Forbidden: Her British Stepbrother

by Smith, Lauren

  Those images his words created, his body on top of hers, his weight trapping her while he owned her in every way…why did it sound so wonderful and frightening all at the same time?

  Kat’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. He seemed like a man who, up to now, had gotten everything he ever wanted. She didn’t want to be another thing he got simply because he wanted it. She was a woman worth fighting for, and Kat wanted him to earn her. Her father used to say, “A good man will climb to the highest branch for the ripest apple, rather than pluck the low-hanging fruit.” She deserved a man who was willing to work for her.

  “But not tonight,” she replied softly, almost teasing. Her heart pounded at a wild pace and her hands shook as she clenched them together.

  As though it were the most natural thing in the world, he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her in to his body. Her hands came up on instinct, settling on his chest, but she didn’t push him away.

  “Not tonight,” he agreed. “But that one kiss at the Pickerel? It was only the beginning.” His arm around her waist tightened.

  His words, so determined and confident, made her shiver. There was no denying his confidence was appealing, but this was her sex life they were talking about. She had never been the type of girl to just give in to a guy, so why was saying yes so tempting?

  I need to put some space between us. When he’s too close I can’t think.

  She pressed her hands against his chest and, after a long moment, Tristan released her. Kat took a few steps back, heart hammering. He didn’t come after her, but instead studied her room again, his eyes fixing on the bookshelf near her door. Kat watched him as he approached the books and studied the titles.

  “Jules Verne? Are you a fan of his?” He used one long index finger to tug a book out of her shelf. It was a well-worn paperback version of The Mysterious Island . One of her favorites.

  Her nervousness was momentarily forgotten. Talking about books was safe. A lot safer than talking about kisses and where they might lead. “My father read them to me when I was a kid. Verne, Burroughs. They’re like my comfort food. I read them over and over.”

  “Which do you like best?” He nodded at her shelf. She couldn’t help but smile as she walked over to him and took the book from his hands, flipping through the pages before meeting his gaze again.

  “This one is by far my favorite,” she said, indicating the book she now held. Even though she’d put space between them a moment ago, she felt safe now, standing here, talking about books. It helped her think clearly, past the hazy desire that filled her whenever he was too close.

  Tristan watched her, his captivating eyes darkening with emotions she couldn’t quite understand.

  “A woman who appreciates classic literature that isn’t Austen, Hardy, or one of the other stereotypes of the classic literature world. What a rare find you are. Do you know most women your age haven’t even read a book in years? It’s all magazines and online gossip sites. Bloody empty-headed creatures, the lot of them.” There was something about his words, the way he spoke…it was as though he were frustrated and annoyed.

  Kat wondered if Tristan had tried to talk to other women he’d slept with and found them lacking. The idea that she might be different from those women…hope stirred inside her.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I like Austen and Hardy, but an author’s works should move you. I don’t want to claim an author is a favorite just because they’re considered a classic. Verne’s diction, his imagination, his characters—they leap off the page and sweep me away.” As she spoke, she gazed fondly at the titles lining the bookshelf. So many wonderful memories, so many stories. All with the power to make her forget the pain she’d had in life, the way her mother had abandoned her, the way her father buried himself in his job. With books, she’d found the solace she needed. The stories didn’t change, the characters didn’t leave, and she didn’t have to leave them behind when she moved. Not like her real life.

  But I’m done hiding. Cambridge is home for three years. I can take a risk now.

  It was a lot easier to go out and try new things if people like Mark and Lacy were there with her as a safety net. Lacy had taken her clubbing the first night they’d met. Kat had hated the whole experience, but she’d been glad she’d had Lacy to go and try it out with. And Mark had talked her into learning how to punt on the River Cam even though she was convinced she’d never be able to stay on the boat while standing, let alone steer it. But she had, because he’d been there to help her.

  It was definitely time to try any- and everything because she had the chance to.

  “And you want to be swept away?” Tristan moved, reaching up to trap her between himself and the wall.

  Her body jolted at the sudden vulnerable position, every muscle twitching as though she were a live wire. How could he do that to her? Make her body act so crazy with just the simple act of caging her in? His eyes searched hers, his face completely focused on her as he seemed to be waiting for an answer, and she struggled to remember his question.

  “Sometimes I do,” she admitted, her gaze landing on his lips. They were such soft, kissable lips, but the rest of him was lean, strong, hard . She couldn’t forget the way it felt to be pressed up against him, his body dominating hers as he kissed her senseless.

  He made a low, throaty sound, almost between a hum and a growl as he leaned down, ever so slowly, and touched his lips to hers.

  There was ample time to push him away, but the memory of that first kiss…it was seared into her. Kat had to know if Tristan could make her feel like that again.

  It’s not seduction, it’s just another little harmless kiss…

  The soft brush of their mouths was gentle, but heat began to build. The way he licked at her lips, entreating her to open her mouth, was erotic, dangerous. There was nothing sweet about it.

  Could a man’s kiss feel hotter than sex?

