“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.
Fact was, April had been right about another thing, too. It was kind of hot wanting something I wasn’t supposed to have. Ryan would have been a knockout, look twice character even if I’d seen him across a crowded bar or at some mall or bookstore café. He was just that cute! But I supposed the fact I wasn’t supposed to think he was hot—or even notice how hot he was—made him even hotter.
I hadn’t realized how much of him I’d drunk in during our brief meeting across the kitchen counter downstairs, but damn—now every detail came back to life in vivid color. The collage of tattoos down his forearm, and the hint of more to come as others disappeared up the sleeves of his soft, clingy red T-shirt. The gentle alertness in those green eyes, the slight upturn of those ripe, full lips, the scruff on his chin and the long, slow curve of his waist before it disappeared into the low slung button fly of his soft blue jeans.
As I paced, a myriad of scenarios flooded my mind, the kind I’d never had to think about before as an only child. What if I heard him jerking off in his bedroom late one night? Or happened to peer out my window one early morning to find him stepping from the pool, bare torso dappled with sunlight and dripping water, ogling him as he dried himself with effortless sexiness? And how could I ever flounce around the house half-naked with my big, bad stepbrother hanging around at all hours of the day and night?
Dammit! I should just fuck him. Get it over with. No. No, I couldn’t do that.
“Ugh!” I flopped myself on the bed. I had classes three days a week and the rest of my time was basically my own. I could just not come home until dinner, then stay in my room the rest of the night. With most of my needs taken care of, financially speaking, from my student loans to room and board—plus whatever I’d managed to save working part-time at a local movie theater back home in Miami, I hadn’t had to get a part-time job yet so… I was basically free four days a week. Four days of sitting here thinking about my step-brothers abs. Or his fingers—or his dick!
Jerry, the confirmed workaholic, spent long days and nearly as long nights at the office, leaving Mom to join a variety of local organizations to fill her days. She spent most afternoons at the country club, playing tennis with a new set of well-to-do real housewives like herself, and often stayed to have dinner with them at the club or trying out some new fancy restaurant around town.
It left me with a lot of privacy, privacy I’d enjoyed and taken full advantage of in long, leisurely swims in skimpy bikinis, lounging
by the pool deck, in and out of the hot tub, sipping clandestine cocktails—Jerry had a strict no-drinking policy in place—and no one around to see. Now Ryan lived here, big, hunky, sexy, Ryan, and my days of lazily lounging in my favorite skimpy bikinis were over. Now I’d probably have to invest in a new bathing suit. Perhaps even a—God forbid—one-piece! And I’d probably have to—
A knock at the door interrupted my private reverie. It was a firm knock, a confident knock, a new knock. Not the quick, brash rap my stepfather used when calling me to dinner or the timid, gentle one my mother used when she wanted to just talk.
I got up and inched closer to the door, creeping as if the person on the other side might see, until I reached it. “Yes?” I asked hesitantly, my heart pounding in anticipation.
“Hey,” came a rich, masculine, velvet voice from the other side, as hesitant as it was confident. “I just wanted to, I mean… I think we got off on the wrong foot down there…”
I nodded, about to speak— about to open the door— when he continued instead. “I mean, just because you were late to my party doesn’t mean you’re a total dick, right?”
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head as I inched my hand—so eager to pull the door open and get one more clandestine glimpse of my hunky stepbrother—away from the doorknob instead. “Oh, you’re gonna ignore me?” He sounded instantly irritated and far less hesitant than a moment earlier. “Fine then, be that way! I didn’t want to apologize, anyway!”
I chuckled, inching from the door and back to my window, muttering to myself along the way, “Ah, but big brother, you just did!”
Chapter Four
I saw my mother sitting in the breakfast nook the minute I walked in the house, my skin sticky with sweat from my early morning run. I’d gotten up early, before anyone else, still embarrassed over my outburst the night before and none too eager to confront anyone about it before dawn. I’d already missed my chance with Ryan. Far from triumphant, I was realizing more than ever that my silent treatment had been a missed opportunity rather than a victory lap.
Three miles around the calm, quiet, ritzy neighborhood we’d moved into had helped me put my stupid outburst—and subsequent fallout—into perspective. Now, with mom peering back at me, pinch-faced—I was resigned to being the family black sheep all over again.
Great.
“Morning,” I said, grabbing a dish towel from the carefully organized drawer by the sink to wipe the sweat from my face. Normally I’d be mortified at my post-run appearance–hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, my face aglow with perspiration, T-shirt damp with sweat–but after last night’s botched and interrupted Welcome Home party—to say nothing of the aftermath—I figured nothing I’d do would ever impress Ryan–or my family—again, so… why bother?
“Good run?” Mom asked as I poured myself a glass of orange juice from the fresh carton in the fridge.
I shrugged, tired from a restless night’s sleep and feeling out of sorts in every conceivable way. “I’ve had better,” I grunted honestly.
She nodded, sliding out the seat across from her in the breakfast nook – a clear signal she wanted a heart to heart talk. I sat willingly because, in a way, I wanted one, too.
“I know the last thing you want is another lecture, dear,” Mom said, the tenseness in her voice indicating that was exactly what was coming my way. “But Jerry and I were very upset over your behavior last night. Not to mention your poor stepbrother, Ryan!”
I nodded, avoiding Mom’s eyes. “I know I was late, Mom,” I said, pushing the unwanted juice aside and shaking my head. “I know I stormed out of the stupid party early, but that was only because you took Jerry’s side—again!”
