Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Epilogue
Brothers Next Door
A Menage Romance
Samantha Twinn
© 2017 Samantha Twinn
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Cover Art – www.vivianmonirdesign.com
Contents
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I. Brothers Next Door
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
29. Epilogue
II. Her Billionaire Bosses
30. Rose
31. Leo
32. Asher
33. Rose
34. Asher
35. Leo
36. Rose
37. Leo
38. Rose
39. Asher
40. Leo
41. Rose
42. Asher
43. Leo
44. Rose
45. Leo
46. Asher
47. Rose
48. Leo
49. Rose
50. Asher
51. Leo
52. Rose
53. Leo
54. Rose
Epilogue
Thank You For Reading
Also By Samantha Twinn
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If you like sexy heroes who know how to treat a woman and love to share, then Samantha Twinn's ménage romances will be perfect for you.
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***
I
Brothers Next Door
Chapter One
BRENNA
Most people measure their life by milestones. Your first kiss. Getting your driver's license. Going to college. Your wedding day. The birth of a child.
But I measure my life by tragedy.
And like so many other tragic events that I’ve been faced with over the last twenty-six years, this one changes everything.
“I don’t understand. I haven’t spoken to my mother in over eight years. Why would she pick me to be Landon’s guardian? Isn’t there someone else? Someone he actually knows?” I ask, feeling a little light headed. My half-brother Landon was only four when I left home. The twelve-year-old boy sitting out in the waiting room is a stranger. But now he’s my responsibility.
I think I’m going to vomit.
“Brenna, there really is no one else. You’re his only living relative. You would have been considered even if your mother hadn’t specified a guardian,” the lawyer sets down the will and softens her tone. “I understand this is quite a shock for you. Your mother was young, and I’m sure she never expected this to happen, but your father—”
“Step-father,” I correct.
With a sigh, the lawyer nods. “Indeed. Your step-father planned well. There’s a generous trust to care for Landon. That is in addition to your own inheritance. You both will be well taken care of.”
The lawyer begins to go over the specifics, but I tune out the legalese and try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do now. I never wanted Jon’s money. I didn’t want the lifestyle my mother married into after dad died. I’ve worked hard for everything I have. I’m proud of the life I’ve built. But now I have to change everything.
I don’t have a choice. I have to think of Landon.
I’ve been in his position. I know what it’s like to lose both your parents. I wasn’t much older than him when my father died. And mom? Well, she might not have died, but she did leave me for a new family. I was just as alone as he is now.
So it doesn’t matter that I never wanted this life. Landon needs me, and I’m not about to let him down.
After signing a million documents, Landon and I get into the chauffeured town car and ride back to the luxury apartment I ran away from a lifetime ago.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I assure him. “We’ll just take this one day at a time. No big changes.” It’s what I wanted to hear after my father died, but he seems less than impressed.
“Whatever,” he says and puts in his headphones.
Frustrated, I turn away and watch the buildings fly by. I can’t really blame him for the attitude. We may be siblings, but we don’t know each other. He was so young when I left home and eight years is a long time. We’re both different people. But I know, somehow we’re going to make this work.
After one of the most uncomfortably silent car rides in my entire life, the driver drops us off at the front of the massive glass and mirror building that’s now my home. I feel off center, staring up at the building.
“If you need anything, ma’am, just call the service. A driver will be here in less than fifteen minutes.”
I thank the man in the black and white suit, another generic face that’s shuttled me around for the last few weeks. This is probably the last time I’ll see him. I won’t call the service again unless I’m desperate. As nice as it has been to have someone deal with the driving, I hate being dependent on someone else.
I need my car. I need to be able to handle things without throwing money at it. So on our way in, I stop by the security desk and check on the status of my parking pass.
“Give it a couple of days,” the security guard says, dismissively
“It’s been two weeks. I want to park my car.”
