Mine: A Stepbrother Romance: (With bonus novel Bossy!)

by Kim Linwood

  “God, Mom. He just wants to show me something.” Even as I say it, I see her eyes narrow and I realize how bad that sounds. I didn’t even mean it that way.

  “Mmhmm, of course he does. Watch out for him. He’s as much trouble as his father,” she sniffs before turning away, disappearing behind the balustrade with a huff.

  I wish she wouldn’t do that.

  The drinking. The picking on Hunter. All of it.

  I don’t get why she and my stepfather even got hitched. They didn’t seem to care much about each other even when they got married, and it hasn’t gotten any better since. They don’t even spend time together. All he does is work on his plans for my island, and all she does is drink and find things to complain about.

  Everything was better before they moved in.

  Except Hunter.

  “You coming or what?” Hunter’s voice is a rushed whisper, right next to me, making me jump. I was so lost in thought I didn’t notice him come close.

  He grabs my hand, engulfing my fingers in his much larger palm. My stomach tingles, like it always does when he’s close. “You gotta see this.”

  He darts towards the back of the estate, pulling me along until we hit the edge of the lawn and duck into the jungle. As usual, he’s wearing a loose pair of shorts and nothing else. I love watching his lean muscles flex as he runs.

  When he moved here three years ago, we were hardly more than kids. I was just getting bumpy and he was still skinny as a rail. But now? Maybe it’s just the isolation talking, but Hunter at sixteen could give any of the pretty boys in my magazines a run for their money.

  He’s so perfect it’s unfair. I love the way his blond hair flutters behind him, always a little too long. He’s got this little head toss to get it out of the eyes, and I think it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Selfishly, I hope he never leaves, because if he does, he’ll find out that there are better things out there than pimply girls with too many curls up top and too few curves down below.

  But here, I’m more than that. I’m a pirate princess, worthy of even the handsomest island prince.

  I’m getting too far behind, so I push the childish thoughts out of my mind. Fifteen is way too old to be dreaming about pirates and princes.

  He’d laugh if he knew what I was thinking, and that would kill me.

  I scramble through the thick underbrush. I’m not a natural athlete like him, but I can more than hold my own here. This place was my playground. Every spare moment after my lessons was spent climbing trees, jumping gorges and exploring every inch of my domain.

  Hunter loves it too, but he doesn’t know the island as well as I do. He’s only been here a few years. I’ve been here my whole life. Some days I feel like I know every step, every leaf, every hole in our little forest. I’m on a first name basis with every dragonfly, butterfly and tarantula on the island.

  But not the snakes. No way, no how.

  We’re almost at Fool’s Drop, as Dad called it, when Hunter slows down, and I catch up. With a mischievous grin, he puts a finger over his full lips. He’s up to no good, but we’re all alone, and I can’t deny that has me tingling. I follow his direction, as curious as a jungle cat.

  I step forward quietly, the sudden drop making my stomach queasy even though I know it’s coming. Dad said it got its name because it would trip fools who ran through the jungle without paying attention to where they were going. I think he made that up to scare me away, but it could be true. The approach is so thick with trees and vines you can easily miss the edge if you aren’t looking.

  When I was younger, I’d dare myself to look over the edge, inching forward until common sense took over and my feet stayed glued to the ground. I convinced myself I was learning how not to fall.

  On the bright side, I never did.

  But I did get in a lot of trouble for it.

  Hunter drops to his stomach and drags himself up to the edge to peek over. “Come on,” he whispers. “Quick. Before they leave.”

  I sigh. This is going to get grass stains all over my sundress. I only put it on to make Mom happy. If she wasn’t already convinced I was up to no good with Hunter, coming home with green knees and leaves in my clothes will do the job nicely. But she’s never happy, so I do it anyway.

  Dropping down like Hunter, I inch forward until I can see over the edge. The drop is dizzying, easily fifty feet. More than far enough to break your neck and every other bone in your body.

