Stepbrother Romance 3 - Addicted: A New Adult Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Taylor, Tawny

  “What’s it going to take, Kent? Why are you so sure I’m going to screw you over?”

  “That’s not it,” he said to the frying pan.

  I grabbed his arm and yanked. “At least face me when you’re speaking to me. Don’t be a fucking coward.”

  He turned. His face was tight. His eyes were ice cold. “Go ahead.” He didn’t want to have this conversation. Too fucking bad. This was the best chance I had of clearing this up for once and for all. I wasn’t going to just walk away from it.

  “What’s your problem? Why is it that every time I think we’re moving forward you take three steps back? Do you think I just want you for your money?”

  “No.”

  “Then what, Kent? What’s the deal? It can’t be those bitches you mentioned. Because if I an handle you I can handle them. So I’m asking you, begging you, to tell me the truth. Because this hot and cold thing is driving me freaking crazy.”

  He flipped off the stove and set the pancake turner on the counter, giving me his full attention. “I’m afraid to love you, Shayne. That’s the bottom line.”

  My insides twisted. Afraid? Kent? “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because what?” I prodded.

  “Because. That’s all.

  That’s all? That’s all I was going to get from him? No! “You need to give me more than that, Kent. I deserve more than that.”

  He studied me for several seconds. He nodded. “Yes, yes you do. But I can’t talk about it. And if that doesn’t tell you what you need to know, then I don’t know what will.” He twisted, taking a step around me.

  He was leaving?

  No.

  How many times had he walked away from me when things got rough? Or how many times had I walked away from him? Instead of staying and talking things through? Several.

  I was done being a doormat.

  Kent Payne was not going to trample over my heart anymore, only to come back later, beg me to “talk about it,” and then skirt the real issue.

  No. There was something serious going on with this man. Something he didn’t want to face, or didn’t know how to face. It had nothing to do with me being his stepsister. Or with how other people would treat me if they discovered we were in love.

  Was I helping him by letting him keep running from it, whatever the it was? No.

  If there was any hope for us at all, we had to face this. Head on. Together. Both of us.

  “You are not doing this again,” I warned him as I jumped in front of him, heading off his escape. My hands trembled as they pressed against his chest. “You’re not skulking away, playing the wounded fucking asshole. We are either going to get this all out in the open right now or we are done.”

  His gaze jerked away.

  My heart pounded in my ears.

  What would he do? Which would he choose? Love? Or loneliness? The terrifying prospect of letting someone know the truth, or continuing to run from it?

  I hoped, I prayed, it would be the former. Losing Kent would be one agonizing loss I wasn’t sure I could handle. But I’d had to do it. I’d had to lay down the line. I couldn’t let him continue to torment me any longer. I had too much respect for myself to let it go on.

  At last, I was ready to stand up for myself. Not in an unhealthy, selfish way. But in a way that would benefit both of us in the long term. If this thing with Kent ended now, today, at least I had that to be thankful for. Kent, with his issues, had taught me how to be strong. I would no longer be that weak tree, being flailed by the wind. I could bend. But I would not break.

  “You were right,” he said as he curled his fists around my wrists. “I am sick.” Eyes avoiding mine, he nodded. “I’m going to make arrangements for our flight home. I think we both need to get back.”

  The pain was almost unbearable, like a knife stabbed into my gut then twisted. Flesh tearing.

  I blinked burning eyes. “I feel sorry for you, Kent, if that’s how you think you have to live your life. Always running away from love. It’s no way to live.”

  I stomped past him.

  Fuck him and his wounded guy act. I was done with him. Done.

  When I fell in love the next time--and I would let myself fall in love again-- it would be with a man who deserved my love.

  Not a jerk like Kent Payne.

  Never again.

  Never.

  Chapter 10

  Two lines.

  Two blue lines.

  On a white stick.

  Every girl knew what that meant.

  Holy shit.

  Tears collected in my eyes. The lines turned into blue blobs. I sniffled and blinked. Those tears plopped onto my thighs.

  Two baby blue lines.

  Ohmygod.

  I placed my hands on my stomach. There was a little human being inside me. Growing. That little human being was half me and half Kent Payne.

  Of course I was going to keep the baby. He or she deserved everything I could give him or her. Every bit of love, every sacrifice, every hug and kiss. I would do my damned best to give him or her the kind of happy childhood I’d had.

  And I’d do it alone. Just like my mother had.

  Kent was gone. Long gone. History. I hadn’t spoken to that jerk since the flight back from Alaska, almost a month ago.

  But that was okay. I was ready to make any sacrifice for my child. Ready, but also terrified. I wasn’t even in a position of being able to take care of myself. And in less than nine months I would be responsible for another person’s health and well-being.

  Ohmygod!

  Mom was going to freak out.

  And Ransom. She’d tell me I’m crazy for keeping the baby, after what she’d been through.

  But I had to.

  I hadn’t seen my child yet. It was probably smaller than a pea. But I loved him or her already. Loved him or her like I’d never loved another human being.

  Even Kent.

  Kent.

  Crap.

  I had to tell him. I didn’t want to. But it was the right thing to do.

