Love Unexpected

by Q. B. Tyler

  Copyright © 2020 by Q.B. Tyler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Design Honey

  Editing: Kristen Portillo—Your Editing Lounge

  Interior Formatting: Stacey Blake—Champagne Book Design

  Proofreading: Leslie Middleton

  * * *

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About this Book

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Preview of Unconditional

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Q.B. Tyler

  About the Author

  I’d only wanted one kiss.

  One kiss, under the dark of night, in a city where no one knew us.

  One kiss fueled by my hormones and alcohol and the blinding grief over losing my mother.

  One kiss from the man I told myself was untouchable.

  But, it didn’t stop at one kiss.

  And now we are running full speed down a road with no intention of stopping.

  His touch disarms me.

  His kiss revives me.

  But, our love, could destroy me.

  *This is a taboo novel and is intended for mature audiences only.

  Disclaimer:

  This is a very taboo novel featuring a stepfather and stepdaughter. If this is not for you, I would advise against reading this one.

  Seriously.

  This book is dedicated to the women that loved Cal and Maddie’s story and asked for more.

  You haven’t seen anything yet.

  * * *

  The first time I saw him, it was love at first sight. At least my ten-year-old brain, that had watched too many romance movies with my incurable romantic mother wanted to believe. He was standing across the playground talking to the Social Studies teacher whose name I could never remember. He was new from just a few towns over, I later learned, after his wife died in a fatal car accident leaving him widowed and devastated.

  It was a warm Spring day, one of the first of the season and I found myself getting hot under my sweater that my mother made me promise not to take off. I pulled at it, wishing I had the courage to disobey just this once, and sighed.

  Mark Erickson, this stupid bully that my mother told me only picked on me because he was sweet on me, ran past me, knocking me over and breaking my line of sight with my new love. I hit the mulch, but I didn’t get up. I just stared up at this beautiful man willing him to look at me. He looked like Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid, with jet black hair and tanned skin. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I bet they were blue just like his. I cocked my head to the side briefly wondering what it would be like to be part of his world.

  The second time was later that week. He entered my math class just as we began a test. I set down my pencil, watching him move towards the front to quietly talk to my teacher. I tried to angle my ear towards them just to hear his voice. What did he sound like? I got up and moved towards the sharpener as it was in the front of the room. My heart pounded with every step, knowing that I’d get to hear his voice any second now. And I did.

  Soft. Smooth. Rich.

  I imagined it was what my father would sound like, if I had one.

  The third, and perhaps the most pertinent time, he spoke to me. He told me he liked my pink overalls that I begged my mother not to make me wear. He gave me a grin, baring all his teeth and I almost melted. My heart slammed against my little ribcage and I couldn’t help but feel like I was floating.

  The beautiful man noticed me.

  Maybe he’d love me one day.

  Maybe he’d kiss me like they do at the end of the movies.

  But I was wrong.

  So, fucking wrong.

  Because although I saw him first and told myself at the young age of ten that I was madly in love with this beautiful man, said beautiful man fell in love with someone else.

  My mother.

  I was ten years old when I fell in love.

  Two years later, I fell in hate.

  * * *

  “STASSI VALE, GET UP!” His voice booms through the house and I cringe hearing the way he says my name. First of all, my name is Stassia. Pronounced Stah-See-Uh. It was allegedly a nod to my father and my Italian roots. Roots I don’t know all that well, because said father up and left the second my mother learned she was pregnant. A part of me wonders about them. Not really my father because he didn’t really sound like a guy worth shit, but maybe a grandmother? One that could teach me to make pasta or cannolis from scratch or maybe an aunt on her fourth marriage that knows where to find the best gelato and sneaks me wine at dinner.

  I sit up in bed, wondering about that side of my family for perhaps the millionth time in my life. My mother claims not to know anything about them or even how to get in contact with them and my heart sinks every time she brushes off my feelings about this whole part of me I know nothing about. Maybe it was just too painful for her to talk about.

  I get up and move towards the vanity in my bedroom, pulling my hair out of the two braids that I’d put in last night so that it would sport some natural waves today. My mother is black and my father was…well…is Italian, so my hair can be temperamental, but luckily, today isn’t one of those days. There’s a knock on the door and I snap my gaze towards the sound, glaring at the man I know to be on the other side of it.

  “What?”

  His deep booming voice moves through the room and resounds off the walls. “Are you decent?”

  “If I say no, will you go away?” I rub under my charcoal eyes and lean forward, staring at the bags I know to be beneath them from staying on the phone until two a.m. the night before. A guy, of course. Carter James, the captain of the football team. I’m a cheerleader and it seems the whole school is set on us becoming a walking cliché. I’ve gone along with it because, frankly, I’m bored and he looks really good in that uniform.

