The Other Brother Part 2: Taboo: Stepbrother Billionaire Romance Page 7

  His two douchey friends, Brett and Rico, stood off to the side to wait for him. Neither of them liked me much because I didn’t put up with their immature bullshit. I had questioned Derek many times on why he was friends with them. He never really gave me a definitive answer. Just mumblings about having been friends since high school.

  I still had friends from high school, Violet and Dahlia, but they were awesome. Although I hadn’t seen either one of them in a few months. Dahlia was across the country at a design school and Violet was still trying to get her life back together after some horrible shit happened to her. We texted and talked on the phone though.

  “Hey baby.” I wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. I missed him as we hadn’t hooked up the night before like we usually did. He said he had some test to study for. Which I thought weird since I had never seen him study for anything since I’d known him. He was in his second year of aviation, and all I’d ever seen him do is fly more beer and weed into his mouth.

  I pulled back and looked him over. He tasted like coffee and the one cigarette he allowed himself every morning in an effort to kick the habit and, surprisingly, cherry lip gloss. My stomach lurched. I didn’t wear cherry flavored anything.

  “Did you study for your test?” I asked, although by the way he was looking at me, I didn’t think he wanted to talk about studying or school.

  He took my hand. “We need to talk.”

  You have GOT to be kidding me?

  “Okay?”

  “Look, you are really pretty and stuff, but…”

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  He looked down at his feet.

  “You’re screwing someone else, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not like that, Ivy.”

  “What’s it like then? Huh?” I pulled my hand out of his.

  Others who mingled around in the quad started to look our way. It was highly possible my voice was a few octaves higher and louder than normal.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s just not working for me anymore.”

  “What’s not working? The sex we have all the time? The blowjobs you beg me to give you? The time I tied you up and spanked you? Huh? What?”

  There were some giggles from the other people in the quad.

  “Ivy, don’t be that way.”

  “What way? Mad? Because you stuck your dick in someone else BEFORE you broke up with me. Why on earth would I be mad about that?”

  He shook his head and ran a hand through his mop of dark hair. “This is exactly why this ain’t working.”

  I raised my eyebrow and tilted my head to say “Go on motherfucker tell me what’s wrong with me. I know you want to.”

  “You’re so damn controlling all the time. And bossy. And I can’t do anything without asking for permission.”

  “You wanted permission to fuck some other chick?”

  “No!” He threw up his hands. “Jesus, you’re so damn irritating.”

  “And you’re an asshole.”

  “Well whatever.” He took a few steps away. “We’re done. Your shit is in a box on my porch. Collect it today or it’s going in the garbage.” He walked back to his friends, who were smirking quite openly.

  “I’m surprised you had the stones to even do this in person.”

  “I told him to just text you,” Rico said. “Since I thought that’s all you’re worth.”

  I flipped him the middle finger. “Fuck you Rico. Good thing I didn’t tell him about all the secret texts you were sending me trying to hook up behind his back.”

  Derek gave Rico a sidelong look as they walked away. I knew it wouldn’t amount to much. In his mind, it would be my fault about Rico. That I had somehow encouraged him just by being a girl.

  I turned around so I didn’t have to watch him walk away from me. The tears were welling in my eyes, but I really didn’t want to let them go here in public with ten strangers watching with avid interest.

  I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder, then instead of going into the school I started back the way I’d came. There was no point in going to class today. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate anyway. So I figured a good long cry and forty minutes on the elliptical was in order. I liked to sweat when I was upset. I was a size 2 because I got upset a lot. Some girls would be jealous of me because of my figure, but they had no clue how much I suffered emotionally for it. Dahlia and Ivy didn’t really know either. I had always put on a carefree façade, especially when it came to guys, but deep down I had battle scars all over my heart and soul.

  I always picked the wrong ones. Guys who only wanted to know my outsides and not my insides. Any time I ever even hinted that I might be more than my C cup and pouty pink lips, guys got spooked and looked for a way to break up with me. And that way usually involved another girl. It was so typical.

