PLOWED: A Stepbrother Romance (Bonus Story: Gripped) Page 5

  As I head around to the front of the house, I spot a woman dressed in a tight-fitted, gold body-suit, a bright red wig, and sunglasses so huge, they take up half of her face. She leans against the side of Miley’s limousine smoking a cigarette.

  I’m unsure who it is and part of me considers whether I should tell this strange woman to leave. But when she props her sunglasses up on the top of her head and grins at me, I realize it’s Miley.

  “Hey, lover boy. Thanks for ditching me at the club.”

  I grimace. “Sorry about that. I didn’t feel so great. Must have been the drinks.”

  “Yeah right.” She scoffs. “I know you and that slut, Kalisa went off to fuck. You’re not usually her type.” She drops her cigarette to the floor and squashes it beneath her red, pointy-toed shoes. Then her gaze rakes over me and she smirks. “But I can see why she made an exception.”

  I’m about to respond when the front door opens and Haylee comes running out, clutching a few scraps of cloth in one hand. I can tell it’s supposed to be a bikini, but I doubt it covers much once its owner wears it.

  “I found it,” says Haylee, smiling. And then her smile vanishes when she sees me. Her face growing pink, she stares at me for a moment, opening her mouth a fraction before shutting it and turning her back on me. Handing the bikini to Miley, the rest of her words come out high and forced. “I hope you have a fun trip in St. Maarten!”

  There’s a calculating look on Miley’s face as her gaze shifts between me and Haylee.

  “Oh, I get it now,” she says with a smirk. “You two are banging each other. You both ditched me at the club to come back here and fuck.”

  “What? No. We’re not…no.” Haylee’s response is too quick and her voice too high for her words to be convincing.

  “Bitch, please. I might be rich as hell making money from silly songs but I’m not dumb.” She gestures between Haylee and me. “You two are fucking. But aren’t you guys, like, related? I’m pretty sure you said he was your brother, Haylee.”

  “Stepbrother,” I correct.

  Miley shrugs, interest already gone. “Well, whatever. The heart wants what it wants. Live life with no regrets.” She slaps the driver’s window twice, her fingernails longer and brighter than ever. Greg pops out immediately, opening the door for her and she slides into the limousine. Then she pokes her head out, grinning. “Totally jealous of the dirty hot sex y’all are having, though.”

  Snapping her sunglasses onto her face, she disappears when Greg closes the door and drives her out of the sliding gates.

  Haylee heads for the stairs leading to the front door.

  “Haylee,” I say and I call her name again when it appears she’s going to ignore me. I approach her but she doesn’t turn around. “Are you avoiding me?”

  She mumbles something but I don’t hear what she says.

  “What?”

  “I said it was a mistake.” The words fire out of her as she finally faces me. “The sex. It was a mistake.”

  I’m taken aback and more than a little upset. What the fuck does she mean by that? But I keep my emotions in check.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  She avoids my gaze. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “If you enjoyed it at the time, if you wanted it at the time, then how is it now a mistake?”

  “I…” she begins, then trails off with a frustrated huff. She runs her fingers through her hair and it reminds me of the time I had it wrapped around my fingers as she sucked my cock. The appendage in question hardens at the thought and my anger increases. This is not the time or place for me to become aroused.

  “Look,” she continues, her gaze still cast away from me. “I…liked it. But it wasn’t right. You’re my stepbrother. Besides…I-I can’t love a guy like you.”

  No matter how much you prepare for your worst fears, it’s still not enough when they do come true.

  Still, even though her words hurt, something dawns on me. Haylee is like a scared rabbit who has had its paw damaged by a monster before. It’s evident in the way she constantly rebuffs me even though she wants me. Some asshole has hurt her before and she’s terrified of being hurt again.

  If only she knew how much I related. In time, I will share that with her. But for now, all I can do is convince her that what we did was not a mistake. That what we were in society’s eyes didn’t matter.

  “Why not?” I step closer.