  Still, I’ve seen the drop before. What’s more interesting is the couple down on the shore below. I immediately recognize Mr. Dobson and Ms. Lopez. He works in the hangar, keeping our old sea-plane going, and she’s a maid at the estate. I put a hand to my mouth, trying not to gasp out loud. They’re kissing. Like, tongue and everything.

  I tear my gaze away long enough to glance at Hunter. I figured his eyes would be locked on them, but he’s staring right back at me, blue eyes shining. Obviously, this is no surprise to him.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper. They’re having a private moment. Spying is wrong, and rude, and... and I still can’t quite bring myself to look away. It’s making me tingle all over.

  “Hot, isn’t it?” Hunter whispers loudly enough that I worry they’ll hear him.

  I throw him a glare before looking back down. They’re going at it down there like they’re trying to devour each other. We could set up a rock concert up here and they still probably wouldn’t notice.

  Shoulder to shoulder, we watch together. I don’t know if Hunter feels it too, but I’m hyper aware of every place we’re touching, and where we aren’t. The air between us crackles. When Mr. Dobson starts to slide Ms. Lopez’s dress off her shoulder, I force myself to tear my eyes away and back up out of sight. There are some things we shouldn’t be watching, no matter how it makes me feel.

  My skin is clammy and cold, missing Hunter’s heat.

  He turns to me, frowning. “Where are you going? It’s just getting good.”

  I hit him on the back of his leg. “Don’t watch that. It’s private.” I hope my disapproving scowl covers up how much I’m dying to lie back down and keep watching.

  He shakes his head. “Private? They’re doing it right in the open. That’s like asking to be watched.”

  “Hunter, come on. It’s wrong and you know it. I’ll make enough noise that they hear us if you don’t come with me. Now.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I give him my best imitation of my mother when she’s angry.

  He rolls his eyes, but pulls back. “Alright, alright. I’m coming. But you’re missing out. Ms. Lopez has huge tits, and Mr. Dobson... well, if you don’t want to see, I’m not gonna tell you.” He grins before taking off into the woods, leaving me standing there with my jaw hanging.

  Dodging through the underbrush, he does his best to make me work to keep up. I know where he’s heading though—the biggest landmark out here. I don’t know what kind of tree it is, but it dwarfs everything else around it. When I was little, I named it Giant Bob, and the name’s stuck. I don’t even remember why, but it made my grandfather laugh and it’s been Bob ever since.

  Hunter disappears behind it, and the trunk is so huge, I have to loop around to find him.

  He’s waiting for me, grabbing me and pushing me right up against the trunk before I manage to produce much more than a surprised squeak. He holds me in place, standing so close I can’t think of anything but him and what we were just watching.

  For a long moment it’s just him, me and the sounds of the forest, until I find my voice. “What are you doing?”

  He licks his lips. “Have you ever done what they did?”

  My eyes go wide. “What? Never!”

  “Not even a little kiss?”

  I stick out my tongue. “Of course not, you dork. Who would I kiss? I’ve lived here my whole life. The only time I get out is when we go shopping on the mainland or on vacations. Should I ask Mr. Dobson? He’s kinda old, but apparently quite... impressive.”

  Hunte
r scowls. “Do you want to?” He leans in, his face only a couple of inches from mine, his deep blue eyes staring right into me. Even the ever present sound of the insects fades into the background.

  “What? With—with you?” Suddenly, my stomach’s full of butterflies, fluttering like they’re trying to carry me off. Do I? I’ve dreamt about it. Way more than I probably should have, but making it real? “No way. I don’t need your pity kiss.”

  He chews his lip, looking vulnerable for a moment. “I’ve never, you know, either.” He leans closer, his nose almost touching mine. “It’s not a pity kiss if we both want to.”

  My voice comes out barely as a whisper. “I’m your stepsister.”

  “I know.” His lips mash against mine, and I only resist a moment before I melt into him.

  Neither of us have any idea what we’re doing, but we’re eager to learn. He presses against me, pinning me tight while our tongues explore each other. Flutters and tingles fill me, forbidden feelings whirling through my limbs. If he doesn’t let up soon, I might just let him do things I’m nowhere near ready for.

