by Lindsey Hart
My Ex’s Little Sister
Alphalicious Billionaires
Lindsey Hart
CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
BOOK DESCRIPTION
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
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
READ THE REST OF THE SERIES
ALSO BY LINDSEY HART
COPYRIGHT
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email without permission in writing from the publisher. While all attempts and efforts have been made to verify the information held within this publication, neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for errors, omissions, or opposing interpretations of the content herein. The book is for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed are those of the author alone and should not be taken as expert instruction or commands.
Copyright © Passion House Publishing Ltd 2020
All rights reserved.
Graphics used inside the book are from pngtree and pixabay. Cover made by Cosmic Letterz.
You can contact the team at [email protected].
BOOK DESCRIPTION
She is the total opposite of what I like in my woman.
Tall, blonde, chic, soft-spoken...
She was nothing like that.
Instead, Bella was the black sheep of the family,
And I met her for the first time when I dumped her sister at the altar…
Which speaks volumes about our relationship right?
Wrong!
She is the one who kind of kidnapped me from my own wedding… in her neon green car.
Yeps, you read that damn right!
And you know what more she is … the foul-mouthed dark-haired little sister of my now ex-fiancée.
And I think I’m obsessed with her.
Especially after tasting the forbidden fruit that she is.
If anyone finds out, we are so dead.
But I can’t stop…
CHAPTER 1
Rhett
No one ever got rich and famous with the name, Rhett Dyck.
It was the one and only, the very same name that kids bugged him unmercifully about in high school. Wet Dyck. That’s what they used to call him. Wet Dyck this and Wet Dyck that. When are you going to get your dick wet, Wet Dyck?
Rhett never wanted to be famous. He never really wanted to be rich either. It was never on his to-do list as a young person- go to college and get a degree in Computer Science that was it. The part about making a truck ton of money selling computer software… that came as a bonus.
The kind that came unexpectedly at the incredibly young age of twenty-four. By the time he was twenty-five, he’d changed his name to Rhett Smith, because it was safe and easy and boring and so damn plain it nearly gave his mother an aneurysm when he told her what he’d done. As a single mother who raised him alone after his shit for brains father went to jail and never decided to send so much as a birthday card in all of his life, which really was all of Rhett’s life since his old man got put away just after he was born, his mother was incredibly offended that her family name wasn’t good enough for him.
He’d spent years trying to make her understand. She still didn’t.
Kind of like she’d never understood what he saw in Sarah Berns. She was the kind of woman people liked to deem a trophy wife. Virtually unskilled though she had a degree. She hadn’t worked since she moved in with him and he footed the bill for a comfortable life. She was blonde and beautiful and that was why the twenty-five-year-old version of himself fell in love with her. It was why the thirty-two-year-old version proposed marriage when she threatened to leave him. It was why she moved in, why he paid for expensive clothes and spa visits. He didn’t want to lose her. Losing her would have meant the end of the world.
He always thought so, anyway.
But he never expected what would happen next when he walked by the room in the church where his bride-to-be was getting dressed. He intended to give her yet another expensive gift, a necklace that set him back eight thousand, but which was really just a drop in the bucket since he wanted to spoil the woman he loved. At least, he had intended to spoil her until he heard her telling her best friend that she was just marrying him for the money, that she didn’t love him, that he had a small dick and couldn’t fuck worth shit, nothing like Bob.
Bob, of all names!
He’d turned right back around and walked his ass back through the hallway he’d just taken.
Rhett took a hard left at the end of the hall. He was somewhere lost in the church’s basement, which scared the hell out of him, considering it was one of those huge old monoliths, over a hundred years old. The darkness and dank smell of dust and a century of religious creepiness assaulted him. He bent over at the waist, gasping for breath. His chest squeezed hard like he’d just been kicked by a freaking damn horse. A horse named Sarah Berns.
The image of his fiancée fucking a guy named Bob behind his back was too much. Bob. Such a fucking regular name. She didn’t even have the balls to fuck someone exotic sounding like Pierre or Alexandro. No, it had to be fucking, Bob. Which was probably short for Robert, which sounded like an eighty-year-old fucking man.
So, Rhett’s sex life with Sarah wasn’t that exciting- it was ordinary at best. They’d been together for seven freaking years. Who had stellar sex after seven years?
He’d made up for it in the way he could. Given Sarah everything she fucking wanted. Always.
His throat closed up. Something acrid and bitter burned at the back and he didn’t realize until it was too late that he was going to puke. He could thank the image of Sarah, spread eagle on their bed, Bob’s eighty-year-old shriveled sack and white pubes in the background.
He heaved until his stomach freaking hurt. It was all twisted up wrong like it would never be right again. His mouth tasted absolutely putrid no matter how many times he spat. He hadn’t eaten much this morning. Had been way too nervous. He’d had a shot of whiskey for courage, okay, maybe closer to three since he’d drank it straight from the bottle in the limo on the way to church. And now, it burned far worse coming up.