  But in actuality, I’m just looking for something to kill time. I’m so bored with everything. I go to school, get good grades—ones good enough to get me accepted to a few Ivy League schools my mother made me apply to and every state school I wanted to apply to. Luckily, I convinced her to let me go to a local university in the fall because I’m not keen on going away much like so many of my friends.

  I’ll admit, I slacked off this semester after getting into college and most of my teachers know not to fuck with the prin
cipal’s stepdaughter anyway. I go to cheerleading practice and the occasional French club when I don’t ditch to go get high in my friends’ basement.

  I’m excited about college and the very bright future still in front of me, but I’m not enjoying the present at all.

  “You’re going to be late for school,” he tells me and I roll my eyes.

  “Can’t have that,” I murmur. “Good thing my mother is banging the principal,” I call through the door. “Write me a note, Daddy dearest.”

  I hear a huff and I can bet every dime I have he’s pointing at the door, waving that index finger around like it gives him any authority. “I am leaving here in twenty-five minutes; your ass better be in that seat.”

  I get up and stomp towards the door, flinging it open and meeting his piercing blue eyes. He’s already dressed in his usual attire: a black suit, white shirt, and a tie with a pop of color. Today it’s turquoise, and I wish I could admire the fact that it really brings out the color of his eyes. I look away because there’s been a time or two that I’ve gotten lost in those blue eyes, and I’m too annoyed to let them sway my current mood. “This is ridiculous. I’m seventeen, I have a license, I’m graduating in two months, and I’m forced to ride to school with you. I want a car.” I cross my arms over my chest. It isn’t fair. I don’t have a car, and my stepfather hates when I ride in a car with any of my friends; most of us only have our provisional licenses and thus shouldn’t be riding around with any other minors. And yet everyone else does it.

  His eyes narrow and he leans forward and points his finger at me. “You can have a car when your attitude changes.”

  I swat his hand away immediately and press my hands firmly to my hips. “You’re the only one who thinks my attitude is a problem. I’m a charming delight to everyone else in my life. Seems you just bring it out of me.”

  “Lucky me.” He grumbles before he takes a step back and runs a hand through that lush head of hair. Even though I hate sharing a house with him, I can admit he does provide for some nice eye candy. He has a nice face attached to an even nicer body, complete with abs and this tapered waist you rarely see on a high school principal. Veins protrude from his arms whenever he flexes and he has perhaps the most muscular legs I’ve ever seen thanks to four years of college soccer. He’s the best thing that ever happened to a pair of shorts and I’ll admit to even running my gaze down his frame when he wears these particular sweatpants of the grey color.

  I mean, he might annoy me but I’ve got eyes.

  It’s no secret that all the girls want to stay at my house, dying for the chance to catch the hot Principal outside of school. I should start charging some of these thirsty bitches. “I made you some breakfast.”

  I look towards the staircase that’s just off my bedroom wondering what he possibly made for me. “Did you poison it?”

  A look of hurt crosses his face, and I mentally pat myself on the back that I was able to temporarily disarm him in today’s battle of wits. “What reason would I have to poison you?”

  I lean against the door jamb and stare up at him. He’s tall, at least a foot taller than me, and I have to crane my neck most of the time when I want to look at him. “I don’t know, revenge?”

  “Revenge for what?”

  I shrug, noncommittally before looking down at my nail beds. “Taking your car out and scratching it.”

  His eyes widen and darken to an almost sinful shade of blue and I know it’s only a matter of time before he explodes. It’s always the same, and I know just how far I can push him to make him snap. But he gives as good as he gets it. “I KNEW that was you.”

  I roll my eyes and sashay towards the bathroom. “You’ll live.”

  “That car is brand new, Stassia Rae.”

  I spin around and stare up at him in shock. “Ah, so you do know my name.”

  He takes a step closer to me. “Don’t change the subject.”

  I take one as well, making it so we are almost toe to toe, and as usual I have to crane my neck to glare at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “You’re infuriating.”

  “And you know this, man.” I smile, quoting one of my favorite movies as I shoot him a peace sign from behind my back. “I’ll be ready within the hour.”

  “TWENTY-FIVE—” he starts just as I slam the bathroom door.

  I let out a breath, wanting to scream. My stepfather, the dreamy object of my affection for most of my tenth year of life, became my nightmare just a few years later. He met my mother during Back to School Night in the beginning of fifth grade and they hit it off. I tried everything to sabotage things that night, knowing that my mother fell fast and hard and my silly ten-year-old brain was still convinced that he would eventually fall in love with me.