My anger came, hard and fast, always lurking just beneath the surface. My father—my real father—was no prize. God knows Mom had told me a thousand times over the years. A drunk. A gambler. A loser. A deadbeat dad who never paid a dime in child support. The list went on and on. But at least he was my own. Now Mom had married Jerry and seemed to have shifted every loyalty she’d ever had for me over to him in the process. I mean—Jerry wasn’t a bad guy, and I understood why Mom did it—but it still hurt just the same.
“I know it seems that way,” she said, covering my hand with her own. Although I flinched at the unexpected and rare, physical contact, there was something comforting about it as well. “But I think even you’ll admit you were in the wrong this time, Heather.”
I started to say something, to dispute her, then realized… she was probably right. “I guess I was just nervous,” I said, all the guilt I’d felt from the night before flooding to the surface again. “You know…I’ve never had a brother before. Stepbrother, I mean. I’m not used to it, and maybe, subconsciously, didn’t want to admit that Ryan was really here, back home.”
Mom beamed, her auburn hair cut short and framing her thin face. Although she looked far prettier and more natural with some meat on her bones, Mom never wanted to lose a man once she’d landed one. So she watched what she ate, played the part of the perfect homemaker to the “T”. She pleased her man in every possible way, including taking up a sport she never had before—tennis—and spending countless hours with the wives of Jerry’s business partners and clients down at the country club. “You’ve never had a stepfather before, either, Heather, and look how well that’s turned out.”
For you, I wanted to blurt, but didn’t, Mom’s rose-colored glasses were in full effect as she displayed her complete cluelessness at how uncomfortable I was living under Jerry’s roof.
“Still,” I murmured, realizing arguing with her in this state was a lost cause. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. I guess I was pretty selfish, so, for that… I’m sorry.”
Mom sat up, rigid and beaming. “Thank you, dear,” she said, winking at me conspiratorially. “I appreciate you owning up to that.”
“I guess I owe Jerry an apology too, huh?” I asked, rhetorically. Of course I did.
“Of course you do,” Mom said, nodding forcefully.
“Ryan too, I suppose?”
“Speaking of Ryan,” Mom said, a gleam in her eye as she leaned closer over the table as if we were discussing our favorite guilty pleasure movie. “What do you think of your new stepbrother? Pretty impressive, huh?”
I squirmed in my chair, avoiding Mom’s penetrating gaze as I buried the wicked thoughts that had kept me tossing and turning in my bed all night, to say nothing of distractedly running in circles during my morning jog around the neighborhood. “He’s okay, I guess,” I hemmed instead. “I’ll know more when I get to know him better.”
“Speaking of,” Mom said, voice growing an octave lower as she leaned away from the table and simply scooted her chair closer to me. “You’re going to get the chance to do just that over the next two weeks.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, inching back to distance myself slightly from her thin, brittle excitement. Visions of family togetherness or a series of daily team-building activities danced in my head, making me cringe at the very thought.
Unless Ryan did them in the nude, that is, I managed to think to myself before Mom explained.
“Well, Jerry and I never had a proper honeymoon after the wedding,” she said, sighing at the thought. “What with moving us out here from Miami and trying to rent our place back in Coconut Grove for us, which was very thoughtful of him, by the way—”
“We could have sold it and kept the money instead,” I said, shaking my head with regret that I hadn’t tried harder to convince my mom to sell our tiny cottage I’d grown up in to the highest bidder. Though the house was humble, a mere 1,100-square foot fixer-upper, the address itself was a coveted one and offers as high as $600,000 to $800,000 had come filtering in, just before Jerry insisted on taking over and scooping the property up for his investment firm. Now instead of selling it outright for us, he collected the rent, and got all the money–a fact not lost on me, but certainly glossed over by my far too eager to please mother.
“What�
�s done is done, dear,” she said, covering my hand again as if she could squeeze my mouth shut via a firm grasp on my wrist. “The point is, Jerry surprised me after Ryan’s party last night—surprised all of us, if you would have stuck around to hear the news, that is—with a two-week cruise to Alaska!”
I blinked my eyes in shock. “What?” Jerry had barely taken Mom out to dinner since they’d gotten married, let alone on a vacation. Now he was taking two weeks off? “That’s great, Mom,” I blurted, still shaking my head in disbelief. “When… when do you leave?”
“This afternoon,” Mom said, nodding toward a stack of luggage just beyond the kitchen island I’d somehow managed to miss after coming back in from my run. “Jerry’s at the office putting out a few quick fires before we go, but the minute he’s back, well… we’re out of your hair for fourteen whole days.”
She stood then as if unable to contain her excitement. “Isn’t that great?” she asked as I stood as well, suddenly anxious to be left alone for so long—and in the company of my hunky new stepbrother. I was already nervous about living under the same roof as a male demi-god with our parents right down the hall, but now? Now we’d have the whole place to ourselves and we’d barely spoken five words to each other. What was I going to do with my deepest, hidden desires for two whole weeks?
“It’s… awesome,” I said, giving her a quick, stiff hug before we stood, awkwardly, in the massive kitchen. “I just… don’t you want to wait until Ryan’s been around a little longer? Gotten better adjusted? I mean, he just got here and now his dad’s leaving? So soon?”
Mom nodded, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d considered the timing of the cruise, and how out of character for Jerry a two-week vacation really was. The man worked every Saturday and most Sundays, for Pete’s sake. Now, suddenly, he’s whisking mom off for two whole weeks?
Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance Page 2