“I understand, but management needs the paperwork from your lawyer transferring ownership,” he says and shrugs as if that absolves him from the fact that I had to put my car in a long-term pay lot four b
locks away.
“The lawyer faxed over that information today. Can I have a parking pass now?”
“That’s above my paygrade, ma’am.”
I swear, if one more person calls me ma’am, I’m going to lose it. I need a glass of wine and a hot bubble bath; both of which I can get upstairs. At least living in a luxury penthouse has some advantages.
“Whatever,” I say, channeling Landon’s aloof attitude and turn away. Just in time to see my brother get on the elevator.
“God damn it, Landon,” I hiss under my breath and run across the lobby. The doors close and that smug jerk smiles for the first time since I’ve arrived. Great. This whole guardian business is already going swimmingly.
The security in this building for the ultra-rich was designed to keep the riff-raff at bay. Besides a pass to get into the monitored underground parking, you also need a security fob to get into the elevators. And I have a bad feeling that I left mine on the table upstairs.
I rummage through my purse, hoping I actually grabbed the small device before leaving. I check every pocket, but still can’t find it. My stomach turns at the thought of going back to the security desk and asking that asshole rent-a-cop to buzz me up.
I hate this.
I hate that my mother had an affair with my father’s neurologist while he lay dying of brain cancer. I hate that she moved me out of our small, cozy house in the suburb to live with her new husband in the cold high rise. I hate that my mother chose this life over the one she built with me and my dad.
And I fucking hate that he died and left me all alone.
I kick the elevator door. The hard metal doesn’t give, but it did make me feel a little better. So I do it again, this time throwing in a fist for good measure.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until the elevator doors open. Hurriedly, I step back away from the door I’d been abusing and wipe at the tears, making a mess of my eye makeup. Fuck. So much for being the adult. I don’t know how I’m going to win Landon’s respect when I lose my shit over missing the elevator.
I don’t look up as the passengers step out. I don’t need to see their judgmental looks. I have to pull it together before going upstairs. Deep breaths. If I could leave at eighteen and start my own business, I can do this.
“Are you okay?” a deep masculine voice asks.
I look up, and then up some more, into clear grey-blue eyes the color of slate. I’m struck speechless. I must look lost—or stupid—because those beautiful eyes crease with worry.
“Do you need help? I can get security,” he says, gently touching my shoulder.
The shock of his hand on my body pulls me out of my stupor. “No, Please don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I just left my key upstairs.”
My assurance doesn’t put him at ease. He pulls out his phone. “Are you sure there’s not someone I can call for you?”
“There’s no one to call,” I say and bite back an insane giggle at the irony of those words. There really is no one left to call. I’m alone. I sober at the thought and pull my purse onto my shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It’s been a long day, and I just need some sleep.”
“Dean, the car’s here,” a voice from behind us calls out.
“Give me a sec,” he yells to his companion. He turns back to me, concern still painted across his face and pulls out a card. “If you need anything, please give me a call.”
“Flirt on our own time,” the guy behind me yells. “Our meeting is at eight. We have to leave now, or skip dinner.”
I glance over my shoulder and see the back of his friend’s head as he disappears out the front door. “You should go. And I need to get upstairs,” I say and try to step around him without taking the card. But he’s persistent.
“Please, take it. Just in case,” he says, slipping it into my hand. “I’ll feel better knowing you have someone to call if you need help.”
I sigh and take the card. “Thank you,” I say and step into the elevator. I push eleven and wait for the doors close. After I’m alone, I look down at the name.
Dean Preston. Senior Legal Counsel. Hart Properties.
I wrinkle my nose. That name. Something in the dark recesses of my brain pulls at my consciousness. Dean. Could he be someone from my past? Or maybe it’s seeing the name Hart on the card that’s dredging up things I’d rather forget.
Maybe once I got my shit together, I’ll gather up the nerve to hit twelve on the elevator and find out what happened to the only man I ever loved.
Tyler Hart.