  Incoming: Dominic Callahan the vulnerable, grieving widower with piercing blue eyes and a heart of gold.

  Sparks flew so fast I was surprised the school didn’t catch fire that night. A year later, despite begging her not to, my mother married my crush, thoroughly breaking my heart and forcing me to move on because who would have a crush on their stepfather?

  It was just way too porny and weird. Not to mention, the rose-colored glasses quickly faded when I realized he was a royal pain in the ass. Overprotective, slightly neurotic, and worried about every little thing. I guess that comes with the whole dead wife thing but my God, relax. It’s been seven years, and though I’ve learned to live with it, I can’t say it hasn’t been challenging along the way.

  There’s a knock on the door, just as I finish applying toothpaste to my brush. “What?” I ask, expecting Dominic and not the sweet voice that floats through.

  “Angelface, it’s Mama.” I unlock the door immediately, shocked that she’s home and not at the hospital where she works as the resident oncologist. It’s nearing seven-thirty, and I’m surprised she hasn’t already left for the day for eight o’clock rounds.

  Eyes that match mine, lined with liner and no less than three coats of mascara blink at me with a bright smile. “Sweetheart.” She gingerly fingers the split ends of my hair that slightly graze the top of my breasts. “You’re due for a trim.”

  “Ugh,” I scoff. “I know. Will you take me tomorrow?”

  “Not when I hear you and D fighting like that.” She says using her nickname for my stepfather.

  “But Mom…he’s being…well, you know.”

  She shuts the door behind her and sits on the side of my bathtub, facing me. “You know he’s crazy about you.”

  “No, he’s just plain crazy,” I tell her as I pull my hair up into a bun to prepare for my shower making sure not to get too undressed around my mother so as to not reveal the ink on my side or the ring through my nipple.

  Yeah, there was no way I’d be ready in twenty-five minutes.

  “Watch it. Overprotective and you know why.” She shoots me her signature mom look and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. She must know it too because she raises an eyebrow as if to say try me.

  I turn towards her and sigh. “Mom, can you please talk to him about the car? Furthermore, can’t you just get me a car? You make more money than he does!”

  “It’s not about the money, baby. It’s your attitude.”

  “I don’t have an attitude!” I hear the whine in my voice, which rarely works with my mother, but sometimes I have a chance. “Dominic just…irks me.”

  “He irks you? Stassia Rae, if I ever said that about my stepfather, my mother would have put me over her knee. Hell, if I said it now, she’d put me over her knee.”

  “That’s different, Grandpapa is the best thing that ever happened to Grandma and you.”

  “No, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” She stands and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll work on D about the car, if you work on your attitude, and not skipping French club.” She points at me before holding out her pinky for us to link just like we always do. I oblige, wrapping my pinky around it and we kiss our fists. “Have a wonderful da
y at school; I’ll see you later.”

  “Not if I see you first,” I reply my usual response.

  My mother was barely twenty years old when she had me. She was a young mother; and learned the very tough lesson that putting herself through college and then med school was no easy feat. But my grandparents are actual saints, and my mother worked her ass off, with two day jobs and night classes. They say it takes a village, and she certainly had one supporting her, rooting for her, and a long nine years later, she graduated top of her class. I still remember sitting at her medical school graduation, cheering as she walked across the stage. I was her number one fan, and for as long as I could remember, she was mine.

  The sound of my name over the loudspeaker causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. A shiver snakes down my spine instantly as a frown finds my face. I recognized the voice as the school secretary; a voice that is usually cheery and full of enthusiasm that causes a class full of apathetic teenagers to roll their eyes. Unlike all those other times, her voice is morose and glum making me wonder briefly who died?

  I pack up my stuff quickly, avoiding the eyes of all my peers as I make my way out of third period Chemistry. I’ve made it no more than ten steps when my phone buzzes alerting me of a text.

  Kate: Heard you got sprung from Chem. What gives!?

  I roll my eyes at the thought that word spreads faster than wildfire at this school. I punch out a text to my nosy best friend letting her know that I’m not sure but I’ll keep her posted. I’m looking down, not paying attention when I walk right into something hard and firm. Hands grip my biceps, forcing my gaze upwards and away from my phone and straight into the eyes of my stepfather.

  “Oh hey—” I start until his eyes give it all away. Something’s wrong. “What…what’s wrong?”

  “Stassi—” His voice breaks and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was about to completely break down.

  He pulls me into a hug in the hallway, rubbing his hand down my back so slowly and in slow circles that it sends a lightning bolt of tingles through me. I snuggle my face into his chest, loving the feeling of his strong hands around me. A taboo thought floats through my mind, wondering what it would feel like to brush my lips against his throat and taste the skin there.