Thief: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  Lululemon does carry it, by the way.

  I also expanded into a “mommy yoga” line after I found out I was pregnant with Emma, and business has been great.

  Declan’s currently serving twenty years in Walpole prison. Silas still goes to see him once a month, which at first I was appalled by, until he explained it to me.

  “Believe me, no matter how shitty you act, you can’t lose your family entirely. Nothing’s worse than that.”

  And so life goes on. Mom’s still gardening and teaching the odd piano lesson. Dad’s still giving sermon’s every Sunday. Sierra went back to her graduate program, Rowan went back to opening and closing his favorite bar six days a week, and Stella and Carter went back to being their own little team.

  And we’re right here in the thick of it. Because somehow, running from home and the places we knew only brought us right back to where we started and right back together.

  We just had to take the long way.

  But we’re home now, right where we belong.

  And nothing’s going to change that.

  The End.

  You know that feeling when you’re loving a book so much that when you get to the end, you just want it to keep going?

  Well, surprise!

  An exclusive, two-chapter bonus epilogue to THIEF will be released on July 14th to mailing list members only.

  Much more steam between Ivy and Silas, and a sneak-peak into what might be coming next in the Shelter Harbor series.

  I’ll give you a hint: it starts with an “R” and ends in “owan.”

  Sign up now to get it!

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  In the meantime, keep reading for THREE bonus books!

  Also by Aubrey Irons

  Sports Romance:

  Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

  Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

  Standalone Stepbrother Romance:

  Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance

  Cockney: A British Stepbrother Romance

  Crude: A Stepbrother Romance

  Soldiers of Fortune Series:

  Heat

  Burn

  Scorch

  Roar

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  Thanks so much for reading, and for supporting an independent author!

  About the Author

  Aubrey Irons enjoys writing about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the dominant, cocky, and quite typically forbidden alpha males who love and lust for them; gripping stories, happy endings, and enough heat to keep things extra steamy!

  In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own tattooed Marine husband, their precocious and adorable three year old, and one very ill-behaved puppy.

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  Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance

  Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance

  Hunter Ryan is a monumental d*ck.

  Bad boy, womanizer, soldier, pr*ck. Oh, and he thinks he’s God’s gift to women - mostly because of his…endowments.

  What an ass.

  I’d normally have nothing to do with Washington D.C.’s biggest playboy Secret Service agent, except things just got slightly complicated.

  You see, my mother just became the first female President of the United States, and now she’s about to marry her Secretary of State - Hunter’s father.

  Which means besides being my new security detail, that arrogant, insufferable man is my new stepbrother

  Oh, right, and it’s worth mentioning that I already slept with him - once, before I knew who he was.

  Forget John and Marilyn. Forget Watergate. Forget Monica.

  I’ve got a scandal that could rock the entire world; a dirty, illicit, forbidden secret that could bring the most powerful country in the world to its knees.

  My protector, my secret, my stepbrother.

  This is about to be a true state of emergency; a national catastrophe.

  Copyright © 2015 Aubrey Irons

  Cover & Interior Design: Aubrey Irons

  Cover/Interior Photography: FXQuadro Photography, M.J. H1nkle, BortN66, Nikhg

  Editor: Sennah Tate

  Formatting: Vellum

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

  This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please do not continue reading this book of you are under the age of 18 or are offended by content of this nature.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older and are in no way blood relations. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.

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  A very special thank you to the wildly supportive group of authors who I’m absolutely blessed to call friends and peers. “Thank you” doesn’t even come close.

  To my husband, who got busted proofreading this at work and might never actually live it down. You are forever my hero.

  To you, for reading.

  Author’s Note

  “Sometimes it's our secrets that define us.”

  Britney Spears, interview, August 25, 2011

  So, I wanted to start this book with a quote. It seems…author-ish to do so, and as much as my Aunt enjoys wrinkling her nose whenever I refer to myself as an author, I figure that seven novels in, I can go ahead and enjoy the moniker.

  But right, quotes. At first, I was going to go with the far heavier-handed James Joyce “Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned”, but jeez. How about a little levity, James?

