Forbidden: A Stepbrother Secret Baby Romance

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Forbidden: A Stepbrother Secret Baby Romance Page 6

by Vesper Vaughn


  I feel my stomach drop like a stone. "Tomorrow? Tomorrow is the day before Thanksgiving. The busiest travel day of the year. How exactly are you going to get a flight at the last minute again?"

  "I can have my assistant do it, she always works her magic on these things," Paul replies easily.

  "You're really serious right now, aren't you? You're not messing with me? You're leaving me to fly alone with a six-month-old baby, cross-country? You’re going to make me drive to the airport in the snow?" I stare out the window at the flakes that are falling more thickly than they have all day.

  I’ve already checked; the rest of today’s flights have already been cancelled. I hold the phone against my shoulder and pick up Ryan's car seat in one hand and two of the suitcases in the other. "Fine," I reply angrily. "I'm leaving your suitcase in the damn hallway. Don't bother calling me until you're sitting on the tarmac at the Santa Barbara airport, tomorrow, okay?"

  I hang up on him and open the door clumsily, the arctic winter air blasting my body. The wind cuts like knives and the force of it wakes Ryan up. He starts screaming and I feel angrier than I ever have at Paul.

  He is going to pay for this.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JAX

  "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the final boarding call for Flight 687 into Santa Barbara. Final boarding."

  I push myself away from the bar counter and toss a fifty-dollar bill behind me, tucking it underneath the empty, sweating glass still sitting on the counter. The bartender has been patient with me as I've requested glass after glass, never once questioning me. I lift up my heavy duffel bag, swinging it over my shoulder. I’ve had easily eight glasses of whiskey but I'm barely feeling it. They must water down airport liquor nowadays. Shame.

  There are people sleeping on the floor of the airport, human bodies nearly stacked on top of each other in a sea of luggage and ad hoc pillows made out of hastily balled up sweatshirts. The mass of phone and tablet screens are like Christmas lights. People are clustered around the few available outlets.

  Thanksgiving. This is what I get for flying during the holidays.

  "Paging Jax Hadley for Flight 687 into Santa Barbara."

  Shit. I quicken my pace. The crowd of people standing up parts easily for me as they see my hulking frame flying toward them. I nearly knock over a teenage boy lost in the depths of his cellphone. I reach out and steady his shoulders as he starts to topple, saving him just in the nick of time from crushing his baby sister. The kid barely blinks, not taking his eyes off his phone. Good for him. At least he's inured to the chaos surrounding him. I make it to my gate, which has already started filling up with people for the next flight out.

  I flash a reluctant smile at the gate agent as I hand him my boarding pass. "We nearly left without you this time, Mr. Hadley.”

  "Thanks for holding the plane for me, Andrew," I say, not looking at his name tag. I've taken this flight a hundred times and I always board it at the last minute. Every time I book this flight to go home I tell myself I don’t have to get on it.

  I always do, though.

  I take a deep breath as my heavy steps echo down the jet way. The noxious smell of jet fuel fills my nose and my stomach lurches at the stench.

  I hate flying.

  I duck my head as I step into the plane, my body screaming at me that this is the final opportunity for me to back out onto safe, solid ground. It's more than tempting. The buxom flight attendant puts her hand on my arm. "Jax," she mutters through a clenched, beaming smile that is for the benefit of the other passengers and not me. "Late again, I see."

  I pat her hand. "You know I like living on the edge."

  "I saved your seat for you. You owe me," she squeezes my arm and puts out her other hand to motion me down the aisle. I move sideways to scoot toward my chair. I can't fit any other way. I find the last open compartment and manage to shove my duffel bag into the impossibly tiny remaining space.

  I move three aisles forward toward my aisle. Indeed, my seat is open. It's the exit row window seat, with no seat in front of it so I can spread out my long legs. I can almost feel multiple people sigh with relief as they realize I'm not going to try to squeeze next to them. There are two people on my row: a businessman with salt-and-pepper hair and skin so pale he almost looks translucent and a young blonde woman with perky tits. I clear my throat. The businessman rolls his eyes and unbuckles his seatbelt, shifting out of the way into the aisle without looking at me.

