PLOWED: A Stepbrother Romance (Bonus Story: Gripped)

by Stephanie Brother

  Not for the first time, I’m awed by the size of this property. It’s not as large as the surrounding celebrity homes in this area, but the spread of green seems limitless, filled with endless possibilities. There are a few shade trees dotted about—oak, from the looks of it—their spread branches adding to the seclusion of the property. With so much viable space, I can’t wait until fall rolls around so I can set down some perennials. Make this place look pretty as Rico demanded.

  I wave a greeting to the pool cleaner as I pass. He scowls at me and doesn’t wave back. I think he’s still upset about the cuttings I accidentally blew into the pool with the blower. Get in line, buddy. You’re not the only one mad at me around here. Maybe I’ve even pissed off Larry, the security guard, too.

  Inside the cottage, I find Haylee chatting with a redhead in the living room. She’s a lot cuter than the one I had bent over the kitchen counter a week ago.

  “Hello, ladies,” I say, jerking my head in greeting. I know Haylee won’t give a shit, but before my mother died of cancer, she taught me and my sister the benefits of being polite even when others weren’t polite in return.

  As predicted, the redhead is the only one who acknowledges me. She perks up, smiling. Haylee fixes me with a cold stare.

  “Hey. You’re the stepbrother, right? Connor?” the redhead says, getting to her feet. She adjusts her shirt, tugging it down under the pretence of making it sit right. But we both know it’s so that I can see more of her cleavage. She’s pretty, yeah, and her slim, toned frame is proof she’s a health-nut. But there’s this part of me that’s comparing her to Haylee and finding my stepsister’s curvier body a lot more appealing.

  I smile as I take off my gardening gloves.

  “Guilty.”

  “I’m Tasha, Haylee’s friend.” She glances back and sees Haylee’s sour expression then grins at me. “I don’t think Haylee likes that I’m talking to you, though.”

  I nod. “Oh yeah, if you’re truly her friend, you should definitely consider me Enemy Numero Uno right now.”

  “Don’t talk about me like if I’m not here,” Haylee mumbles as Tasha laughs.

  “You’re funny and cute.” She regards me, her sky-blue eyes holding a detached interest. “But our energies don’t jam. We’d be a bad fit.”

  Haylee groans and shakes her head. “Oh my god, Tash.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I smile again.

  “That’s a shame.”

  She nods. “But you have an amazing connection with Haylee.” She looks between me and Haylee and nods again like if she’s hearing something nobody else can. Huh. There’s always a bit of cuckoo in the cute ones. “Yeah, you two would be a perfect—”

  “Tasha! Don’t you have a class soon?” says Haylee, her voice higher than usual. She gets to her feet. “I have to get back to work at the house.”

  Tasha sighs. “Fine. I get it. If you wanna run me, I’ll run.”

  As they exchange goodbyes, I make my way to the kitchen for something to eat. I discover two sandwiches on a plate covered over with plastic wrap on the kitchen table. Just as I finish mowing through both of them in ravenous speed, Haylee enters the kitchen. She eyes the empty plate before her scowl falls on me.

  “You ate the sandwiches without knowing if they were for you?”

  I lean back in my seat, not in the least bit repentant.

  “No name, fair game.”

  Her frown deepens. “You’re an ass.” Then she points at my gloves on the kitchen counter. “Why do you keep leaving those there? I gave you a basket.”

  I frown. “What is wrong with you? Why are you picking fights with me?”

  “You!” she spits. “You’re what’s wrong!”

  She purses her lips, her body tense. Her fingers curled tight over the top of a kitchen chair’s wooden slat, she glares at me, her brown eyes like dark chocolate. Even in a bleach-stained t-shirt, loose-fitted jeans, and a glare that might set me afire, she’s still gorgeous. An insane urge to kiss her overcomes me. I get to my feet and move closer, towering over her.

  “How am I wrong, Haylee?”

  “Don’t bring women to the cottage. Don’t fuck them here either. Get a damn hotel.”