Maybe another day. Right now, I can’t focus on the past. I have to figure out what I’m going to do with my brother. And my business. And my apartment upstate.
Basically, my entire life.
Chapter Two
TYLER
I head to the car, leaving Dean behind. We are running late already, but I know there’s not much use trying to hurry him along.
“Good evening, Mr. Hart. Will Mr. Preston be joining you tonight?” our driver asks.
“Yes, Richard, he was right behind me, but there was a girl crying in the lobby,” I say with a sigh. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
I’ll never understand my brother’s attraction to every girl with a hard luck story he meets. Knowing him, we’re not going to make dinner. We’ll be lucky to make our client meeting.
One of these days, he’s going to meet some girl with sad eyes that cons him into believing they’re soulmates or some shit, and then he’s going to get his heart broken. Been there, done that. Only, I don’t think Dean will recover like I did.
I grab my tablet and check my email, trying not to be pissed off at him. He can’t help it. His mother is a bleeding heart. She got him hooked at an early age. And even today, she always drags him to charity events and fundraisers. At least I can get away with just writing a check. My step-mom says I’m broody and I drive away the donors. Not that I’m complaining.
I pour myself another drink and pull up the proposed rezoning for our newest real estate acquisition. I’m just getting comfortable when Dean opens the door.
“That was fast,” I say, putting down my tablet. “It must not have been a serious problem. Did she just need money?”
Dean’s brows furrow and he slides in next to me. “I have no idea what’s wrong with her. She didn’t want my help,” he says, sounding a bit perplexed. “She said she was on her way upstairs.”
I raise a brow, a bit surprised myself. It isn’t often someone turns down Dean's help. At least, not since the paper ran that article on us last spring.
Billionaire Property Brothers with Hearts of Gold.
We stumbled into the public spotlight after we renovated the children’s home. It had been Dean’s idea. A way for us to give back to our community. But ever since then, we’ve been bombarded with requests. Most of which I turn down without an issue. But when a pretty girl shows up at our office with tears and a sad story, Dean usually finds a way to help. This is the first one that showed up at our apartment.
“If she didn’t want your help, why was she standing in our lobby crying?” I ask. “Did she tell you her name?”
“She didn’t tell me her name. But she said she was on her way home.”
“Home my ass. I’ve never seen her before, and she doesn’t look like someone who can afford a million and a quarter apartment. I’ll talk to security tomorrow,” I say. “I understand you like to help, but we can’t have these people showing up at our home, too.”
Dean pours himself a drink and settles in for the ride across town. “I don’t think she was looking for us. She was just…” He looks down into the amber liquid and shrugs. “I don’t know, sad? Maybe she’s the Hamilton’s daughter. Didn’t Landon say his sister was moving in?”
Brenna.
I haven’t thought about her in years. At least, not by name. The unwanted image of sunny blonde hair and round freckled face pops into my brain. She was sweet and gentle. And sad. That’s really the only thing the woman in t
he lobby had in common with the shy teenager I knew from years ago.
Unlike Brenna, the woman in the lobby had long, coal black hair streaked with purple that cascaded down her back and it was hard to not to notice the full sleeve tattoo down her left arm. They are about the same height, but the woman in the lobby is rail thin—so unlike Brenna’s luscious curves.
“No, that wasn’t Brenna,” I say with certainty. “It’s probably 7D’s latest hook-up. He likes them on the edgy side.”
“I don’t think so,” Dean says with a shake of his head. “She’s a lot younger than the women Marco usually goes for. I’ll bet a bottle of my best seventy-five-year-old single barrel that she’s Landon’s older sister.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I say, reaching over to shake on it. “And I’m looking forward to drinking your prized scotch.”
“And what makes you so sure that it isn’t Brenna? You didn’t even glance at her when we got off the elevator,” he says and finishes off his drink.
“You forget, I actually know Brenna.”
Brothers Next Door: A MFM Menage Romance Page 1