  She licks her bottom lip, edging away. “I already said why! You’re my step—”

  “I don’t care about that and neither do you.” I drop the hose and follow her as she continues to put distance between us. “You certainly didn’t mind me being your stepbrother when you were moaning my name as I was deep inside you—”

  “Connor!” Her face is pink.

  “Yeah, just like that.” I smile at her. “Do you want me, Haylee?”

  “I—I…” Her back is up against the front door and she’s got nowhere else to go. The late afternoon sunshine peeks through the gaps in the branches of a nearby oak tree. The golden light adds a sparkle to her chocolate eyes and turns her dark hair chestnut. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and all my anger evaporates, leaving me calm and content.

  “I will never hurt you,” I say quietly.

  She regards me with mild amazement then uncertainty.

  “That’s a lofty promise.”

  I reach for her, the smile curving my lips mirroring my triumph when she comes to me willingly.

  “It’s one I intend to keep because I’m in love with you.” I bend my head and kiss her, loving the way her lips part eagerly to deepen the kiss. I hold her tighter, revelling in her softness and her warmth. “Do you want me, Haylee?” I need to know. I need to hear her say it.

  “Yes,” she says, her voice soft. “I want you.” She reaches her hands around my neck, a pretty smile on her lips as she gazes up at me. “Because I’m in love with you too.”

  ***

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Plowed. If you’d like to enjoy more stepbrother goodness, turn the next page for Gripped!

  GRIPPED: A STEPBROTHER ROMANCE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mackenzie

  When I die, I want it to be immediate.

  It should be painless. One moment I’d be alive and the next I wouldn’t. Dying of old age would be fine, too, because it meant I at least lived life long enough to earn that graceful departure.

  Dying of a disease was unpleasant.

  Dying of cancer was a literal fuck you from life.

  Vera lay in the hospital bed asleep. The stark white pillowcases and bed sheet amplified her skin’s paleness. Even though there was a nasal cannula curving around her gaunt cheeks, her parched lips were parted as she sucked in air with a light wheezy, rasping sound.

  Sometimes I hated seeing her like this. Yet sometimes I felt compelled to stare, to watch how a vibrant, healthy life could be so swiftly dimmed by sickness. There was this need to capture it, capture her like this, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to have this image of my stepmother in the worst period of her life be my final memory of her. After all, the last image I had of my real mother was her climbing into an idling taxi while my father clutched at the door, begging her not to go.

  Old feelings of resentment and hurt filled me as my mind went back to that day almost twenty years ago. I sucked in a sharp breath and shook my head to clear my thoughts. Pointless to head down that road again for the umpteenth time. Twisting my body, I raised my feet up into the chair. I ignored the magazine sliding from my lap to the floor as I gazed out the window.

  I had to leave soon. I hadn’t checked the time in a while, but I heard Nurse Rhonda’s voice as she chatted to her co-workers about her son’s softball game. Her arrival on shift meant visitation period was drawing to a close. A shame because Dad never missed a day to come see Vera yet he hadn’t shown up today.

  The room’s door clicked shut. Startled by the sound, I t
urned away from the view of the hospital grounds then froze.

  “Hey, Mac.”

  I opened my mouth but no words came. My mind remained blank except for one sentence: Reid was here.

  “Reid, you’re here.” I got to my feet. My shoes slid against the glossy cover of the magazine on the floor. I bent to pick it up and put it on the side table.

  “In the flesh.”

  I stood there for a moment not knowing what to do. Then I decided to approach him. Our hug was awkward and brief. I tried to overcome the awareness of his hands around me. He towered over me, his skin tanner, his hair thicker, his stubble unkempt, his dark blue eyes—so much like Vera’s—bloodshot and tired. He had changed since the last time I saw him five years ago, but my feelings for him were definitely the same. They resurged within me with a fierce power like a strong gust of wind enlivening a dying fire. I pressed the hard diamond of my engagement ring against my thigh to remind myself why I had to forget these feelings for my stepbrother.