  Closing my eyes, I cling to him, not wanting this moment to end, ever. Our kiss is all teenage passion and no finesse, but at fifteen it doesn’t matter. I’m in the place I love more than anywhere in the world, with the boy who owns my heart, and it’s the best kiss in the history of kisses.

  Liz

  “Hang on tight, ladies, we’re about to land,” the pilot yells over his shoulder, his raspy voice competing with the metallic roar of the plane’s engines.

  His words snap me out of my little trip down memory lane. It’s the first time I’ve been back in ten years. From the moment we landed in San Juan, the sights and sounds of the Caribbean have been dredging up feelings I buried long ago. Both good and bad.

  The plane lurches, and my fingers grip the edge of my seat. I count to ten and back again with my breathing just like my grandfather taught me. Breathe in, one. Breathe out, two. One thing nostalgia definitely hasn’t improved is the rattling and rumbling of a rickety sea plane. All ten of us are crammed in here like sardines, along with the pilot and a few camera operators in the back. A couple of the girls gasp and cling to each other, probably hoping it’ll get them more screen time. Me? I just hope I don’t puke.

  I focus my gaze out the window, watching the water draw closer and closer. Finally, we touch down with a small series of thumps and rattles, gliding forward as we bob on the surface until the plane slows down.

  There’s a lot of squealing as we land, and it makes me feel a little better that it doesn’t all sound fake. Something metal clanks in the back of the plane, hopefully nothing essential. My panic recedes as the scared little monkey part of my brain realizes we’re out of the sky and not breaking the laws of nature anymore.

  You’d think I’d be used to flying. Our plane was a lot smaller, but I was in it more than I’d liked. Trips by plane are pretty much essential when you’re this isolated. Fuel and maintenance aren’t cheap though, and most of the time it wasn’t hard to convince Mom to let me to stay home.

  Mom on the other hand, she’d love this. Flying was one of the few things I remember her genuinely enjoying about living out here. She used to try and take me up with her when I was little, but by the time I knew enough to miss her attention, she’d stopped asking.

  After she married Hunter’s dad, there was always room in the budget, and she took advantage of it. I don’t know what she was running from when she went out, but I looked forward to those days as much as she did. She loved to get away, and I loved that she never drank when she was going to fly.

  The plane slows to a putter, the propellers pulling us forward towards our destination as the surf slows us to a crawl. Up front, the pilot’s humming something. The soft, smooth melody sounds at odds with what little I’ve heard of his voice. One last rev of the engines, and we glide to a stop next to a small floating dock.

  The pilot stands up. He’s three days short of a shave, three years short of his last haircut, and probably three hours short of a much needed nicotine fix by the way he’s fingering the box shape in his shirt pocket. He’s tall though, and his frame confidently fills the front of the small plane in a way I don’t expect.

  Megan, the girl sitting next to me, leans over and whispers, “I hope the creepy pilot and the beat up plane is all for the show. We’re supposed to be living on a resort, but so far this feels more like the setup to Bachelorette: Survivor.”

  We giggle, and the pilot scowls, huge bushy eyebrows narrowing over the rims of his dark, aviator glasses.

  I know how these shows go. By week two we’ll be at each other’s throats, but right now we’re just ten women trapped together in a very strange situation. Megan seems nice. She’s young and so delicate she looks like the wind could blow her away. I can see why she might be a little worried about roughing it.

  Hers isn’t the only nervous face I see. None of us really know what’s going to happen. My motivation might not be exactly the same as theirs, but I’m going to have to play by the same rules if I want to stay in the game, and I’m just as anxious about what they have planned for us.

  The pilot pops open the door, and a couple of the assistants hop out to secure the plane and get ready to film our first steps onto shore.

  We all stand up at once, with the Barbie brigade—as I’ve started thinking of them—pushing their way to the front. Elena’s in the lead. She’s tall, blonde, and doing her best to convince the other women she’s in charge. It’s hard to tell how much it’s working, or if nobody cares enough yet to put her in her place.

