Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance (2 page)

I snorted playfully. “With my stepbrother? Gross, April.”

She shrugged. “I dunno,” she murmured, her smoky eyes looking curious and excited at the same time. “Taboo sex is the best sex, I think. Sneaking around, the fear of getting caught, knowing it’s kinda wrong but not really, having this sweet, hot, sexy secret whenever you see bland, boring, vanilla couples holding hands around campus—”

“What?” I blurted, interrupting her with more genuine curiosity than playfulness at this point. “You’ve slept with… a
relative
?”

“Not yet,” she sighed, as it was one more item on her massive fuck-it list she still needed to accomplish. “But I slept with my date’s brother on prom night, which was kinda taboo and hot. As. Hell!”

“What?” I chuckled, nudging her shoulder as we crossed campus, the preppies, jocks and nerds making way as we strutted past, ninety-nine percent attitude and one percent confidence. “For real? How the hell did something like that happen?”

“It was his fault,” she insisted, shaking her head reverently. “My date passed out from drinking with his friends all day, and well, when I went to drop him off at home, I needed help to get his drunk ass out of the car and inside. It just so happened that his sexy, cool, aloof older brother was home from college, and as we were hauling my date inside one thing led to another…”

I nodded reverently, suddenly excited at the prospect despite myself. “Didn’t you feel bad?” I asked, wondering if I could ever live with the guilt of doing something like that to someone I cared about. “Afterward, I mean?”

She shrugged. “Afterward, sure. But while it was happening, man, it was so hot! Not just because his brother was, you know? I guess it was just… doing something we both knew was wrong made it all dynamite. Right there, across the hall from where my date was passed out, knowing his parents might wake up at any minute and catch us, fumbling around in the dark, pants around our ankles just in case, trying to keep quiet but not really able to. It was, wow…”

I chuckled, tempted to fan my new BFF off as she looked all flustered and flushed in the wake of her shocking–and admittedly, erotic–confession. “Yeah, well, you’ll never catch my stepbrother and I making sweet, dynamite love anytime soon.”

“Never say never, Heather,” April teased, hugging me tightly as we stood between our cars–hers, a sleek new Audi paid for by her richer-than-Midas parents and me, the beat-up red pickup truck I’d driven all the way from Miami in. “You never know—you just might like it.”

“Gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose, waving as April got into her car and sped away, no doubt to a relaxing evening binge watching Game of Thrones and drinking cheap beer in her own apartment while I spent the hour making small talk with my new stepbrother in my stepfather’s too quiet, too big, too perfect house.

Chapter Two

“Nice that you could finally make it, Heather.”

My stepfather, Jerry Johnson, glowered at me from behind the kitchen counter where smoke still curled above the dozen or more candles on my stepbrother’s “Welcome Home” cake.

Jerry was big, bulky, and hulking, still in his three-piece suit from another day in the office at his wildly successful real estate investment firm, The Titanium Touch. My mother, Carol, stood by his side—her default position—dwarfed by him even as she hung her head in shame at her daughter’s tardiness.

“I… I’m sorry,” I said, finding little understanding in my stepfather’s judgmental glare, or for that matter, my mother’s refusal to even look up at me. “Class ran late, and I had to stay after to talk to the teacher about my grade and…” I was babbling, we all knew it but rather than risk further embarrassment, I merely let my voice trail off, peering from one face to the next.

Still standing in the doorway, the afternoon sun streaming in around me and my backpack purse half-on, half-off as I continued entering the house, I froze mid-step. My stepbrother peered at me curiously from above a can of root beer poised halfway to his lips.

His full, slick, tender lips.

He was statuesque, nearly as tall as his father, and about a hundred pounds lighter–all of it packed tightly on his willowy six-feet-two frame. He was dressed casually in blue jeans and a faded red T-shirt that showed off his taut, muscular arms, with brown hair cut close to his head and green eyes wrinkling above that wry, curious smile. His face was chiseled and handsome—yet gentle—as if he was a sweet guy trapped in G. I. Joe’s body.

“Well?” My stepfather was saying, holding out a cake knife and waving it impatiently, as if perhaps he’d called for me more than once. “Since you’re already late, which I knew you would be, the least you can do is cut the cake for Ryan.”