  “You look like crap,” I said then realized that that wasn’t the best thing to say to a person whose parent lay dying right in front of them. “I-I mean you’ve looked better.”

  “A thirteen hour flight from France with no sleep can do that to you.” He moved to his mother’s side, staring at her frail, resting form. Though he maintained a stoic expression, his jaw twitched and he curled his fists tight. I knew how he felt. It’s how I felt at the start before the sense of inevitability and acceptance cloaked me from the pain. I wanted to comfort him but I knew there was no true comfort for this.

  His voice was tight. “How long?”

  “A month,” I said quietly.

  “You should have called me sooner.”

  I grew defensive. “She didn’t want us to. She didn’t want you to worry.” I folded my hands across my chest. “Besides, it’s not like you’re the easiest person to get a hold of, Reid.”

  He dragged his hands through his hair, down his face, before covering his mouth. Then he pulled the chair I had vacated closer to the bed and sat in it. Vera’s bony hand looked tiny in Reid’s large palm. When he leaned his forehead against her thigh, my heart squeezed from his visible anguish. I resisted the need to go and comfort him. I fought against the tears too. I left the room so that Reid could be alone with his dying mother.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mackenzie

  Dad met me in the hallway outside the room, his tie loosened and one of his shirtsleeves unrolled. His salt-and-pepper hair was wild as though he ran his hands through it constantly. There were bags beneath his eyes.

  “Sorry I’m late, honey,” he said on a sigh. “Deposition ran later than I expected.”

  We exchanged a quick hug. I took his briefcase and opened it to settle his documents properly so they no longer poked out the edges.

  “That’s OK. Vera slept through most of the visit anyway.”

  He nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad. She’s in pain a lot these days.” He glanced over at the nurses’ station and waved at Nurse Rhonda before turning back to me. “Why are you out here?”

  “Reid’s here.”

  “He is?” For the first time in a while, Dad’s blue eyes registered excitement instead of the regular sadness. A small smile played around his lips. “The prodigal son has returned.”

  Back inside the room, Reid and Dad exchanged a firm hug. A strange sight because for most of Reid’s teen years, he and Dad hardly got along. Just as Dad gave Vera a kiss on her forehead, Nurse Rhonda poked her head into the room, an apologetic look on her round face.

  “Sorry folks, time’s up.”

  We left the room reluctantly. Dad and I never spoke it out loud but there was always this fear that one of our visits with Vera might be our last. No doubt this would be true someday but neither of us were ready for that.

  “When did you get in?” asked Dad as we loitered in the empty waiting room. The scent of coffee spread throughout the room, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “Two hours ago,” said Reid. “I came straight here. Didn’t even get time to book a hotel.”

  “You don’t need to,” said Dad. “Plenty of room available back at the house.”

  I looked between Dad and Reid. Say no, I pleaded in my head. I didn’t want Reid staying with us. In the short time since his arrival, feelings for him I thought dead and buried had resurfaced. Imagine the torment I’d endure if he was living with us again.

  Reid glanced at me before forcing a smile at Dad. “Thanks for the offer, Harry, but I’ll pass.”

  Even though he said what I wanted him to say, I felt a tiny bit of hurt. Why did he look at me before rejecting Dad’s offer? Then I remembered our relationship during the seven years we lived under the same roof. I remembered his impatience and annoyance with me. Our constant bickering borne from his dislike for me, and my frustration that he would never, could never feel the same way about me as I did about him.

  Dad shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Reid. If you’re going to stay here for some time, a hotel would become costly.”

  “Cost is not a problem.”

  Dad moved closer to Reid, settling a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Reid, come stay with us.”

  “Dad, don’t force him—” I began nervously, but I broke off at the vulnerable look on his face. Dad needed this. With Vera’s looming death and my impending wedding, he needed to have Reid in the house so that he could have a semblance of a family again. Reid must have seen the look on Dad’s face because he reached up to pat his hand.

