My Billionaire Stepbrother

by Sterling, Jillian

  It takes me a minute to realize that I’m the one that said that. Now I swallow, trying to think of a way to back it up.

  “Before you go around insulting my father for being ill-bred you might at least have the good breeding yourself to shake his hand, learn his name, and behave like a civilized adult who is capable of putting other peoples’ feelings before his own.”

  Actually, that’s good advice for myself as well.

  Remington Wilde turns those famous black eyes of his in my direction and blinks at me as if seeing me for the first time. Under that intense, possessive glare, I feel almost naked. Not even the snug layers of my Oscar de la Renta gown can protect me from the blunt force of Remington Wilde’s intense gaze and his palpable disapproval.

  But I take a deep breath and force myself to stare right back, unflinchingly. His eyes are on fire with anger, disdain, and something else. Something primal. Something so masculine I want to wrap myself around him. Or slap him. Or both.

  Fuck.

  Is it just me or is it getting hot in here?

  “I am sure that is easy for you to say,” he hisses. “I am sure you and your father have much to celebrate, having achieved this match that you are no doubt expecting will put a fortune at your fingertips. Don’t underestimate me. I will make sure you gold-diggers do not get a penny.”

  “Gold diggers!” I shout, losing my self-control. “How dare you! Whether or not you know us, that is an insulting and degrading accusation that not only disrespects my family, but your own mother’s common sense. Do you really think so little of her that you believe she would stoop low? If you had been here for the ceremony, you would have seen as plain as day that these two people just married for love.”

  “Love,” Remington sneers. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I will get to the bottom of this, and you and your father will be out on your asses on criminal charges for attempted fraud.”

  My heart skips a beat, and not in a good way. To be honest, he is only voicing the very thing I’ve been dreading this entire time. My father must be insane to be doing this, but Diana must be too. I’ve been scared since the moment I set foot on that private jet that my world was all going to implode.

  Remington seems to be determined to make that happen.

  Oddly, Remington and I have more in common right now than I want to admit. We are both clearly concerned and puzzled and upset about this surprise wedding.

  But his snobbery is infuriating past the point of tolerance.

  “Fraud?” I shout. “What is criminal about getting married? What is criminal about your mother or my father making a choice that you don’t like? Like she pointed out, our parents are both adults capable of making their own decisions. Sure, it’s a bit of a shock, but it’s not about us. This isn’t about how you feel. This is about them. Grow up.”

  Did I just shout at Remington Wilde?

  I mean, he deserved it, but who do I think I am?

  I just shouted at Remington Wilde.

  Remington stares at me so long that I think I might have gone five shades past blushing bright pink straight into neon.

  “This isn’t over,” Remington vows, his angry gruff voice sending chills down my spine. He turns to my father, snarling. “You aren’t good enough for my mother. You and your daughter are out of your league, and I intend to get you out of my home and family for good.”

  “Enough!” Diana’s voice echoes through the hall, forbidding dispute. “Remington, I am ashamed of your cruelty as well as your manners. This is not how I raised you to behave. If you are going to throw tantrums like a baby you must go and change out of your suit and into diapers. We wanted you to celebrate with us today, but if you will not, you will kindly leave so that we can enjoy our very special moment together. With or without you, this is my wedding day and I have never been happier.”

  With that she laces her arm firmly through my father’s and kisses him on the cheek before walking intentionally past Remington and towards the dance floor.

  “Play, maestro!” Diana shouts, laughing, and the quartet flares back to life with a snappy waltz.

  This leaves just me alone with Remington standing in the aisle staring after them, dumbfounded, angry and breathing heavily. The guests all rise and move to join the newlyweds on the dance floor or bar, so that when Remington turns to face me again, I am completely alone and vulnerable. He looks me up and down, his face a warring mask of contempt and…is that lust? I really hope that’s lust. I want him to want me. I want him to touch me.

  No. No, Veronique. No.

  God I feel naked.