  “Look, you don’t own the place. I live here now, too. I’m sorry for what you saw in the kitchen that night. Next time, I’ll try and make it to my room.”

  She folds her arms beneath her breasts. “That’s still going to bother me.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s…it’s because…it’s disrespectful!” she splutters. She avoids my gaze, her body growing tenser. The corners of my mouth turn up into a slow, triumphant smile.

  “You’re a terrible liar. We both know it’s because you’re jealous.”

  “What?” She edges away from me. “Jealous of what? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You want me.” I step toward her and she takes a step back. We’re like this until her back hits the wall beside the arched entranceway. “But you just don’t want to admit it.”

  “You’re insane.” And she gives me a look to match her words, but it’s not convincing. There’s a soft pinkness to her face and her eyes are wider, her breathing faster. She’s expecting something. I know what it is. There’s a terrified look in her eyes and I wonder if she’s afraid I’ll do it or afraid she’ll like it too much to want me to stop.

  Only one way to find out.

  I bend my head and kiss her, snaking my hands around her waist to pull her body up against mine. She fights me immediately, working her hands between us to push me away. I release her then reach for her again, kissing her harder. Her hands come up between us once more. But instead of pushing me away, her fingernails claw into my t-shirt, fisting the material in her palms. She moans softly; the sound of her relenting. Holy fuck. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

  I lick the seam of her lips and she opens her mouth. My tongue slips in, touching hers, tasting the tangy sweetness of the apple juice she likes. She comes alive in my arms, moaning and pushing herself up onto her tiptoes. No longer a passive recipient but an active player in the game.

  The kiss becomes deeper, hungrier. The more I taste her, the more I want. Her hands slide around my neck as she mashes her soft tits against my chest. Christ, I can’t wait to see them and touch them. Can’t wait to suck them into my mouth. My dick strains against the now too-tight confines of my pants, demanding more from her sexy mouth than just a kiss. Fuck. I want to be inside her right now. Nothing more is important in this moment than laying her down on any available surface and burying myself inside her body to the hilt.

  I hoist her up and she wraps her legs around my waist, gasping when she feels my hard length press right up between her legs. If only she weren’t wearing jeans. If only I weren’t wearing pants either.

  “Oh god, Connor,” she says against my lips, and the way she says my name makes me crazy with need. I carry her to the living room where the big, fluffy sofa is ready and waiting for us to defile it with a fantastic fucking.

  No dice. Someone bangs on the front door then yanks it open.

  “Haylee? Where the fuck are you?”

  Haylee scrambles off me at the speed of light, her eyes round and her lips puffy from our aggressive kissing. I want to kiss her again. I’m hard as a rock and pissed as hell. I want to murder whoever it is that’s interrupted us.

  “Oh my god,” says Haylee. “It’s Miley.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Haylee

  Lady in Red is almost finished. All I’ve got to do is add some shading, clean up some of my messier brush strokes and make various tweaks to ensure a captivating look. It’s the easiest part but a bit tedious. Plus, I’m just not in the mood.

  You’re not taking this seriously. You have to work even when you’re ‘not in the mood’.

  I pout as I reread Andrew’s latest message in the chat window. He’s right, of course. If you want to be successful in any artistic endeavour, you have to put the
work in and not just wait on inspiration. Creativity is fickle but perseverance takes you places.

  The deadline is the day after tomorrow. I submitted mine like a week ago. You’ll be late and get kicked out of the competition.

  Ugh. Is he trying to scare me into doing the work, or is he trying to psych me out so I fail and get kicked from the competition? I tell myself it’s the former. Even though we’re competing against each other, it’s not like we want to see each other fail.

  I eye the time on the wall clock and shut down my laptop. My break is over, anyway. Rooms number five and six in Miley Fierce’s mansion are due for a dusting and vacuuming.

  Outside, the sun’s warmth caresses my skin. As I walk, I admire the spread of trimmed grass, hedges and bushes. The bricked pathway is edged with gorgeous, brightly coloured flowers that once looked dull, and there are various spots of freshly turned, evenly divided earth set out in a curlicued pattern. He’s just planted seeds there. I can’t wait to see what will grow.