  When I returned to my apartment near campus I immediately went into my bedroom. I grabbed an old plastic bag I sometimes used for garbage and opened my closet door. I tore an old chambray shirt from a hanger and shoved it into the bag. It was one of Derek’s. I slept in it sometimes because it had smelled like him, a combination of CK One and man.

  Turning, I snatched up the stick of deodorant on my dresser and the spearmint chapstick beside it and tossed both in the bag. Then I made my way to the bathroom and tossed in the razor I had bought him and the toothbrush. I was about to leave when I stopped and faced the toilet.

  Angry tears were rolling down my cheeks now. I didn’t want to shed them over him but sometimes a girl just has to have some release. And some pay back.

  I reached into the bag and took out the toothbrush. I opened the toilet lid and peered into the bowl. The water wasn’t dirty, I used an automatic cleaner inside the tank, but I hadn’t scrubbed the inside of the bowl in a week or so. Until now.

  I crouched and vigorously rubbed the bristles of the toothbrush inside the bowl. I dipped it in the water and scrubbed the stained porcelain. It was stained when I moved in, but still it made me feel better to do it. I scrubbed and scrubbed until my arm was sore and the tears on my cheeks had dried. Satisfied, I straightened then tossed the dirty wet toothbrush into the bag.

  In the living room I set the plastic bag on the table and plopped down onto the sofa. I felt a little better. Ruining his toothbrush gave me some joy. It kept the tears at bay for now and sometimes that was all a girl could hope for in a situation like this.

  I took out my phone and texted my friends, Dahlia and Violet.

  Me: So, another one bites the dust I waited a few minutes. I knew Dahlia might be in class but Violet usually answered right away.

  Violet: Why did you break up with this one?

  Me: I didn’t

  Violet: Oh crap babe, I’m sorry. What happened?

  Me: Dumped me for some other chick Violet: Douche

  Me: Says I’m a control freak. Can u believe that?

  Violet: Well…

  Me: WTF V! I am not

  Violet: You are kinda

  I didn’t text her back. I couldn’t believe she was agreeing with Derek. I mean, she was supposed to be my best friend. Best friends had each other’s back no matter what. I didn’t judge her when she hooked up with weirdo Devon. Well, I guess maybe I did say a few hurtful things about him even after I’d realized she really did like him and it wasn’t just a brief dive into the dark side.

  Violet: U still there?

  Me: Yes. Just hurt

  Violet: Sorry hun. I wish you were here so I could hug you Me: Me too

  Violet: If you want to talk, call me. I’m here Me: K

  I did want to talk but in person. I hated that I was here, and Violet was there, and Dahlia was all the way across the country. I needed my girls. Especially now.

  I set my phone down beside me and looked around at my apartment. It was a decent place. Bigger than what the majority of the students lived in. My parents paid for it, as well as the bills. I was lucky that my parents were wealthy and could afford to pay f
or my education. This was one of the reasons I had agreed to go to Glendale. My dad especially wanted me to get a college degree. He didn’t care what it was in, as long as I got it. I had tried to argue with him about it, insisting that it would be a huge waste of money, but he was stubborn and was used to getting his way.

  But I was stubborn too. And now seemed like the perfect time to prove it.

  I got up and went into my bedroom. I grabbed the suitcase from under the bed, opened it and started to pack up my clothes. I was going home.

  Read on for an excerpt from A Bride for a Billionaire, available now from Lauren Hawkeye

  MATTEO

  “WHY ARE YOU here again?”

  Stretching my legs out in front of me, I lean back in the large recliner that I’m slouched in as I speak. No matter how luxurious the VIP lounge at the Palermo International Airport intended these seats to be, I can’t get comfortable.

  Shifting again, I lace my fingers behind my head and crack open my eyes. Emilia is posing on the edge of my chair, all long legs and glossy hair and plump lips. Leaning forward enough to give me a good view down the front of her slinky dress, she trails a scarlet tipped fingernail over my bicep, sending a sting of pain through my skin.