  The pilot furrows his brows at them and bellows, “Hold your horses, ladies!”

  We all fall into line, more or less. Most file out like normal human beings, but some of the girls really ham it up, wobbling down the metal stairs like astronauts stepping out onto the moon for the first time. A small step for woman, a giant ass wiggle for the camera.

  I roll my eyes as the girl ahead of me stumbles onto the floating dock, grabbing a nearby camera guy and clinging to his arm like he’s a hero.

  “What the fuck?” the pilot exclaims.

  Hand on the door frame, I look up at him in surprise. He’s staring at me like I’m a ghost. Hidden behind his dark glasses, his eyes are unreadable, but his mouth is open in surprise and his intensity makes me nervous. He gathers himself, shaking his head with a strange half-smile.

  “What? Is there something on my face?” That’s all I need. I’m sure the more ridiculous I look, the more likely it’ll be to end up on camera.

  He straightens, wiping any expression off his face. “No, little lady. Nothing at all.” His voice is even deeper and more gravelly than before, if that’s possible.

  I step out onto the wobbly dock—more of a raft really—and get my first look around. The warmth of the sun seeps into my pores, and the breeze caresses my skin. The azure sea surrounds us on all sides, framing chalk white beaches. Pale blue sky as far as the eye can see stretches over lush green jungle.

  I’m home.

  But not quite. I was a little too busy clutching at my seat on the way down to notice, but there’s no way this is Frederick Island. I should know. I’ve explored every square inch of it. Nobody’s said anything yet, and since I’m not supposed to be me, I can’t exactly ask. So where the hell are we?

  I leap down to the beach, timing it with the water coming out, so I don’t have to get my sandals wet. Megan comes down after me, and I reach out a hand to help her as she loses her footing on the slick dock and lands unsteadily. Her long brown hair swings into her face, and she stumbles against me with a nervous laugh.

  “Thanks.” She grins. “I bet they’d love to film me falling in.”

  I smile back. “Yeah, I’m hoping to go at least a day before I end up on the blooper reel. You okay?”

  She nods and straightens out, kicking a little sand out of her sensible flats.

  The Barbie brigade clumps like a gaggle of geese. They all
have that “put together” look that I’ve never been able to duplicate, even when I’ve tried. Most are struggling to keep their skinny heels out of the sand.

  Bianca, an exotic beauty with long black hair, olive skin and wide, almond-shaped eyes pulls away from the fledgling clique. She flips a lock of perfect hair over her shoulder and kicks off her shoes. Pretty, but practical. I might need to watch out for her.

  Amanda, cute, curvy and chatty, wanders over to me and Megan. She sat in front of us the whole trip, talking up a storm in spite of her seat mate’s complete lack of interest. She seems nice, if a bit oblivious.

  “I am so glad to be off that plane! Good lord! I swear I’ve been traveling for days.” Her honey blonde curls frame a heart shaped face.

  The rest I don’t remember the names of yet. They’ve come in all shapes, colors and sizes, but they’re all pretty, and all here to win. Knowing that I’m the “normal” one who cheated her way in makes me a little self-conscious. I’m not an ugly duckling, but there’s no way I’d have been picked without stacking the deck in my favor. I’ll have my work cut out for me to stay in the running.

  Until I find what I’m looking for, I can’t afford to lose. They can all have Hunter as far as I’m concerned. I couldn’t care less if he picks me, but I need him to keep me around until I find what I need.

  I plaster a smile on my face and get friendly with my two new temporary best friends.

  It’s time to play the game.

  Hunter

  It’s Liz.

  The hair’s wrong, and the eyes are wrong, but... it’s her.

  What the hell is she doing here?

  I’m supposed to go down to the beach and act like a buffoon to get reaction shots from the girls, but instead, I’m glued to the cockpit, staring out the window at a ghost from my past.

  Did she seriously not recognize me? I almost blew my cover when she was leaving the plane. She looked straight at me. Even with the crap on my face and the fake beard, I was sure she’d see right through it. If she did, she didn’t let on, and I know from experience she’s not that good a poker player.