  This is all Connor’s hard work. From dawn to dusk, he’s been transforming this place into something straight out of a real estate magazine.

  The moment my mind lands on Connor, it cycles to the memory of the kiss we shared a few days ago. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to physically rid my head of that image. But it’s no use. No matter how hard I try, I can’t—and probably never will—forget the feel of Connor’s strong arms holding me against his frame, his hot mouth working over mine, stirring a lust inside me so deep and intense, I felt like I was standing in the midst of a bonfire.

  Dear god, I almost fucked him. If Miley hadn’t shown up just in time, I would have had sex with my stepbrother. To this day, I’m not sure if I’m more ashamed it almost happened or more disappointed it didn’t. Despite all my preaching to Connor that we were never going to happen, one steamy kiss from him and now I’m a red-faced backslider.

  Anyway, so I messed up one time. It’s never going to happen again. It can’t because Miley is here. I don’t know for how long, but I’m pretty sure I can strengthen my resolve to resist Connor during her stay. I’ll be busy with work too. Miley loves entertaining when she’s home. That means I’ll be back and forth doing various errands. Then there’s my art competition. I definitely won’t have time to think about Connor and his sexy kisses.

  Most of all, he’s technically my family. What we did was wrong. Inappropriate. What will our parents think if they found out? Connor’s dad, Charles, seems to be one of those straitlaced kinda guys. My mom…well, let’s just say she always has a criticism or three ready at the tip of her tongue on my life choices. So kissing Connor or anything more than that is definitely out of the question.

  It has to be.

  Inside, the house is alive with loud music. It’s Miley’s latest hit single, Vegas Money Shot. The coy lyrics detail the joys of wealthy men coming on your face, but it’s couched as an innocent song about being blessed with love and attention. The upbeat tempo appeals to Miley’s teenaged fans, I’ve heard.

  For a while, Miley sings along to her own songs somewhere in the house at the top of her lungs. I nod my head with the music. I'm amused by her exaggerated warbles yet pleased I’m treated to my own personal Miley Fierce show.

  Even though she’s cast as a flamboyant diva in celebrity news, she’s a pleasant person. I used to work for a hired cleaning company until Miley fired them and kept me on as her personal housekeeper. I never found out why she did that. I like to think she did it because she considers me a friend and enjoys my work. But knowing Miley’s impulsive ways and insanely random behaviour, I think the real reason is because she just felt like it at the time.

  At some point she shuts off the music and I’m left to clean the house in silence. I finish up the last room in record time and move to open one of the windows to let in some fresh air. As the window swings outward, it connects with something.

  “Fuck—!”

  Horrified, I shove the curtains aside and find Connor kneeling on the ground, holding a palm to his temple.

  “Oh my god!” I cry. “I didn’t see you. Are you OK?”

  He pulls his hand away from his head with a wince. There’s blood on his temple and smeared on his fingers. The sharp point of the window edge must have got him. My body is tense with concern and regret that I wasn’t paying attention.

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’m dying. You should get started on that obituary.” A small smile tugs at his lips and I relax a little. “Got a first aid kit around?”

  I nod quickly. “I’ll be right back.”

  I race to the nearest bathroom and then out one of the side doors. Connor stands, leaning against the wall.

  “What were you doing out here anyway?” I ask. Perching the kit on the window’s ledge, I set about cleaning his cut.

  He points at the patch of wilting roses just beneath the window. “I’m going to thin those out so they can look lively again.” Then he smiles at me. “I can clean it myself, you know.”

  “You don’t want me to do it?” I take a step back, retracting my hands from his face, but he settles his hands on my waist and pulls me forward, closer than I was from the start. My face heats as I remember what we were doing the last time I was this close to him. I am aware of his presence. How big and tall he is, how easy it would be for me to reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him for ages.

  “No, I like when your hands are on me.”

  “Stop it.” I elbow his hands away from my body and maintain a respectable distance between us as I return to cleaning his cut.