  “OK. I’ll stay at the house.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Reid

  For most of my childhood, I believed my mother invincible. And she was, to an extent. Tough. She did what she needed to do to maintain a sense of family and put food on the table when my deadbeat father wouldn’t step up to the plate.

  Once, when I was about nine or ten, he tried to hit her. He liked to beat on her as all asshole deadbeats liked to do to their wives. He was drunker than usual that night. Burst into the house after one of his all-nighters, stinking real strong of booze and piss. She told him to get the fuck out of the house and clean himself up before embarrassing himself in front of his kid.

  He got angry, shouted at her that she couldn’t tell him what to do in his own goddamn house. And as a matter fact, how she was a miserable cunt who had ruined his life the day he had married her fucking ass. He’d only gotten hitched because she was pregnant with a kid which he never believed was his, anyway.

  Same old, same old. He had shouted those things at her before. But that night was different. That night, the more he went on, the angrier he got. Then he charged and made a swing at her.

  She ducked out of the way—it’s pretty easy to dodge a drunk—and he crashed into his trophy case. Shards of glass and his various awards from his failed career as a football star tumbled around him. His face and hands were cut up pretty bad, but that didn’t stop him.

  He got up and saw me. I would always remember that look. Blood and bits of glass all over his face and that wild, angry stare like a man at the absolute last end of his tether, ready to commit a desperate act to save himself.

  He lunged at me. I cried out and raised my hands to cover my head like an idiot instead of getting the fuck out of his way. I heard his laboured breathing as his big, meaty hands came sailing down at me and I heard my mother screaming too.

  The blow never came. My mother hooked an umbrella handle around the bastard’s neck and yanked him to the floor. My father was a huge guy. That took some real strength. She grabbed up one of his heftier trophies and whacked him over the head with it. She whacked him again. Don’t you ever fucking touch my kid. Each word emphasized by a whack. Then a few times more even after he’d passed out. Later, she told the police she did it all in self-defence.

  My mother was a fierce woman who had beaten her first husband’s face in with a trophy. My mother had worked multiple jobs without complaint to make sur
e I never lacked for anything important. My mother was a beautiful woman who’d turned heads with her thick, dark hair, healthy figure, and glowing smile.

  My mother was not the bald, emaciated creature I’d seen lying in the hospital bed a few moments ago.

  A month. She had a month left to live thanks to the lung cancer ravaging her body. And where the fuck had I been? Lima. Bangkok. Seoul. Tokyo. Beirut. All over the damn place except the place I was meant to be: at home by my mother’s side, taking care of her just as she’d taken care of me. Being with her so she wouldn’t go through this on her own.

  Well, she wasn’t on her own. She had Harry who loved her with every breath in his body. And she had Mackenzie.

  Mac.

  God, she hadn’t changed a bit. Still the same with her soft chestnut curls and dark brown eyes. Still beautiful and even more so now that she’d become a woman.

  I tightened my fists in my lap as I glared out the window at the passing scenery. Fall had come to Seattle, evidenced by the rain, the yellowing leaves on the trees, and the chilly nip of the breeze. Rainwater squeezed through the gaps in the car’s windows. Mackenzie’s perfume, flowery and light, wafted over to further antagonize me.

  Agreeing to stay with her and Harry was a bad idea. I figured all these years away I’d finally grown past what I felt for her. Yet the instant I was back the old temptations I’d fought for years had resurfaced like they never left. I should have taken Mac’s cue when she’d screwed up her face at the hospital. She hadn’t wanted me to come home with them. That much was obvious. But how could I have turned down Harry when the man practically begged me to stay?

  I’ll book a hotel as soon as I get back to the house.

  And give them what excuse? Harry would be broken up about it, as much as that idea shocked me. Needless to say, we’d never been the best of friends since the day we first met. I’d like to think we’d grown to a grudging acceptance of each other because of my mother, but the way he’d looked at me as though I was his last hope of good news was almost a bit disturbing. I guess an impending death in the family can change a person that much.