Somewhere above him, the monolith of an organ began to play. Who the hell got married in a church anymore? He felt like some unwanted monster, twisted and deformed, hiding out in the underbelly of society while the world went on around him, too ugly to ever be a real part of society.
Very poetic.
And here he thought his mother was the literary lover. She was a librarian after all.
He was still bent at the waist, heaving, tears streaming down his face at the force of just heaving up a little whiskey and a hell of a lot of spittle when a light hand hit the small of his back.
Rhett felt the heat of it even through his tux jacket and
the too stiff dress shirt. Fuck. The thing cost two grand. What the fuck was he supposed to do with it? Burn it? He’d actually pay another two for the pleasure. His mind swiveled from thoughts of vows and a honeymoon to Jamaica and traveled in the direction of gas cans and bonfires. He wondered where the nearest station was.
“Hey… uh- are you okay?”
Rhett let out a sharp exhale. Female. The hand was female. The voice was high and feminine, beautiful and light. Not Sarah’s duskier, sex laden voice. Was it fake? Her voice? Had all of it been fake?
He straightened and whirled around to find a dark-haired woman standing behind him. She backed up, dark eyes wide, but dug in her clutch and handed him a tissue. He took it, hand shaking. Damn it to hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually cried, but he felt a little like breaking down at the small act of kindness. Pathetic. Maybe the small dick comment was metaphorical. She’d actually said that. Right to her bridesmaids.
“I- I take it by the puke show it’s not just nerves. I saw you in the hall ahead of me. I know you overheard what my sister was saying.”
“Sister?” he choked.
Right. Sarah had two sisters. A blonde one, Stephanie, who was just as perfect and manicured as Sarah. She was married to a lawyer. She and Sarah were close. It figured since they liked living the same kind of trophy style life.
Rhett pushed the uncharitable thoughts aside. He’d never viewed Sarah like that before. Or Steph. It was easier to be a prick when he just found out, thankfully before he’d married her, that his fiancée was pooching a man named fucking Bob and thought that he, Rhett, her damn fiancé, the man she actually lived with and was supposed to swear fidelity to in her wedding vows, had a small penis.
Sarah also had another sister. The black sheep sister.
Bella.
The one her parents didn’t like to talk about. The one who embarrassed the family because she liked to wear black lipstick and had too many tattoos.
Sarah’s words. Sarah’s mother’s words. On occasion, Steph’s words. Not his.
“Yeah. I was walking down to get her, seeing as I’m too much of a disgrace to actually be in the bridal party- and- uh- well I saw you walking ahead of me. I kind of hung back because I thought you were coming to say something sappy or whatever through the door like some grooms do, so you wouldn’t spoil the surprise of seeing Sarah in her wedding dress and I heard what she said. I know you heard it too. I saw you stop, like someone just shit kicked you right in the nuts.”
“Shit kicked,” he mumbled. “That’s about right.”
The music overhead picked up in intensity, and he knew he was probably missing his cue. Everyone was likely getting restless, wondering where the hell he was. His mother was likely having a heart attack up there. Or maybe she was relieved, thinking he’d ditched on his own wedding. She never liked Sarah and now he knew why.
His mother called her pretentious and fake. He thought she was being old fashioned. She said any woman who wanted a pair of fake tits wouldn’t make a good wife. He thought that was extremely old thinking and even sexist. Fake tits didn’t determine a person’s character. There were many women with fake breasts who were smart, funny, kind people.
Sarah apparently just wasn’t one of them.
And she didn’t even have the D’s she wanted, because he’d refused.
Maybe he was old fashioned too, but he liked Sarah the way she was.
He’d put her off whenever she asked. She was fucking thirty-one for god sakes. The amount of plastic surgery she’d asked about was astounding. Maybe it should have been a red flag. The lips, the imaginary wrinkles, the tummy tuck when she was a damn size two… he’d talked her out of all of it, but god…
Bella stood there awkwardly. She clasped her lithe hands in front of her. Her arms were both tattooed, dark ink snaking down her pale skin. Her hands were tattooed. Her fingers were even tattooed with letters he couldn’t read but could just glimpse. Her nails were painted black. However, she seemed to have foregone the garish black lipstick. Her face was actually devoid of any makeup at all. Her features were beautiful, real and natural.
Her skin was flawless, if a little pale, but that could have been the shadows or her long ebony hair that did it. She had all of Sarah’s beauty, but somehow it was different, magnified. Her eyes were dark, her brows darker and thinner than was currently fashionable. She didn’t bother filling them in. Her nose was dainty, her cheekbones high and pronounced. She had that gentle heart-shaped jaw the rest of her sisters were blessed with, but her lips were fuller, pinker. Her eyes were her best feature. Dark pools with the thickest, darkest lashes.