  I know that I've pissed him off and probably prevented him from typing out whatever angry, abusive email he's sending to one of his many subordinates. I know guys like him. I work with guys like him. Actually, guys like him work for me. But Mr. Business doesn't know that. I'm in my casual clothes, set free from the constraints of my professional gear that makes me look like any other fucking suit walking around. The tattoos always make people nervous.

  Sorority Girl is still lost in her iPhone. "Excuse me," I say as politely as I can.

  She snaps at me without even looking up. "Yeah?"

  "I'm the seat next to you."

  She sighs and puts her phone into the elastic pocket, the blue, fake leather creaking under her touch. She unbuckles her seatbelt and stands up. That's when she sees me and her mouth opens. "Oh, hi," she says sweetly, pushing out her breasts so her t-shirt reveals a strip of pale midriff. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from rolling my eyes as she squeezes past me, taking up far more room than is necessary.

  "Thanks," I grunt back at her, bending down to keep my head from smacking the ceiling. I stretch my legs out comfortably and take a few more deep breaths. I ride motorcycles at speeds that aren't legal. I've bungee jumped off of bridges. And yet I hate airplanes.

  One of the flight attendants starts the safety run-through. I gaze out the window, forcing myself to count the rivet points on the wing of the plane in the hopes that it will distract me. It does for a brief moment until I realize that Sorority Girl's leg is pressing firmly against mine. I glance down, worried that I'm taking up more space than my intended share. Then I realize she has her legs spread out.

  "Oh, sorry," she giggles at me. "I'm Kelly, by the way." She bats her eyelashes at me.

  I groan inwardly, doing some calculations in my head. She has on a UCSD t-shirt that looks almost brand-new. She can't be much more than twenty years old. I try to shift my massive, muscular legs over to give her more room. "That's great," I reply drily.

  She looks slightly put off by the fact that I'm not playing along. I close my eyes as the plane starts to move, breathing as much as I can. Toughen the fuck up, Jax, I think to myself. The plane rattles and shakes beneath me, the engines roaring. I feel like I'm going to be sick, the watered-down whiskey churning in my stomach. After what seems like an eternity, the plane levels out, the seatbelt sign dings, and Marissa is moving toward my aisle with the drinks cart.

  I decide to chance looking over at Kelly. She's back into her iPhone again. I look at the screen and see "Smoking hot...like a beast of a guy. Seriously."

  As uninterested as I am, I'm still a guy. I like the attention. Kelly looks up from her phone and catches my eye. Shit. I'm grinning like an idiot.

  I reach awkwardly in front of me as if I'm grabbing my headphones and tablet and suddenly realize that there is no seat pocket in front of me; I've left both in my duffle bag. I forgot to take them out in the rush to get to my seat. I glance over at Mr. Business, who has managed to pull out his laptop in an amount of time that probably breaks a world record. I doubt he will be amenable to moving again for my benefit.

  I'm stuck.

  "You going home for the holidays?" Kelly asks me, hastily putting her phone down so I can't read the screen.

  "Yep," I reply briefly, staring forward and trying to catch Marissa's eye so she can get over here with the drinks more quickly.

  "Oh my gosh, me too!" she squeaks out, wriggling her firm little body in her seat. I can feel the warmth of her thigh through my jeans. "Are you going
to be there for long? Like, ugh. My family is so annoying sometimes. I just cannot. And like, I'm definitely going to need a drink before Thanksgiving dinner, you know?"

  I raise my eyebrows at her. There is no way she is twenty-one. "Juice boxes are easily obtained at the grocery store, I think." I hear the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. God, she's annoying me.

  She looks mildly wounded by my words but rapidly recovers. She glances over and sees that Marissa is almost to our aisle. "You know what, I totally forgot my ID. Do you think you could get me something?"

  My anger is starting to build. I can't stop my mouth even if I wanted to. "You made it on an airplane without ID?"

  Kelly blinks a few times. "What? Um, no, I mean it's up in my bag and I had to put it in a compartment way in the back of the airplane." She adjusts her top so her cleavage is poking out at the neckline.