  I had to tell him first, before I told Mom and Ransom. He had a right to know. He had a right to decide how much of a part he wanted to play in our child’s life. I hoped, I prayed, he would want to be more active in his child’s life than my father had been in mine. But if he decided he couldn’t be, then I wouldn’t get angry. I wouldn’t threaten. I would hold my head high, just like my mother, and show my child what love was really all about.

  I might not have the money that Kent Payne had. But I had something else. I had the ability to love freely, without fear. And love, I would.

  I looked at the clock.

  Seven o’clock. Friday night. As good a time as any.

  If I told Kent today, I could tell Mom too. And then tomorrow, when I babysat little Claire, I could tell Ransom.

  My hands trembled as I gathered all three positive pregnancy test strips and dropped them into my purse. I peered out the window. September weather in Michigan was wildly unpredictable. One day it could be bright, sunny, and as hot as a midsummer day, and the next chilly, windy, with gloomy gray skies dumping inches of rain on the ground. Today looked like latter kind. I grabbed a sweater off the hook by the door, and cramming my arm into the sleeve, I hurried out to my SUV and ducked in before getting soaked.

  During the drive, the windshield wipers squeaked a regular rhythm as I rehearsed my I’m-pregnant-and-you’re-the-father speech. I felt sick. And a little dizzy. But I didn’t pull off and turn around. That would be easier. But not better. Better to get it over with. Fast. Like yanking off a bandage.

  By the time I pulled into Kent’s driveway, I was feeling really sick. My nerves were stretched to their limits, like over-tightened guitar strings. No matter how much air I sucked into my lungs, it felt like it wasn’t enough.

  What would he say? What would he do? Would he act like he didn’t give a damn? Would he tell me good luck and shove me out the front door?

  I thought I
knew him. But did I? Did I really know for certain how he will react?

  Shit, I didn’t want to go through with this.

  You have to. Do it. Get it over with. You’re doing it for your child.

  I cut off my truck’s engine and dashed up the front walk, leaping over the deepest puddles. Once I made it onto the front porch, I took a moment to breathe and collect my racing, ping-ponging thoughts.

  I poked the doorbell button and held my breath.

  The door swung open.

  There he was. The father of my child.

  Looking as beautiful as ever.

  He studied me for a moment. Then his dark brows drew together. “Shayne? What’s wrong?”

  My heart was in my throat, blocking it. I didn’t know how I would talk. No air was making it past it. I swallowed hard once, twice.

  “What is it, Shayne?” His handsome face grew taut with worry, his mouth a thin line. “I know I’ve been a real bastard. But if you need anything, anything at all, I will help you.” He cupped my cheeks and stared deeply into my eyes. “You know that, right? What’s wrong? Is it the house again?”

  I knew, despite his struggle to face whatever problem had kept him from telling me he loved me, that he did, indeed care about me. Deeply. So I was confident he would not get angry when he found out why I’d come to talk to him.

  Knowing what I did about him, I suspected he would feel compelled to do “the right thing”. What I didn’t want was him trying to force me into something I wasn’t ready for. Even if he proposed marriage, I could not accept. Not even if his first marriage was legally over, which I didn’t know.

  Not until he could tell me he loved me.

  He gathered my hands into his and tugged me inside. “You’re pregnant,” he guessed as he shut the door behind me. “Is that it?”

  My vision blurred as tears gathered. I nodded.

  His gaze dropped to my flat stomach. He inhaled, exhaled. “My divorce was final last week. So we can get married. We will be married, of course, so my child can—“

  “No,” I said.

  “No?” His fingers loosened and my hand fell from his grip. He rammed his fingers through his hair. “No? Why not? I just said my divorce has been finalized.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I can show you the papers. They’re in my office.”

  Just as I’d expected. He’d proposed marriage. But his proposal was absolutely worthless to me. “I don’t care about your divorce. I won’t marry you, Kent.”

  He looked completely dumbstruck. “But you have to.”

  I crossed my arms and stood my ground. “No, I don’t. Nobody has to marry anybody.”

  “But the child—“

  “Will be fine,” I cut him off. “I’ll raise him or her. You may be shocked to hear this, but I didn’t come here to solicit a marriage proposal. I came to tell you because you have a right to know. And my child has a right to know his or her father. If you want to be a part of his or her life, that is your choice.” Having said what I’d come to say, I turned and grabbed the doorknob.

  Kent reached around me and slammed a hand against the door.

  “Shayne, no Payne child has ever been raised a bastard.”

  I stared. I glared. I sent him death rays from my eyes. “That’s not a convincing argument for marriage, Kent. You know what I’m waiting for. You know what I need to hear. I won’t marry anyone who doesn’t love me.”

  “But I can’t give you that. Not yet.”

  “When Kent? When might you love me? When our child is born? Or maybe when he’s celebrating his second birthday? Or perhaps his tenth? Or eighteenth? I won’t marry you until then. I can’t.”

  “You are the most stubborn, irrational, irritating woman I know,” he blustered, face turning redder than a stop sign.

  “Which is why you love me.”

  Teeth gritted, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, Shayne.”