  She’d never had sex before, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it felt like this with everyone or if it was just Tristan—the all-consuming hunger and the languorous feel of her body as she arched her back, pressing closer to him.

  One of his hands gripped the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss. The feel of his tongue playing with hers as his hips rocked forward, pinning her against the wall, sent them both climbing toward something powerful together but he was in charge and she liked it, oh how she liked it. Everything he did was overpowering, and he worshipped her with his mouth until she was ready to come undone.

  There was no ignoring the impressive bulge of his arousal when it pressed into her stomach through her jeans.

  A gasp escaped her, but he swallowed her sounds of shock and pleasure. He cupped her ass, lifted her up, and held her trapped between the wall and his body.

  “Tristan!” she breathed between his heady kisses. It stunned her that he could hold her up, one-handed, their bodies as close as two people could get with their clothes on.

  “You are…quite the most—” he panted against her mouth, “exquisite creature. All honey and fire…” He stole another deep, lingering kiss. The kind that made her body flush and a quiver of longing fly through her like quicksilver. She didn’t want it to ever end, this feeling of rushing wildly toward something immense and wondrous, just within reach—

  Tristan let her feet drop to the floor but didn’t put any distance between them as he continued to trail kisses from her mouth down to her throat, nipping and sucking at newly sensitive spots that made her whimper. He continued to encroach upon her space, his muscular build and height making her feel small and vulnerable as he kept her caged in his arms.

  Kat never had wanted to feel small or vulnerable before but, in that moment with Tristan, it was wonderful. She was a woman, utterly feminine, full of new passion and desire, not a girl with no sexual experience. His kisses had changed her. Hating to admit it, she knew he was right. Whatever this was between them, it was explosive.

  He caressed the back of his knuckles a
cross her cheek before he stepped away.

  “I should go…Wouldn’t want to break my promise.”

  She bit her bottom lip, holding back the words that would make him stay. Kat wasn’t ready to take the next step, no matter how much her body screamed for her to keep him here.

  “Okay.” The word came out breathless and a little shaky. Her entire body was strung out on an edge, craving him, wanting more of what his kisses hinted was to come, but she wasn’t ready.

  “Happy birthday, darling. I’ll see you soon.” His eyes held a merry twinkle that softened his intensity, making him more playful.

  He slipped out the door, and she shut it behind him, then leaned against it, catching her breath.

  Raising a hand to her mouth, she explored her tender lips, swollen from his ravaging kisses.

  How strange and wondrous the night had turned out. She’d gotten her wish. Spending tonight with Tristan had been an adventure. Kissing him, the feeling of being in his arms, it wasn’t something she’d ever forget.

  He’d been so…dominant and assertive, and taken control, as though he’d known it was what she needed.

  I shouldn’t like that. I know I shouldn’t. But I do…

  Kat nibbled her lip in frustration. What was wrong with her? She’d never cared this much about any guy before, and had certainly never let one twist her into knots before, either. There was just something about him, and she couldn’t get him out of her mind.

  It wouldn’t be like this tomorrow, when she’d be busy cramming for final exams and shouldn’t be thinking about him. But tonight, she could close her eyes and still feel that devilish and delicious brush of Tristan Kingsley’s kiss upon her lips. Seductive, mysterious, and all too dangerous because of what his kiss promised.

  Chapter 5

  T ristan walked out of Magdalene College’s dorms and waved at the porter. Snow crunched beneath his boots, and he grinned at the flurry of memories from the evening. He’d gone to the pub to meet his favorite cousin, only to have the most tantalizing little creature just grab him and kiss him. Her bold, open responses had lit a fire inside him. He didn’t often pursue Americans for even one night of passion, but with Kat he wanted to make an exception. Risking his father’s wrath to taste her sweetness was an added incentive he couldn’t pass up.

  There was no way he’d let a woman like her vanish, not after the kiss they’d shared. There was something about her, the way her eyes had softened into a dreamy look just after he’d stopped kissing her, like a princess born in a garden who’d only ever seen the beauty of blooming flowers. It had been…fascinating, addictive to watch the passion darken her gray eyes to a rich silver.

  And it wasn’t just her body that intrigued him. This was a woman who talked of fractal snowflakes and kept old Victorian adventure novels as her closest friends. He had sensed how lonely she was when he’d glimpsed the inside of her dorm room. The walls had been covered with portraits of people long dead with no connection to her, beacons of history, but cold, empty companions. She’d only had a few photos of her and a man he guessed was her father, posing awkwardly before various venues. There hadn’t been the usual collage of pictures of smiling girls he’d expected to see. His little American was afraid to make friends, to get out and experience things.

  One night with me will change that.

  And he planned to have that night, show her how hot the fire between them could burn, soon.

  When he’d touched her books and asked about her taste in literature, the way her eyes had lit up! It had aroused him. A woman talking about books, of all things, had made him so bloody hard he’d been glad his coat had concealed his condition, at least until he’d pinned her to the wall for another kiss. There was something deeper though, that loneliness in her eyes had called to him, and he’d felt that answering echo from deep within. Despite his close relationship with his cousin Celia and his best friend Carter, he had little in the way of friends. His father had seen to it that his only connections had been other highborn children, and he hadn’t liked the company. They were all vain, arrogant, highbrows, just like his father.