  My mouth goes dry at Remington’s frank perusal and I force myself to play it as cool as possible. It would be intimidating enough to meet Remington Wilde under normal circumstances. But meeting at our parent’s surprise wedding and becoming his instant enemy is definitely not helping. What do I do? What do I say?

  “Look,” I begin, hating my voice for faltering. “Let’s try this again. I am Veronique. Veronique LaRoux.”

  I hold out my hand, but he ignores it.

  Wow. What a brat! Is that what they treat rich kids in their fancy schools – how to be rude?

  I sigh, and try again.

  “I know this is all very sudden,” I say. “I just found out about this, too, and it wasn’t exactly convenient for me to be here. I have no idea what is going on, but I also know that I have never seen my Dad look so happy. Can’t that be enough of an explanation for right now? I am sure we can sit them down and get the full story later.”

  Remington’s eyes snap back at me. “What full story,” he grunts. “This is the full story. Don’t give me the love at first sight bullshit. My mother, the tycoon of industry, was fooled by a common con man. You and your father cannot fool me. I know your kind.”

  “My father is not a con man,” I say as patiently as I can. “He is actually quite lovable, if you give him a chance. Your mother seems quite lovable too.”

  He glares at me. “I am sure that to your father, she is very lovable – two billion pounds of lovable. You expect me to believe that her fortune was not a factor in your father’s hasty courtship? You expect me to believe there is more to it than that after one week?”

  My heart leaps to my throat as I try not to show how intimidated I am by the thought of that much money. I am pretty sure he said billion with a b. But that is not the point.

  “Oh,” I gulp. “One week? They’ve only planned this for a week?”

  “No,” Remington grunts. “They have only known each other for a week. Or didn’t you know? Wasn’t that part of your plan?”

  Wow. One week? That was fast.

  “No,” I snap. “I didn’t know. There was no plan. I am as surprised as you are, but I have the tact to be supportive of my father’s decision and not attack the integrity of his bride’s family at the very first meeting. I try not to define people by the size of their wallets, Mr. Wilde. Maybe if you open your eyes and give human beings a chance to prove themselves, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  I try to let my anger with Remington mask my concern and worry. One week?!? Are they crazy? Who gets married after one week?

  But I don’t want to give Remington the satisfaction of seeing that, in spite of our differences about money and class being the end-all-be-all, I agree with him about the intelligence of our parents’ quick wedding. He is studying me closely, and I have to avert my eyes to keep from giving myself away. I have to avert my eyes to keep from biting his lip, too. I have to avert my eyes, period.

  Otherwise, it’s almost like I can actually feel the sparks flying between us.

  Suddenly Remington leans toward me, draping his arms around my sides. Startled, I nervously step back, but I trip a little on my dress and fall into him. The shock of brushing up against his chest makes my knees feel week. God, he is strong – I can feel it in his muscle tone, in his powerful body holding me up.

  I regain my footing and try to step away, but then I realize that he has me corralled
against a row of chairs and that there is nowhere to go to escape. His scent washes over me, warm and masculine, and my heart begins to pound in my chest. He is so close, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.

  Oh god oh god please kiss me please don’t kiss me oh god.

  He is staring at me, grinning wickedly like a cat with a mouse.

  God damn it, he’s attractive when he looks smug.

  Remington Wilde has his arms around me. Remington Wilde is toying with me.

  Holy fuck.

  I desperately try to push all my inappropriate fantasies out of my head, desperately try not to look at that broad chest just peeking out of his half-unbuttoned shirt. His skin looks so inviting, so smooth.

  Remington is staring at my lips.

  “Excuse me,” I stutter. “Can I please get by?”

  Remington ignores me.

  “Tell me,” he murmurs, “Is this the first time you and your father have wrecked an honorable family with this transparent little gold-digging scheme of yours? Or do you have it down to a science? Let me see if I can guess the steps. While your father seduces the mother, you seduce the son – is that how these things work? Double indemnity or something, hedging your bets? Not a bad strategy. If that is your plan, I want a sample of the goods. Show me why you deserve the Wilde family fortune.”