  I snap and lean forward so my forehead is almost touching hers. Her eyes grow as big as saucers. "You want a drink, or do you just want to fuck? I'm big, but I know from a lot of experience I can fit easily into airplane bathrooms." I feel her warm breath on my cheek. She lets out a little squeak.

  "I-I-no, thank you," she says.

  I lean back, satisfied. "You shouldn't talk to strange men on airplanes."

  I know it's harsh of me to do what I just did. But I'm bored. I'm bored with women throwing themselves at me. It's easy. I say no more than I used to. A lot more. I turn in my seat just enough so my back is toward Kelly. This is a short flight. Hopefully I can get through the rest of it without being bothered.

  I close my eyes and think about the last time I had sex. I count back. It's been about five months. Five? That can't be right. But I know it is. Because the last time was a few weeks after the wedding. I'd gone on a website looking for any woman who looked like...her. I looked for any woman who looked like Tessa.

  I feel my dick start to wake up in my pants. I adjust the fabric, trying to calm myself down so I don't end up with a full-blown erection and accidentally make Kelly think that I'm thinking about her. Because I'm definitely not.

  I hadn't known that pregnant escorts were a thing. I've been with a ton of women. Hundreds. And I've paid for my fair share of sex before. But in the weeks after the wedding, I couldn't stop thinking about Tessa's body and the way the fabric of her dress couldn't conceal her bump. I wanted to lift her dress up and look at her glorious body underneath all of that fabric. I couldn't get it out of my mind.

  It was such a problem that the night after I left my dad's house and went back to my place, I couldn't get it up for my girlfriend.

  That had never happened before.

  And then it happened again. And again. And again.

  That girlfriend broke up with me.

  One night I went online and started clicking through websites. I found a woman who was seven months pregnant and advertising her services.

  Tessa is solidly off-limits and therefore I want her. I want her body underneath me. I fucking want her.

  ***

  My dad is staring into the screen of his Blackberry, standing in the middle of the baggage claim, oblivious to the fact that he’s blocking the flow of foot traffic. He refuses to upgrade his phone, perfectly fucking happy to push those awful little buttons to type messages. He has a preppy sweater tied around his shoulders with a button-down shirt and pleated khakis. I hate him for what he's wearing.

  It reminds me of every single time he drove away from me and my mother for business trips that sometimes lasted months.

  I duck into the bathroom to avoid him for a little while longer. Three men are using the urinals, their suitcases at their feet. I walk over to the sink to wash my face.

  I look at myself in the mirror. My long hair has come loose from the bun I'd thrown it up in to get it off my neck. Good thing I came in here. My dad hates my hair. I take it out and twist it back up into a slightly neater bun. I won’t be surprised if he pays one of his house staff to buzz my hair when I'm asleep over the next week. After washing my face and dabbing it with a rough, thin paper towel, my phone buzzes in my duffel. I don't even bother digging it out. It's likely my dad asking where the hell I am.

  Mr. Keeps-Everyone-Waiting hates waiting on people. Of course.

  I wander out into the baggage area and grunt a hello.

  "Hang...on...just...one...second..." My dad can't rip his eyes away from the tiny screen. It's a full thirty seconds before he looks up at me. When he finally does his eyes immediately go up to the bun on top of my head. A look of disapproval crosses his face. "Well, do you have luggage?"

  I feel a jab of annoyance at his words. I'm not sure my dad has ever hugged me in my life, but there is still a part of me that expects one from him. "Nah, just this," I say, indicating the duffel bag that is slung over my shoulder.

  "Great, let's go then. I'm double parked." He turns around and walks away from me, Blackberry still very much in his grasp.

  I follow him out into the brilliant southern California sunshine. I’ve only been living in San Francisco for just over a year, but the gloom and fog there are starting to get to me. I feel a little like a wilting flower. I pull on my Aviator sunglasses and realize that what my father means by "double-parked" is that he left his black, gleaming Maserati running in the fire lane. Right next to the curb. I look around, waiting for the security guard circling the area with his bike to pull my dad aside, but nothing happens. My dad nods his head at the guard and the guard returns the gesture almost imperceptibly.