  Because sometimes, a little humor is what we need, especially when it comes to politics. This book very purposely does not choose “sides”, or “parties”, or decide who’s “right” and who’s “wrong”. In fact, the only “wrong” this book deals with is the very very good kind. The kind of wrong that makes your toes curl and pulse skip a beat. The kind of wrong you’re just dying to say yes to.

  This book may be a bit dirtier and bit naughtier than previous ones, and if it shocks, ruffles, or scandalizes; good. It means I’ve done my job.

  Besides, politics without anal in the Oval Office just sound like no fun at all.

  Let this book be your hidden scandal, your dirty little secret, or your illicit affair, and I do hope you enjoy every single second of it.

  1.

  “What in the hell are yo
u doing here!?”

  This isn’t happening; this has to be some sort of stress-induced waking nightmare. I need juice or something. I’m going to shake my head, or pinch myself in a second and this whole apparition will clear away, and I won’t be looking at him; not here in this world-famous office, not ever.

  He’s staring right back at me; smirking, actually, like he’s amused that he’s managed to conjure himself as some sort of hallucination in front of me. Those ice-blue eyes are piercing right at me, right through me, just like they did before.

  “He’s working, Madison,” my mother says, rolling her eyes dismissively before frowning at me from behind her desk. “Now will you please take your jacket off and have a seat so we can discuss this like civilized humans?”

  But there’s nothing civilized about this man; nothing “civilized” about the things we did that night.

  Breathe; just breathe.

  I inhale and feel the rush of it all roar through me; the mask on my face, the alcohol in my blood, the illicit thrill of recklessness and lust. I shiver as I feel his hands gripping my skin and his breath hot on my neck. He rocks his body against mine, and I gasp, fingers clutching at hard chiseled muscle, nails dragging over inked tattooed skin as I feel him drive in deep. The whole room seems to undulate with the two of us, the unfamiliar silk sheets teasing the skin of my bare back as I wrap my legs around his muscled torso and urge him on.

  Faster. Harder. Deeper.

  This is consuming, and this is everything. This is escape, and release, and one last explosion of wildness and recklessness. One last moment of being alive before I get shut away like a bird in a cage.

  His hands are strong and full of raw power as he grips my hips, grinding into me and pushing me back into the bed. One hand moves to my cheek, and I moan as I suck his thumb between my lips, gasping as I feel the wave start to crash over me. He pulls away from my neck, his teeth leaving delicious marks and memories across my skin there before he crushes his lips to mine, bruising me, making me moan, making me feel.

  He pulls back again, and his startlingly blue eyes like winter ice piercing into my own. Two shocking pinpoints shadowed by the mask he wears; the same mask that covers my own green eyes.

  The masks are the only things we haven’t torn off each other in the near pitch-black of the lavish room.

  And then I’m moaning, and cascading over that edge like water over a cliff. I’m rushing screaming towards that beautiful release and-

  And that was a week ago.

  But now we’re here, and now, and in a very different room. In this room, we’re not wearing masks. We’re clothed this time; him in the dark, nondescript suit and earpiece of the United States Secret Service, and me in the formal cream-colored skirt-suit and Jackie-O pearls.

  This time, we’re not pressed hotly to each other in the dark shadows of the room built for sex, draped in crimson and silk.

  This time, we’re standing on opposite sides of the Oval Office; the Oval Office, in the White House.

  This time, my world is shattering around me in a very different way than it did in that other room, before.

  “What?” I’m shaking my head. “I- I don’t understand.”

  “Madison, I’m not sure why exactly this is such a shock to you.” My mother frowns at me from behind the big oak desk - her desk as of exactly fifty-two minutes ago when she swore with her hand on a bible in front of the entire world with me standing frozen behind her in the chilly D.C. afternoon. She looks almost regal standing there behind it with her fingers splayed across the crested seal of the United States and her brow furrowed at me, like she was born for this role.

  My mother; Madame President, as of precisely fifty-two minutes ago.

  She frowns again and gestures with a slight nod of her head at Alec - Major Ryan, I should say, otherwise known as her Secretary of State - standing beside her. And she’s right; it’s not like the first part of what she’s just told me - told us - is any sort of surprise. Her and Alec’s relationship had of course been a secret to the media and in fact most people outside of her immediate circle for the entire campaign. I knew, of course, just like I suppose I knew there was a possibility of the news she’s just dropped on me happening.