I inched closer, the massive door swinging shut behind me as I crept from the foyer with its marble floor and fresh flowers through the cavernous living room to approach the stylish kitchen island.

“R-R-Ryan?” I babbled some more, continuing my walk of shame as I stood, blushing, before them.

My mother shook her head wearily, nudging her husband in the ribs as if they were in on some inside joke only the two of them understood. “Your stepbrother, dear!” she exclaimed, the three of them giggling as if, indeed, they were all in on it.

“Oh, gosh, yes, I mean…” I was blushing even harder now. I could feel it all over my face, reaching with a trembling hand to grab the knife from Jerry and using it to slice into the huge dark chocolate iced cake on the marble kitchen countertop.

“Here,” I said, fumbling with a massive slice as I handed it to him on a paper plate festooned with cartoon balloons under a flowing “Congratulations” banner. “It’s… nice to meet you, finally.”

He took the plate with big, tan, confident hands, long fingers sliding along either side before removing it from my own. Our eyes met, only briefly, but I felt a not unwelcome heat wave flash through my entire body, the kind April must have felt when she peered at her prom date’s sexy older brother over the passed out body of her escort. It was intoxicating, riveting, panty melting, and frankly, embarrassing. But. So. Damn. Hot! Then it was over, leaving me shaking, confused and wet as fuck.

To busy my trembling hands and cover up my nervousness, I hastily cut and passed out slices of cake to my mother and stepfather next, shaving off a tiny sliver for myself. Although I loved cake–with dark chocolate icing, in particular–and had a raging sweet tooth, I was too excited to be hungry. At least, not for anything mere pastry could provide.

“For luck,” I said, as if explaining why I was eating it at all. Especially after arriving late to Ryan’s welcome home party.

“I think that’s for birthday cakes, dear,” said my mother, nibbling chastely on her slice and giving Jerry a quick, conspiratorial wink as if to say, “You were right, honey. My daughter really IS an idiot! How did I never see that before?”

I shrugged, hating when she did that–mocked me in front of her new husband, as if she was so desperate for his approval she’d throw me under the bus just for show.

“Well,” I offered, bristling at the perceived betrayal. “It’s kind of like a birthday, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” offered Jerry, my stepfather, his voice booming and boastful all at the same time. “Ryan’s birthday isn’t until June.”

“Not his
real
birthday,” I explained hurriedly, my eyes flickering toward Ryan as he watched me with those soft, dark green eyes. “But today is kind of like, you know… a rebirth. Starting all over again. Back home after his tours of duty with the Marines. A civilian again, just… you know.”

They stared at me, slack jawed, lips glossy with dark chocolate frosting until, at last, Ryan snorted–but not unkindly. “She kind of has a point,” he said, looking at me but talking to his parents.
My
parents. Wait –
our
parents!

“
She
has a name,” I said, putting my plate down unfinished. I clutched my purse strap tightly in one hand, having never even put it down once I’d walked through the door.

“I know,” Ryan said, putting his plate down as well–empty and scraped clean of its frosting. “Heather. At least I know my stepsister’s name, which is more than I can say for you, little
sis
.”

“I knew your name,” I huffed, my face blushing again as I felt all eyes on me once more. “I just… forgot it… temporarily.”

“No wonder you had to stay after class,” he snorted, rolling those deep green eyes as my face glowed a crimson red. He seemed to be enjoying it, this teasing. I wondered for a moment if he really meant what he was saying or was just getting off on my extreme discomfort.

“Now children,” my mother said in between gleeful giggles, joining her husband and new stepson in mocking her only daughter. “Play nice.”

“I will when
he
will!” I huffed, turning from the kitchen, and despite the protests of my mortified mother, retreated to my room.

Chapter Three

I stomped up the stairs, glad for once there was so damn many so that I could illuminate how mature and rational I was being by pounding down on each one as hard as I could. They were hardwood–only the best for my millionaire stepfather–and resounded with a hollow
thump
each time one of my ratty Converse sneakers made contact with another step.

By the time I reached the hallway upstairs, however, they barely took notice, chattering amongst themselves between little clusters of quick, uncomfortable laughter.

Assholes.