  His hand snakes around my waist, his lips crashing into mine. It’s a possession so shocking, so fierce, and so sudden that I am completely swept up in the sensation of his overpowering touch, the softness of his lips, the crushing conquest of his tongue under mine. I moan and melt into him, caught in the pleasure that for a moment feels as natural as breath.

  Until I realize what he just said.

  Did he just call me a whore?

  Now I’m shoving and scratching to get free with all my might.

  “Let go of me!”

  I’ve never been so insulted or humiliated in my life. Never mind the fact that I am turned on and more than half inclined to jump his bones for unrelated reasons – but his words sting so much that I manage to bury my fantasies about him long enough to raise my hand and slap him hard across the face.

  I just slapped Remington Wilde across the face.

  I just slapped Remington Wilde across the face really, really hard. Actually, the corner of his mouth looks like it’s bleeding.

  “Oh my god,” I gasp. “I’m sorry.”

  He touches the spot where I hit him, a wry grin spreading across his face. Is he laughing at me? What an asshole!

  “You’re not sorry,” he murmurs. “You liked it, didn’t you? I bet you like it rough. I hope you do, Mademoiselle LaRoux. Because I will make your time here very, very rough. One way or another.”

  Holy. Fuck.

  “Mr. Wilde,” I gasp, trying to regain my composure, “I am truly sorry if your view of the world has taught you that you can buy and use women however you want, or say whatever you want, but it just so happens that I respect myself enough to think that what you just did is unforgivably entitled and despicable.”

  “I bet you do,” he chuckles. “But you liked it, didn’t you?”

  Tears are springing to my eyes. I have to get out of here before he sees them. I can’t let him see that he’s gotten to me. I can’t let him see that he’s struck more than one nerve.

  Humiliated, angry, and exhausted, I can think of nothing else to say.

  I pick up my skirts and my pride and brush past Remington Wilde, playboy of the western and eastern world, and look for a dark corner to hide.

  As I walk away from Remington with my chin held high, I steal one last glance at the dance floor where my Dad and Diana look happier than anyone I’ve ever seen. In spite of my worry about their insanely fast relationship, the sight of them makes my chest ache not a little bit with something like longing.

  I’m not jealous. Not even a little bit. Nope.

  Not me.

  Chapter Five

  It’s not easy slipping out of a party inconspicuously in an Oscar de la Renta gown and Louboutin shoes, but I do it. Now I am walking down the resort road in what I think is the general direction of my bungalow. The hot sun beats down on my head and my fancy skirt sticks to my sweaty legs, but at least I am finally alone.

  I know it’s only the middle of the day here, but I am EXHAUSTED. That enormous bed in my bungalow is calling to me. I just want to go nap my confused feelings away.

  “Ow.”

  It finally occurs to me that I don’t have to walk in these 4-inch heels through the god damn jungle, so I take them off and go barefoot.

  “Much better.”

  A few golf carts and bicycles wiz by me, proving that there was an easier way for me to get back to my bungalow, but I resign myself to the walk. After all, I could use a minute to let off some steam. I’m still fuming and furious and, I have to admit, slightly turned on from my confusing exchange with Remington Wilde.

  What a snob.

  What a pig!

  What a sexy, sexy jerk.

  I have never felt more confused or angry in my life. Between my disturbing introduction to Remington and my Dad’s surprise wedding, it feels like I’ve lost everything normal and predictable about my life all in one day. The rules have suddenly changed and I just don’t know how to handle it. Is Dad rich now that he’s married a billionaire? Are all his promises to take care of me finally coming true?

  Does it mean I am rich now, too?

  Or am I fired from school for missing finals?

  I need to find a computer and email my professors. Just because Dad got married doesn’t mean my problems are solved. I could be right back at zero at any second – less than zero if I lose my place at school. And it doesn’t help that Remington Wilde seems determined to toss me out on the streets again.