“Ummm, are you going to say something or just stare at me? I know it’s a fucking shock…” Bella trailed off. She couldn’t contain a snort a second later. “No, it’s fucking not. It can’t be a shock to you.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Please tell me you knew what you were marrying. Even mom and dad said earlier, at the house where everyone was getting dressed, that you just wanted a trophy wife, you didn’t actually expect Sarah to love you.” She paused and it was awkward as hell. “Oh, batty fucking shit. You actually thought she did.”
CHAPTER 2
Rhett
Rhett swallowed hard. Damn it. Was he the only idiot on the planet? How could he have been the only one who didn’t know? That damn literary dagger that he’d read about in his mom’s cheesy romance books that she hid under her bed and would have died of shame if anyone knew she read, stabbed him straight in the heart.
His stomach lurched and he barely had time to bend again before he heaved. There was nothing left to come up so instead, all he did was cough and gag and retch horribly and embarrassingly. Lines of spittle strained from his lips, dripping downwards, towards the floor.
“Jesus…” Bella said, and not in the pious, church suitable, religious sort of way. This time her hand was more than just a whisper on his back. She set one right above the small of his back and one on his shoulder. She traced a gentle circle there, awkwardly and oddly adept, trying to comfort him. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Stop puking. Just try and breathe. I have some more tissues in my purse. There’s probably a bathroom around here where I can get you some water. Just… do you want to sit down? You’re shaking. Uh- come here. Let’s just go over here and try and breathe, okay?” Bella rambled on, clearly at a loss. “Well- don’t feel bad. She’s a good actress. She was always in plays at school. Probably just because she wanted all the attention, but she was good at it too, pretending to be something else. Getting her way has been in her nature since she was a kid. Don’t beat yourself up about it. There’s worse- uh- well- it’s just good that you didn’t marry her. You can still get away clean… fuck- I’m sorry. This isn’t making anything better.”
It was obvious that comforting her sister’s fiancé- no, ex-fiancé, on his wedding day right before he was about to be married, hadn’t been on her agenda for the morning.
“Fuck…” Rhett spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was probably going to hell for desecrating the church so disgustingly. Not that he wanted to. It was either puke or die of humiliation though. It could be coming. The swift death from mortification. He wasn’t sure he could entirely term in a broken heart. Damn it. Did he ever even love Sarah, the woman he was about to make his wife? Truly love her?
Bella’s surprisingly strong arms guided him a little further down the hall. “Come on. We’ll find somewhere to sit down.” Though she was a good half a foot shorter than his six three-inch height, he leaned heavily on her. Freaking stars danced in front of his vision. They mingled with black spots and he realized he wasn’t breathing. He took a large exhale, filling his fiery lungs, and the spots cleared up.
A few steps later, Bella pushed open a door on the left that Rhett didn’t even see. The room was dusty and smelled dank and old. It was empty, but Bella guided him inside and shut the door behind them. She let him slide down to the floor as his legs gave out. He dropped his he
ad into his hands, mostly because he couldn’t bear to look at Bella and see the pity written all over her face.
Pity for him.
Because he was such a straight-up dumb ass.
Wet Dyck. Yup, they’d been right all along.
“Hey.” Bella’s gentle hands massaged his shoulders.
She crouched in front of him, so close he could smell her. She smelled good. Not like perfume, since she obviously wasn’t wearing any. Not even like hair spray or any kind of product. Just… just good. Sweet. Maybe lingering body wash or shampoo. Or maybe that scent was just her.
Rhett scrubbed his hands viciously over his face as he lifted his head and looked at Sarah’s sister. It wasn’t pity burning in her eyes. It was… something softer. More like compassion. She smiled softly and damn, his stomach tightened.
It wasn’t the only thing that tightened, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to think about that. It wasn’t just inappropriate to pop a hard-on for his ex-fiancée’s sister right after he’d puked twice in front of her. It was horrible on a whole different level. Freaking parallel universe level.
“That’s it.” Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. “Just keep breathing. You’ll get through this. Honestly…” she lowered her voice. “I’d be thankful. I know it’s shitty timing and all, but hell- I wouldn’t have been happy to marry her. Steph and Sarah- they were always so mean to me. I was the youngest and they picked on me all the time. You should have seen the things they did. They knew I wasn’t like them. They were naturally blonde, and I had this crazy raven black hair. They liked girly stuff and I liked football and toy cars. They were into boys and I was into- uh- I don’t know. Music. Concerts. My parents didn’t even get it. My point is, Sarah isn’t any kind of prize. I don’t even know you. I’ve never met you once or your family. I don’t know the first thing about you but I can tell by your reaction that you’re a nice guy. Too nice for her. Sarah always wanted an easy ride, not anything real that she had to work at. I’m not saying that deep down she doesn’t have a heart she somehow misplaced but- uh- yeah. That’s what I’m saying.” Bella blinked hard. “Seriously, you dodged a bullet, if you want to use cheesy metaphors.”