Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance Read Free

rolling those deep green eyes as my face glowed a crimson red. He seemed to be enjoying it, this teasing. I wondered for a moment if he really meant what he was saying or was just getting off on my extreme discomfort.
    “Now children,” my mother said in between gleeful giggles, joining her husband and new stepson in mocking her only daughter. “Play nice.”
    “I will when he will!” I huffed, turning from the kitchen, and despite the protests of my mortified mother, retreated to my room.

Chapter Three
    I stomped up the stairs, glad for once there was so damn many so that I could illuminate how mature and rational I was being by pounding down on each one as hard as I could. They were hardwood–only the best for my millionaire stepfather–and resounded with a hollow thump each time one of my ratty Converse sneakers made contact with another step.
    By the time I reached the hallway upstairs, however, they barely took notice, chattering amongst themselves between little clusters of quick, uncomfortable laughter.
    Assholes.
    I paused in the hallway, noting the gaily colored balloons and metallic “Welcome Home” sign on Ryan’s bedroom door, located just across from mine. I huffed, turning toward my room and tossing my backpack purse on my bed before slamming the door shut with a resounding, wobbling “BAM!”
    I fumed, pacing in tight circles in front of my window, the one that looked out over the long, kidney shaped pool and even longer, tropical oasis of a pool deck that surrounded it. Usually the lush setting brought me peace, with its palm trees, greenery, and especially the vibrant rose garden beneath the kitchen window.
    But today the too lush, too green setting was just another reminder that while Mom had found a home here in Jerry’s sprawling 4,500-square foot mansion, I was still a virtual stranger–even to my own mother.
    I suppose I’d been okay with that for the first few months we’d lived here, with my new classes, new friends, new setting and routine. At nineteen I was old enough to know that life was what it was. Mom married Jerry, and unless I’d wanted to drop out of school and get a job back home in Miami to support myself, I was stuck living with them until I had a degree and could start a career. Fine, great, super.
    I’d endured that, somehow settling into a routine that kept me from screaming into my pillow before crying myself to sleep every night. But then Ryan had suddenly decided to leave the Marines and return home. Everything changed. Even then he’d been an abstract theory, something Mom or Jerry mentioned in connection with today’s party but beyond that, I thought little of my brother—let alone what it meant to be a sister.
    Now I realized that Ryan’s return had forever altered the uncertain dynamic that had existed in the house before his homecoming. Already alliances had shifted and Mom had chosen sides–Jerry’s, of course, and by association, Ryan’s. I’d already been a third wheel around here, with Mom and Jerry’s constant whispering and twittering, grossing me out with their teenage, lovesick angst. But now I was really the odd man out. Ryan the hero with his battle scars and sexy tattoos, his hunky physique and war stories–how could I ever hope to compete with my frizzy blonde ponytail, nose ring, and dragon tattoo?
    I sighed, pacing unconsciously, wearing a fresh tread in my bedroom carpet as I fumed until regret poked its weary head into my psyche. After all, it wasn’t Ryan’s fault he’d grown tired of the military and opted out for life as a civilian instead. After those tours in Afghanistan, who could blame him? It wasn’t his fault he’d opted to move home until he found a place of his own. Why spend money when he had his own room in a giant, sprawling house – rent free? It wasn’t even Jerry’s fault for being pissed that I showed up late.
    “Fuck!”
    Despite his loud-mouthed know-it-all nature and uptight, three-piece suit mentality,