I paused in the hallway, noting the gaily colored balloons and metallic “Welcome Home” sign on Ryan’s bedroom door, located just across from mine. I huffed, turning toward my room and tossing my backpack purse on my bed before slamming the door shut with a resounding, wobbling “BAM!”

I fumed, pacing in tight circles in front of my window, the one that looked out over the long, kidney shaped pool and even longer, tropical oasis of a pool deck that surrounded it. Usually the lush setting brought me peace, with its palm trees, greenery, and especially the vibrant rose garden beneath the kitchen window.

But today the too lush, too green setting was just another reminder that while Mom had found a home here in Jerry’s sprawling 4,500-square foot mansion, I was still a virtual stranger–even to my own mother.

I suppose I’d been okay with that for the first few months we’d lived here, with my new classes, new friends, new setting and routine. At nineteen I was old enough to know that life was what it was. Mom married Jerry, and unless I’d wanted to drop out of school and get a job back home in Miami to support myself, I was stuck living with them until I had a degree and could start a career. Fine, great, super.

I’d endured that, somehow settling into a routine that kept me from screaming into my pillow before crying myself to sleep every night. But then Ryan had suddenly decided to leave the Marines and return home. Everything changed. Even then he’d been an abstract theory, something Mom or Jerry mentioned in connection with today’s party but beyond that, I thought little of my brother—let alone what it meant to be a sister.

Now I realized that Ryan’s return had forever altered the uncertain dynamic that had existed in the house before his homecoming. Already alliances had shifted and Mom had chosen sides–Jerry’s, of course, and by association, Ryan’s. I’d already been a third wheel around here, with Mom and Jerry’s constant whispering and twittering, grossing me out with their teenage, lovesick angst. But now I was really the odd man out. Ryan the hero with his battle scars and sexy tattoos, his hunky physique and war stories–how could I ever hope to compete with my frizzy blonde ponytail, nose ring, and dragon tattoo?

I sighed, pacing unconsciously, wearing a fresh tread in my bedroom carpet as I fumed until regret poked its weary head into my psyche. After all, it wasn’t Ryan’s fault he’d grown tired of the military and opted out for life as a civilian instead. After those tours in Afghanistan, who could blame him? It wasn’t his fault he’d opted to move home until he found a place of his own. Why spend money when he had his own room in a giant, sprawling house – rent free? It wasn’t even Jerry’s fault for being pissed that I showed up late.

“Fuck!”

Despite his loud-mouthed know-it-all nature and uptight, three-piece suit mentality, he’d been pretty decent as stepfathers go. Sure, he was distant, aloof, and a little cold, but I could use those same words to describe my attitude about
him
!

He’d let me move in without a peep, gave me my own spacious room, free rein around the house, helped co-sign my student loans and basically left me alone to lead my own, angst-ridden teenage life. All he’d really asked in return was… what? That I show up on time to his son’s party? I couldn’t even do that right!

I shrugged, my shoulders sagging as I paced again, feeling guilty now about my childish outburst. Not only had I disrespected Jerry and embarrassed my poor mother, but now my sexy, hunky, broad-shouldered stepbrother thought I was a total bitch!

I blushed all over again, feeling the heat down to my panty line as I flashed back upon Ryan’s long, lean frame. While April had practically creamed her panties about her sinful, sizzling affair with her prom date’s brother, I’d secretly hoped the opposite would be true for me. Somehow, I thought it might be easier if Ryan was, well… ugly. A big, bulky Jarhead with a leather neck, piggish eyes, and big, bulging muscles that repelled, rather than excited me.

Now I knew living under the same roof with a straight up hunk was going to be the very definition of challenging. Even now, feeling like a fool for running off like that – even stomping up the stairs like a petulant teen! – I couldn’t stop thinking of the flex of Ryan’s biceps, the curve of his smile, the aloof gleam in his eyes or those soft, full lips of his. I bet he was packing some junk. Long, hard, sexy junk.

If only I’d been getting action on the regular, I mused, peering down at the glittering, shimmering pool below, I might not have been so susceptible to Ryan’s obvious charms. But April had been right about one thing, at least…I hadn’t had any action since I’d moved to Tennessee. Now I was desperate, too desperate to be living across from some badass, tattooed, male model type living right across the hall – even if he was my stepbrother.