  I like it. I also like the view down her dress, even though I know that the move was calculated. Not willing to remain passive, I place my hand on the warm, soft skin of her bare thigh and squeeze once, just enough to make my point.

  Her eyes flash with heat, and my cock responds, swelling to half-mast. The teasing between us is a game, perhaps a dangerous one, but one that we’ve played since my dad married her mom over a decade ago.

  “You’re going to make me think you don’t love me.” Those perfect lips of hers, painted with man-killer red, turn down in a pout that makes me picture them wrapped around my erection.

  “I don’t.” I’m satisfied by the flicker of pain in her eyes, pain that she smoothes over effortlessly.

  The cruel streak in me, the one I got from my father, enjoys hurting her feelings. The rest of me just doesn’t care. Truth is, I don’t have a lot of feelings for my stepsister. And the ones that I do have mostly center around her tits and the heated space between her legs. Not that I’ve ever sampled the latter, of course.

  There are some lines that even I won’t cross.

  “What a thing to say, when I came to see you off properly.” Her lips find the taut muscle at the base of my throat, and her teeth sink in, making me shudder. The basest part of me wants to drag her astride my lap. I want to unzip my pants and shove inside of her without any foreplay at all, and I want to find my release in a soulless fuck between the legs that have taunted me since I was fifteen, never mind that we’re in the VIP lounge at an airport, and that there are at least a dozen other people around us.

  Only the thin sliver of humanity that remains inside of me, the tiny shard that my father wasn’t able to extract, keeps me from doing it. That, and the fact that if I do the dynamics between us will change irrevocably, in ways that I don’t want.

  So though my body wants to let her keep nibbling on my neck—wants her mouth to move lower—I shove her away irritably, the recliner rocking forward with a jolt.

  She frowns. Still, undeterred, she reaches out, runs a hand through my hair.

  “The meeting just won’t be the same without you.” She flicks her tongue over those glossy red lips. “You know how I love it when you lead board meetings. All that raw power.”

  “You’ll handle it just fine.” Smirking, I meet her eyes. I’m not stupid. Though she pretends that all she wants is to get her hands on me, we both know that it’s Benenati Enterprises that she really loves… the company, and the billions of dollars that it generates.

  She would probably make a far better CEO than me, if I were feeling honest, which I rarely am. I have the same hunger for power that Emilia does, but there are days when the baggage my father left behind in the empire that he built feel too heavy for me to carry.

  Which is why I’m waiting to board our family’s private plane, which will take me to one of our vacation homes, the one on the Amalfi Coast. I do everything I can to avoid these meetings in person, instead attending by phone whenever possible.

  I hate the way the board—all people who were been handpicked by my father—stare at me, their expectations weighing me down.

  I’m not Carmine Benenati, and I’m thankful for that fact every day. But I’m still his blood, a fact inescapable even six months after his death.

  The man—this company—can still mold me in his image. The very thought haunts my every waking moment, and sometimes my dreams, as well.

  Shuddering inwardly, I slam my empty scotch glass on the side table, hard enough to shatter. Catching the eye of the very attractive, very scantily clad waitress, I contemplate a second drink. And possibly a quickie with her in the executive washroom.

  Anything to take the edge off. But from the corner of my eye I see Emilia taking note of my intentions toward the pretty redhead, of the scotch that I drained too quickly.

  I can’t show weakness in front of her, or it will cost me.

  “What the hell is taking so long?” Scowling, I shove away thoughts of another drink, of the mind numbing emptiness of release, and push my way to my feet. Emilia’s fuck-me lips turn down sullenly as I stride to the glassed in door of the lounge, wanting—needing—some distraction.

  I barely have time to blink before a skinny teenager dressed in black sprints by, a large straw purse clutched tightly in his emaciated arms.