  A charming innocence clung to her, and when he kissed her, everything inside him seemed to go still and explode at the same time. He wanted to know everything about her. What made her tick, what went on inside that head of hers, and then he wanted to get her beneath him on a bed and take her to places of pure pleasure she’d never dreamed she could go.

  The need to possess her in every way possible was so strong, his body vibrated with it. He was Tristan Kingsley, a man who could have any woman he desired for the night, according to Carter, but after meeting Kat, he was convinced that wasn’t true. She’d let him kiss her, but she hadn’t agreed to climb into his bed. She’d issued him a delightful challenge by not letting him stay the night—she just didn’t know it. This was a woman who needed not only her body, but her heart and mind to be seduced as well.

  And I’m certainly up to the challenge.

  When he reached his Aston Martin, he brushed a gloved hand over the light dusting of snow on the side mirror before he unlocked the car. As he got inside and the engine purred to life, he closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together, attempting to restore some warmth to them.

  Unbidden, a sinful memory of how good it felt to have Kat in his arms took hold. She was the perfect size for him, with healthy curves, a short but not too petite frame, hair that begged a man to grasp it and keep her captive during a hard fuck or a slow kiss. It’d been a long time since he’d wanted a woman so badly.

  Heat flooded him at the thought of bedding his sweet little Kat. Tristan smiled and started the drive back to his home. He lived outside of the city’s main center in a country house his mother owned called Fox Hill. She was currently in residence in London, and he had the good fortune to stay there while he completed his Master’s degree. He felt more connected to Fox Hill and Cambridge that he ever had to his father’s estate of Pembroke outside of London.

  The streets were empty, the wintry weather keeping everyone indoors. There was something about a snowy night with not a soul around. It made him think of that line from a Robert Frost poem, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” His headlights cut through the veils of snow as he drove through the tiny streets onto the road that would take him to Fox Hill.

  His Bluetooth lit up, catching his attention. He pressed the button to answer the call. “This is Kingsley,” he said.

  “Tristan.” His father’s stoic voice came through the car speakers.

  Tristan gritted his teeth before replying. “Yes?”

  “Your mother informed me that you have agreed to spend the Christmas holidays with her.”

  His father, the twelfth Earl of Pembroke, was a cold-hearted bastard, and there was no love lost between him and Tristan. They’d never been able to agree upon anything, especially his future.

  His parents had separated when he was thirteen, and his life had changed drastically. While they still fought over him on the holidays, he had been able to spend more time with his mother and less with his father.

  “Is she telling the truth? I thought perhaps she was attempting to provoke me into another heart episode.”

  Tristan clenched his teeth to keep from replying with a biting comment. The heart attack his father had suffered six months before hadn’t managed to kill him. The earl would likely outlive everyone out of spite, and no amount of preparation to take over the estate on Tristan’s part would matter.

  “Don’t say that about her,” Tristan warned. If there was one thing about the old man Tristan couldn’t stand, it was his father’s poor treatment of his mother.

  Ignoring Tristan’s outburst, his father continued. “Your place is here. You will be my successor, the thirteenth Earl of Pembroke, and it is imperative that you do your duty. I can’t spend all my time chasing after you to come home where you belong. I’ve been busy in the House with the European Union di
scussions and don’t have time to babysit you. You should be here at home, at my side, or have you forgotten that this is the life you were born into?”

  He gripped the steering wheel so hard his hands ached. “Forget? How can I? Ever since I learned to walk and talk, that’s all you’ve ever told me. My duty . God forbid I want to have a life of my own.”

  The biting laugh on the other end of the phone line cut him to the bone. “Your own life? Tristan, you understand nothing. Your life doesn’t and will never belong to you. It belongs to your country, to the government, to the people of Britain. You, just like any king or prince, must do your duty.”

  “I’m not a bloody prince, Father. Even William and Harry have more freedom than I do!” he snapped.

  “Freedom is a fickle creature, Tristan.” His father’s voice was suddenly quieter. “You don’t need it as much as you think you do. Once you settle down at the estate, you’ll realize that.”

  A strange, choking despair seemed to fill Tristan’s lungs, and he couldn’t speak. He had bigger plans, and he wasn’t going to let his father trap him into the same unhappy existence that had broken his parents’ marriage. A life to live that would never really be his…He knew what his father wanted. No more wild nights in Monte Carlo, no more classes at Cambridge, no more kissing a certain American girl. That would give his father a heart episode for sure.

  “Tristan, you are coming here for Christmas, do you understand?” His father’s imperial tone was frosted with ill humor and plenty of anger. It was the one emotion he never seemed to have an issue displaying.

  “Whatever you say, Father,” Tristan said, but it was a flat-out lie. He had no intention of showing up at the estate for Christmas holidays. The old bastard could rot and die for all he cared.