  “Stop what—” He hisses as I put alcohol on the bruise. “That fucking stings.”

  “Stop being a big baby and stop flirting with me.”

  His wince clears and his blue eyes become shiny with amusement.

  “What about kissing you? Can I keep doing that?” His voice is husky and far too convincing. My hands shake as I unwrap the bandage and stick it to his forehead.

  “No. No more kissing. It’s inappropriate.”

  I step away from him, my heart beating faster than normal. His sandy-brown hair turns golden in the sunlight, his blue eyes just as bright and captivating. Connor is definitely the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on. The way he watches me, the blatant hunger in his eyes as his gaze drops to my lips before rising again makes me warm yet shivery.

  “Sure thing,” he says.

  “Good.” But I don’t feel convinced. I want to press my body against his right now and let his lips devour me whole. Stay strong, Haylee, I tell myself, but I am on the brink of casting aside all my firm resolutions.

  Thankfully, I am saved by Miley again. She wanders onto the terrace in a hot pink sports bra and ultra-short shorts in a matching colour. Her blonde hair is in a high, messy ponytail, and there’s sweat on her forehead, neck and chest. She was on one of her runs. When she sees me and Connor standing nearby, she comes closer.

  “I’m going to Farstone tonight. You two wanna come?”

  “Where’s that?” asks Connor.

  “It’s a nightclub.” I say.

  “The hottest one in L.A.” There’s a smug smile on Miley’s face. “VIP access courtesy of yours truly.” Then she points at us. “Don’t fucking embarrass me. Dress hot.”

  She wanders back inside the house, not bothering to find out if we accept her invitation.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Connor

  She says she doesn’t want me to flirt with her or kiss her. She says it’s inappropriate. I want to abide by her wishes. Really, I do. But it’s fucking hard to keep this promise, especially when she decides to wear something like that.

  Red, short and tight.

  With heels.

  The instant Haylee steps outside of the house, my dick becomes as hard as the side of the limousine I’m leaning against. I’ve been waiting for Haylee and Miley for the past twenty minutes. The limousine driver, Greg, and I have been joking about the perils of going on an outing with women. The likelihood of arriv
ing late skyrockets.

  “Wow,” says Greg as Haylee walks toward us, and I’m overcome with a huge dose of jealousy. Every few steps rides the material of her short dress up her thighs and she tugs at the hem to set it right. Her legs are long, toned and shapely. Those legs were wrapped around me a few days ago and I fucking want them around me again. What I don’t want is some loser like Greg eyefucking her. Or any other asshole for that matter.

  “Hey man, keep your fucking eyes off. She’s my sister,” I growl.

  “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbles and scrambles back inside the driver’s seat.

  “Hey, sorry for the wait,” she says when she’s within earshot. “Miley should be out in a second.”

  I smile and open the door. “The wait was worth it. You look stunning.”

  She smiles at me in return. It’s rare for her to do that and it makes my heart race a little. Makes me giddy and eager to make her smile again. This is not good territory. I think I like her more than I should.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself, ladykiller,” she says as she slides into the limousine. The flowery scent of her perfume wafts by me, demanding I follow her wherever she goes. But Miley comes teetering on ultra-high heels and I play the proper gentleman and hold the door open for her.

  During the drive, we down expensive champagne as Miley shares gossip with us about other celebrities. It’s strange to know the secrets of famous people, stranger yet to hear them from my famous boss. Landing this job has been a big deal for me, not that my father would agree. The moment I didn’t follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer was the instant I became a disappointment to Charles Grant.

  Old feelings of resentment simmer just beneath the surface but I push them aside and concentrate on the present. Clubbing isn’t my kind of scene, but a one-off from time to time doesn’t hurt. Besides, maybe some furious dancing will expend all the sexual energy I have stored up from wanting Haylee.

  Or maybe find a girl to spend that energy on. Though that idea isn’t quite as appealing. There’s only one girl I would like to devote all my energy to, sexual or otherwise. Unfortunately, she’s off-limits.