I asked.
No,
he said, slowly, avoiding my eyes. She had a meeting this morning.
Oh,
I said, dumping the rest of my soggy cereal into the sink. Rinsing the bowl, I placed it into the dishwasher, anger erupting in my brain. Meeting my butt. She was probably shopping with her friends, forgetting, once again, that she had a daughter.
Once I was ready, Kalvin helped me with my bags and drove me out of the little town to the airport in Indianapolis. It was only about a four hour drive to Chicago, but Kalvin had insisted on sending me by plane. A waste of money in my opinion but it was Kalvin’s money to waste and if he didn’t mind, I wasn’t complaining.
I didn’t settle in on the plane since it was such a short flight – I was far too nervous, anyway. I hadn’t seen my stepbrother since the wedding and he hadn’t made much of an impression on me. Sullen with a scowl affixed to his face, he’d hardly said a word. He stood beside his father as best man but disappeared during the reception. One of my cousins saw him out back with a pretty girl that was supposed to be serving drinks.
According to Kalvin, Jackson was very smart. He’d graduated high school early, earning college credits his junior and senior year. He left home for college and never came back, opting to register for summer courses and finishing with a degree after a few short years.
Now, at the age of twenty-three, he had some fancy, high-paying job with a recording studio. I didn’t know what his position was or even the name of the studio. I didn’t much care. If he wanted nothing to do with the family, then why I should bother to find out more about him?
I didn’t have much of a choice now, though. Kalvin had arranged for me to stay with Jackson while I attended class. I’d argued that I’d prefer to rent a studio apartment or even a hotel room, but Kalvin wouldn’t hear of it.
You’ll be safer and I’ll have peace of mind,
he’d said. Safe from what, I didn’t know.
So, I was stuck staying with a stepbrother who hated me and my mother, only spoke to my stepfather when he had to, and pretty much led some mysterious life.
After a quick flight, I got off the plane, my knees practically knocking. Jackson Wenter was a stranger to me, not family. I wasn’t looking forward to this at all.
I found him easily enough. He hadn’t changed since I’d seen him three years ago at the wedding. He stood there, looking bored, with sunglasses shoved on top of his dark, curly hair. His brown eyes skipped over the people in front of me, narrowing when they landed on me.
How much shit do you have?
he asked when I stopped in front of him.
Just two bags,
I said, a little put out with the less than warm welcome. I hadn’t been expecting a hug, but this was pathetic.
Let’s get them. I have shit to do today,
he said turning toward the carousels. I followed, helpless to stop checking him out. He was dressed in jeans and sneakers, a blue shirt stretched across his back, not hiding his build. Tattoos wrapped around his biceps, some sort of tribal junk that all the tough guys seemed to have. It was sexy, though. Everything about Jackson was sexy – except his attitude.
I pointed out my bags which he grabbed with ease, shouldering the straps, before marching out of the airport. I hurried to keep up with him, lugging my carryon and gasping for breath. He led me to a dark blue sports car, opened the trunk, and dropped my bags inside.
Get in,
he ordered, taking the carryon from me, tossing it on top of the other bags.
I got in the car, admiring the leather and fancy stereo. He must be doing well to afford all this, unless his father bought it for him.
He didn’t speak the entire drive from the airport to the condo complex where he lived. It was a beautiful community with handsome, free-standing condos amid gorgeous beds of flowers bursting with color. The yards were small but well-kept, the roads newly paved, and the sidewalks loaded with people walking dogs, jogging, or just enjoying the beautiful June weather.
Jackson pulled into the drive of a condo located in the back of the community and hopped out of the car, quickly gathering the luggage. I trailed behind him, snatching my carryon bag before walking up stone path to the house.
The condo was large and clean and tastefully decorated. I wondered if he’d done it himself or if he’d paid someone to do it. The first floor held a large living room with a fireplace and bowed windows looking out onto the street.
There’s the kitchen,
he said, pointing to his right. The ceramic tiled floor glistened in the sunlight gleaming through the French doors that led to a deck and a fenced yard. An island sat in the middle with gleaming copper pots hanging above.
An open door showed me a blue powder room with a pedestal sink.
Upstairs,
he said, carrying my bags up a set of stairs. The long hall was carpeted, art prints hanging on the walls. He pointed at a door at the end. My room. Stay out of it.
Like I wanted to go into his room. The baby.
Your room,
he said, opening the door to a plain bedroom painted neutral beige. There were no curtains on the windows, only mini blinds. The bedspread was a pretty sage green and the furniture heavy. There’s a bathroom across the hall that you can use. Just clean up after yourself. I’m not your maid.
And I’m not a slob,
I snapped, weary of his attitude.
He snorted, dropped my bags, and left the room.
I sank to the bed, contemplating my new life. How was I going to deal with this for the next six weeks?
Slowly, I began to unpack, hanging up my blouses, shoving jeans and shorts into the dresser. Lastly, I unpacked my art supplies, placing them neatly in the empty bookshelf. Grabbing my sketchbook and a few pencils, I climbed on the bed and began to sketch my new bedroom, adding details, decorating the room on paper like I’d never decorate it in real life. I sat there for hours, drawing, my fingers starting to cramp, until Jackson pounded on the door.
What?
I called.
He opened the door, his chiseled face appearing around the corner. His features were sharp and beautiful, urging me to draw them. I have food. Come eat.
Okay,
I said, closing my book and placing it carefully on my pillow.
I plopped down the stairs to the