  Nothing feels safe. Nothing feels familiar. Even though this island is gloriously beautiful, I have never felt more alone.

  Finally I see my bungalow up ahead.

  “Thank god.”

  I speed up my pace, already feeling some of the tension release from my shoulders. This is what I need: some alone time to process everything from my Dad’s shocking marriage to my stress about missing finals to the fact that I’ve just slapped Remington Wilde across the face.

  Yeah, remember when that happened? I just met the most eligible bachelor in the world and my response was to slap him across the face.

  He deserved it, though.

  He’s a jerk.

  He’s…

  “Stop thinking about him,” I command myself.

  But that proves to be impossible, because when I open the door to my bungalow, who should be here waiting for me but the devil himself?

  “Remington!” I squeak. “What are you doing here?”

  How is he here? Wasn’t he just at the wedding? Didn’t I leave before him?

  Goddamn golf carts! I knew I should have taken one.

  Remington is in the kitchen, stripped to his boxers, fixing what looks to be an epic pitcher of margaritas. I don’t know what surprises me most: that Remington Wilde is in my kitchen in his boxers, or that Remington Wilde, billionaire playboy, makes his own margaritas. Doesn’t he have servants for this kind of thing? Slaves even?

  I feel myself bristling already. What kind of billionaire jerk takes off his pants and makes margaritas in my kitchen?

  I guess it isn’t technically my kitchen…but…you know what I mean.

  “Seriously, why are you in my bungalow?” I demand.

  “Your bungalow?” The sarcastic edge in his voice is inescapable. “Oh I am sorry, I didn’t realize you had paid for a rental.”

  I bite my lip in frustration.

  “I didn’t, but –”

  “But. That’s a great argument. You have me convinced.”

  He revs the blender, making any retort impossible. I am forced to just stare at him in consternation and, yes, frustrated lust.

  Some afternoon sweat is glistening on his chest, and in spite of myself I am sta
ring. His well-sculpted muscles ripple as he slices limes and gently rolls some glasses in salt. He seems to have a firm, light touch, and I find myself envying those damn limes. I want him to squeeze me like that. I want him to squeeze me until all the juices come out.

  Whoa. Down, girl.

  When did my brain get so dirty?

  Finally Remington stops the blender blades and opens the lid. He drags his finger slowly around the rim of the blender, lifting a stray drop of the dewy green margarita mix to his lips and sucking it in.

  Sucking. He’s sucking. I’m watching Remington Wilde sucking his finger. Holy god. Oh god.

  He’s trying to make me think about sex. And it’s working.

  Yup. I’m going to faint.

  “Remington, please, this is where they put me. I didn’t ask for it. And no, I didn’t pay for it. But all I want right now is to be alone and take a bath and a nap and why are you here?”

  He is obviously enjoying my distress.

  “I live here,” he grunts with an infuriating smile. “I always stay in this bungalow when I am on the island, unless it has been let to an actual client. What are you doing here? I don’t recall inviting you.”

  “I have a key!” I hold it up to prove it.

  “So do I.” He jangles an impressive set of his own keys, thrusting his hips suggestively. “A key for every lock. Even one for yours.”

  The obvious double entendre makes me blush.

  Why? Why, god?

  I look away, forcing myself to bypass noticing how ridiculously hot and steamy he looks when he thrusts his hips like that.

  I’m so self-controlled, I’m definitely not thinking about Remington thrusting his hips into me and I’m totally not even imagining wrapping my legs around his hips while he’s doing that, naked, between my legs, into me, thrusting, hips, naked…Remington…

  Great. Now I am sweating.

  It takes me a minute to push the image of Remington’s thrusting hips from my mind and form actual words in English. Clearing my throat, I point to my backpack sitting on the couch right where Shereen left it.

  “See? My luggage. I was here first.”

  He stares at my backpack, eyebrows raised. “Your ‘luggage?’ I’m sorry, isn’t that word a bit of a stretch? Maybe it was luggage before being eaten and thrown back up by a dog?”