  I laugh darkly and slide into the car. "How much did you pay this time?"

  My dad makes it a habit of carrying around hundred dollar bills to pay people to overlook the questionable things he often does. Things that "normal" people would be arrested over? My dad does those things all the time without consequence.

  He ignores my question and puts the car in drive. He peels out of the space, narrowly missing a rental car bus. The bus driver lays on the horn. My dad either doesn't notice or pretends not to. "Two hundred this time. Usually it's only one hundred. The guards must be talking to each other. They’re driving up the price."

  I stare out the window while we wait at the stoplight. "You been picking up a lot of people from the airport recently?" This is not a job I have ever imagined my father doing. This is exactly the type of thing he pays other people to do for him. He'd never managed to peel himself away to pick up my mother and me when we'd go on trips out of town.

  "I picked up Cassie all the time when she would fly out here. And earlier I was supposed to get Tessa and Ryan but she took a cab."

  I feel my stomach drop through my feet at the sound of her name. All the blood in my body rushes to my dick. "Tessa, huh?" I try to sound nonchalant but my normally deep voice is an octave higher than it normally is.

  "Yes, I must not have told you she was coming. She and Ryan arrived an hour or so ago."

  "Ryan? Who the fuck is that? I thought that weasel-faced boyfriend of hers had a different name," I grunt, annoyed. I try to play it off, but I know that his name is Paul. Paul Donald Oliver. The man with three fucking first names. I'd looked him up more than once over the last few months, trying to find out everything I could about him. He is a mid-level manager at an insurance firm in some forgettable town in Indiana. He’s a zero.

  A zero with a secret girlfriend apart from his actual girlfriend.

  But I’m not supposed to know that. My stomach fills with excitement at the thought of Tessa finding out so she can leave him. I just can’t be the one to tell her, because then I’d have to explain that I’ve been investigating her shit rag boyfriend.

  My temple throbs at the thought of him. I've wanted to punch him from the second I saw him at the wedding. He'd spent the entire ceremony staring at his own feet, and then the first part of the reception holed up in the corner with his cellphone. I hadn’t known who he was until later, but there are just some people who give off certain vibe, you know?

  My dad turns the steering wheel
as he darts through slow cars on the highway. "Ryan is the baby. Her son," he replies. "It was supposed to be all three of them arriving today, but Paul couldn't make it. He's taking a later flight tomorrow I think. So it's just her and the baby for now."

  Despite my spending the better part of the last months fantasizing about my pregnant stepsister, for some reason my mind hasn't connected the dots that she would have a kid at the end of her pregnancy. I feel a rush of panic and annoyance at the thought of her being a mother. I decide to change the subject. "You really didn't have to pick me up. I could have taken an Uber."

  "I don't know what that is, son, but Cassie insisted that I come get you. Apparently it's a thing they do in the Midwest."

  "How fucking charming," I say, looking at the hills rushing past.

  "Curb that at the dinner table, okay?" My dad sounds annoyed.

  "Curb what?" I ask brusquely.

  "The coarse language. Cassie hates it."

  I roll my eyes. I'm nearly thirty years old and I'm getting a lecture form my dad about appropriate ways to speak. Why didn't I lie and stay in San Francisco? It's not like my dad would have the moral high ground to fucking judge me about choosing work over family.

  Though now that I know that Tessa is here without Paul, I'm almost looking forward to a cozy family dinner.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TESSA

  Stepping out of the taxi cab and into the driveway of Lyle's mansion, I feel like kissing the ground in gratitude for a safe arrival into sunshine. The perfect-temperature air envelopes my body and the sunshine on my skin gives me goosebumps. I feel like a frozen chicken thawing out.

  Ryan is asleep in his car seat but I know that won't last long; it’s nearly time for his dinner. The taxi driver sets my suitcases next to the door. I tip him with the only cash I have and walk up to the front door. I lift the brass, lion head-shaped knocker and rap twice. The noise wakes Ryan and he bursts into tears and screeches almost immediately. I set down the car seat and lift his body out, patting him on the back and murmuring, "Shhh...it's okay. Dinner soon."

 

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