  “I have standards, Kent. And I won’t bend them just because you’re too damn scared to face something you’ve been avoiding for years. If you want to raise our child with me, as a family, then you are going to have to come to terms with whatever that issue is. You’re going to have to earn that right. Because being a sperm donor doesn’t earn you anything but a ‘thank you’ from me.”

  “It isn’t so easy. I’ve tried before. Nothing works.”

  “Ever heard the expression, you can’t keep doing the same thing and expect different results?”

  He scowled. “Once or twice.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Try something different. My final answer is still no. I will not marry you.”

  His lips clamped shut. His jaw muscles twitched.

  He wasn’t happy with my decision. But that was too fucking bad. I was through with silly games and childish bets. Fun time was over. This was serious. There was another human being to think about now. And that little person deserved two parents who knew how to act like responsible, mature adults. Who could teach him or her about love, respect, and, most importantly, trust. Kent didn’t trust anyone, not even himself.

  Once again, I grabbed the doorknob. “My doctor’s appointment is next Friday. I’ll let you know when all my doctor’s appointments are, in case you’d like to come.”

  He snarled, “Of course I would. I’ll be there. What time?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty.”

  Pick me up? No. I didn’t want to be in a car with him. “That isn’t—“

  “I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty,” he repeated, tone clipped.

  I turned to face him. And for just a fraction of a second, I let a little regret creep into me. How I wished things could have been different. But they weren’t. And so I had to make the best of things. For my child’s sake.

  He or she would know no different. Because he or she would be loved by at least one parent. And loved fiercely.

  Whether or not Kent would be an absent father, my baby would be loved. And my baby would be happy.

  “Next week,” I confirmed. “Nine-thirty.”

  The worst was over.

  He knew.

  Whatever happened from there, I’d done the right thing. I’d given him a choice.

  Now it was up to him. Even if he couldn’t love me, I hoped he could love our child.

  Chapter 11

  Seven days flew by, thanks to Mom and Ransom. After talking to Kent last Friday, I made a beeline for Mom and Dirk’s revamped carriage house to give Mom the big news. Mom was, surprisingly, elated to hear she was going to be a grandma. She made not a single comment about Kent. And she called to check up on me every morning.

  Ransom took the news a little differently. Her congratulations were tempered with a touch of pity. Although she didn’t say anything negative, I knew what she was thinking. Being a single mom sucked. She knew it firsthand. And I was about to find out as well. But, being my best friend, she supported me, offering the use of all her maternity clothes as well as the clothes and toys Claire outgrew.

  To my surprise, the news about my pregnancy helped bring us closer again. We talked more throughout the next seven days than we had the previous seven months. My cell phone pinched between my ear and shoulder, I talked and laughed and cried with Ransom for hours on end. She sent me links to favorite websites about pregnancy and childbirth. And I, putting all work on my house on hold until after the baby was born, clicked around the internet, learning about the good, the bad, and the ugly of birthing and raising a child.

  On Friday morning, at nine-thirty on the dot, Kent appeared at my door. Ready to go.

  I was not ready. I was in the bathroom, throwing up. Again.

  I’d learned one thing already. Being pregnant sucked. It felt like I had the flu. But I couldn’t take any medicines to feel better.

  His incessant knocking wasn’t helping.

  As soon as my stomach stopped convulsing, I brushed my teeth and scurried to the door to let Kent in so I could finish getting rea
dy in peace.

  He eyeballed me as he charged into my house. “Why did it take so long to answer the door?”

  “I was in the bathroom.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t look well. You’re pale. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little queasy.” I clapped my hand over my somersaulting stomach as it threatened to send me sprinting back to the bathroom. “I read it’s perfectly normal to be nauseous during early pregnancy.”

  He did not look convinced. “Well, that may be but I don’t like it.”

  Considering our history, I knew I should expect Kent to be a little protective. This was just the beginning and already I could see he was going to be scrutinizing every little thing I did or felt.

  I sighed long and hard as I slid my feet into my shoes. These nine months were going to be a real test of my patience.

  Kent checked his watch. “We’re going to be late.”

  Knowing we had plenty of time to get to the doctor’s office, I waved away his concern. “It’s okay. The offce is only a ten minute drive from here.”

  “I don’t like to be late.”

  “We won’t be late.” I grabbed my purse and dragged my gaggy self toward the door.

  Kent watched me as he held the door for me. “You still don’t look well.”

  “I don’t feel well.” I took a few deep breaths as I shuffled out to the sleek black sports car parked in my driveway. Innnnn. Outtttt. Innnn. Outttt. Kent’s frantic energy was not helping me feel better. If he didn’t chill out, I might mess up his shiny leather interior.

  Playing the role of an old-fashioned gentleman, he opened the car door for me. “There must be something wrong. I want the doctor to do a thorough checkup. Blood work. Everything.”

  “She’ll do all that anyway, but I’m sure it’s nothing.” I folded myself into the cushy seat. The car’s interior smelled really nice. Like leather. And Kent’s cologne. And new car.

  Kent circled around the front of the car, ducking into the driver’s seat. “You’re sick,” he informed me as the car’s engine purred to life.