  “My purse! That man took my purse!” The voice wavers, clearly belonging to an elderly woman. Still, it filters through the thick glass door that separates the VIP lounge from the rest of those striding through the airport with scowls on their faces just fine.

  Sucking in a breath, I push the glass door open. It slams against the wall with such force it could break, but I don’t care—if it does, I’ll buy them another. Adrenaline rushes through me as I bounce on the balls of my feet, looking from the rapidly shrinking figure clutching the handbag, to the older woman with clouds of white hair, who is trying to rise from the floor.

  My instinct is to sprint after the young man who just callously preyed on the weak. But a small voice inside my head whispers, holding me back.

  It’s not your problem, Matteo. These people are beneath you. Let them solve their own problems.

  That voice is Carmine’s, not mine. But does it really matter?

  “You’re not seriously thinking of playing the superhero, are you?” Behind me I hear Emilia laugh, the sound rich with amusement and condescension. “Who are you and what have you done with my stepbrother?”

  That decides it.

  “You could go help that old woman up,” I snap over my shoulder as I break into a run. She won’t, I know she won’t, but someone will.

  I barely make it three steps before I’m overtaken by a woman. A girl, really, younger than me, with long chestnut hair streaming out behind her.

  “I’ve got it!” She shouts as she pushes past me, picking up speed. Dio, but she’s fast, the movements of her legs highlighted by the spandex legging style pants that girls like to wear.

  I race after her, my course of action decided.

  This girl is maybe five foot four to my six three. She’s so small… what is she going to do when she catches up to a man mean enough to steal from an old woman?

  No matter how rotten I am on the inside, I can’t let that slide. So I sprint after her, after the thief.

  I’m fast, but she’s faster. She’s gaining on the mugger, who casts a panicked look over his shoulder. Even from this distance I can see that his eyes are wide, crazed.

  He’s high on something… he would have to be, to try a stunt like this in an international airport.

  And this pazzo woman, this crazy girl, is two strides away from being in a lot of trouble.

  “Stop!” I shout, but it’s too late. She jumps, lands on the unkempt man, wraps her ar
ms around the purse as they struggle to stay upright. Horror joins the adrenaline pulsing through me as I see a flash of silver, the whites of the man’s eyes.

  The girl screams, a sound full of anger more than pain, as she twists, the knife sinking into her upper arm rather than her chest. The scene plays out in slow motion before my eyes as she falls to the floor, a viscous stream of crimson staining the front of her white T-shirt.

  My instinct is to drop to my knees beside her, to put pressure on her wound. But her eyes—beautiful blue eyes, brilliant as the Mediterranean—meet my own.

  “I’m fine!” She wheezes at me, despite the very obvious fact that she is not. Her arms wrap ever tighter around the purse, and with one foot she kicks the knife out of range. “Go!”

  I don’t usually take orders, especially from women, but I understand the fire in her stare. The mugger has already scrambled to his feet, is poised to run.

  The girl managed to get the purse, but justice must be served. I appreciate this desire of hers. So without breaking my stride, I leap, wrapping my arms around the man. My muscles are burning from the sprint, but I hold tight as we crash to the floor.

  “Off! Off!” The thief’s voice is high-pitched, hysterical. He thrashes beneath me, and I grunt as his knee connects with my gut. “I need that money! I need the fucking money!”

  “There’s probably nothing more than pocket change and stale mints in that purse, you idiot.” My muscles strain as I grab hold of his wrists, secure them behind his back—I’m by far the bigger of us two, but he has mania on his side.

  He doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on something over my shoulder as he struggles. His skin is pale and clammy, eyes bloodshot and glassy. His muscles are tight with tension and pressed against him like I am, I can feel the hammering of his pulse, unnaturally fast.

  I lift my head, try to crane my neck back to get a glimpse of the girl, but she’s out of my line of sight. Instead I see a man and a woman, both dressed in the blue uniforms of aeroporti security, running toward us.