  Of course they might get married.

  Just like of course I knew the Major had a son from his first marriage, and that he was joining the Secret Service after his tours in the Middle East with the Marines.

  But again, I knew those things, and those things aren’t what has my blood thundering in my ears. Those things aren’t what has my mouth hanging open and my breath catching like ice in my chest.

  Hunter Ryan - Major Ryan’s son - and I have never met before, at least not formally.

  But oh, we’ve met.

  I know those eyes. He’s not wearing a mask this time, but I’d know that piercing, icy-blue gaze anywhere. I know that smirk, and the smile lines across his sharply defined jaw. I know those arms crossed across his chest, and I know the tattoos that cover them beneath that suit. I know what his lips feel like when they’re seared across my own, I know how wicked his tongue can be in so many places.

  And I know how his cock feels as he drives in deep and fills me up like never before.

  I know how it feels when I come with him, screaming into his skin.

  “No, but-” I’m stammering, my brow furrowing and my head shaking side to side almost by itself. “I don’t understand.”

  “Madison, honey-” Major Ryan’s started calling me that on the campaign trail, as if he’s already my father. He wrinkles his brow like he does when he’s thinking heavily. “Madison what your mother is saying is that this big secret you’ve had to keep all this time doesn’t have to be a thing anymore. In a few months, after your mother has gotten her stride in this office, and after we get some test polling back, we’ll tell the press and you can stop hiding this away like some dirty little secret.”

  He smiles at me, like he’s just delivered me from darkness; like the worst is behind us.

  He’s wrong.

  The worst is standing in front of me, his teeth flashing in a cocky grin, his eyes twinkling in smug arrogance and his brow cocked at me like he’s just dying to say “surprise!”

  Surprise, the hot, domineering stranger with the body carved out of marble who made you come like you’ve never come before while you both wore masks at a damned sex club is going to be your new stepbrother.

  Surprise, you fucked your stepbrother.

  I can stop hiding this dirty little secret now? Yeah, wrong. So wrong it’s almost laughable. Because now I’ve got a worse one; a way worse, way juicier, way dirtier little secret.

  Forget John and Marilyn, forget Watergate, and forget Monica. I’ve got a scandal that could rock the entire world; a dirty little secret that could bring the most powerful country in the world to it’s knees. And that dirty little secret is standing right in front of me, grinning as he sticks his hand out and winks at me. “Pleasure to meet you, sis.”

  Oh fuck.

  2.

  Well, this job certainly just got more interesting.

  Actually, “interesting” might not be quite the right word. Surreal? Mind-blowing?

  How about “fucked”; supremely, and utterly fucked.

  Spending the last year knowing and keeping a secret that my dad was an item with Congresswoman Adams - Presidential candidate Adams - was bizarre enough. Finding out that after almost a year of testing and being accepted into the Secret Service, I’ll have to give it all up when I officially become part of the presidential family was another serving of shit. Fuck, and then there was figuring out on day one with the service that the first and only assignment I’m going to pull is basically playing chaperone to my new fucking stepsister - the new first daughter.

  See, those are the things you categorize under “surreal”, or maybe even “mind-blowing.”

  Knowing my new post was going to be a pain in the ass I was prepared for. Knowing that in a few month
s when they break the silence and announce their impending wedding that I’ll be taken off the service and have my whole life turned around as the new step-son to the President of the United States I was even sort of starting to prepare myself for.

  But walking into the oval office and locking eyes with the last girl in the fucking world I would ever in a million years expect to see again - let alone here - takes the wind right out of me.

  Because it’s not the Norman Rockwell painting, or the famous Resolute desk dominating the far end of the office, or that photograph of Gorbachev shaking hands with Reagan that I lock onto.

  It’s the pair of deep green eyes and those soft, pouty pink lips that I’d know anywhere.

  But those sexy, smoldering eyes weren’t scowling at me before; not that night when they were squeezed shut in ecstasy. And that mouth with those perfect, pouty, utterly fuckable lips wasn’t hanging open in absolute horror before.

  That night it was moaning as her fingernails scratched my skin and her body shuddered and rocked against me while she came.

  Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck was the first daughter of the United States doing at a Goddamn sex club?