RICHARD (A BAD BOY ROMANCE) (35 page)

STEPBROTHER FIXATION

Renowned
bestselling
authors
Nikki Wild
and
Kat Jackson are back
with
another
full-
length
steamy
romance
novel
!

Madison

I
can’t
be
doing
this
…
Not
now
…
Not
with
him
.

Preston Harvey is a
wealthy
asshole
.
He’s
the
living
symbol
of
everything
I
hate
in
this
world
.
I
wouldn’t
sleep
with
him
if
he
were
the
last person on Earth.

Except
… I
just
did
.

That’s
when
everything
went
very
right,
and
VERY wrong…

Preston

We are
so
fucked
.

Our
parents
are
engaged
for
Christ’s
sake.
Somebody
is
going
to
find
out
we’re
doing
this
and
there
will
be
hell
to
pay
...

When
I gave Madison a job as
my
personal
assistant
,
this
was
not
the
position
I had in mind
for
my
soon
-
to
-
be
-step
…

And
now
I
can’t
stop. I
can’t
ever stop…

I
want
this
…
And
a
billionaire
always
gets
what
he wants.

This is a stand-alone novel with a HEA and does NOT end in a
cliffhanger!

Copyright
©
2016
by
Kat Jackson
and
Nikki Wild

This book is a work of fiction, any names, places, and situations
portrayed within are products of the author’s imagination.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks
to
my
husband
and
my
wonderful
children
for
being
so
patient
with
me as I
pursue
my
writing
dreams
.
You
have no
idea
how
lucky
I
am
to
have
you
all
.

Thanks
to
Nora,
my
tireless
editor
who
never
fails
to
get
the
job
done
.
Thanks
to
my
cover artist Ethan
and
my
incredible
publicist Devlin
Rice.

A
special
thanks
to
my
new
elliptical
machine,
for
helping
me
lose
my
five
pounds
of “
novel
fat”.

“I can’t do this,” I told her. “I
can’t pretend like last night never happened. I need you, Madison, and not in
the way that a brother needs his stepsister.”

 
I began lifting up the hem, revealing the
creamy white tops of her thighs inch by inch until finally, I caught a glimpse
of her underwear. I pulled my cock out and nestled it against her crotch. I
felt my balls seize and I snarled in her ear. “I could blow my load right here,
Maddy
. I could soak these panties before dinner, and
your mother and my father wouldn’t know a thing. You’d spend the whole night
with
my
cum staining your panties... That’s what you
do to me. You make me want to do the nastiest fucking things to you.”

Maddy
shivered and looked up at me
with hooded eyes. “Preston… Jesus, we can’t. What we did last night was wrong.
I wanted it… We wanted it… But you know it can’t happen again.”

I pulled her panties open, letting the tip of my dick violate the
space between them and her sweet, soaking wet lips. I thrust, overwhelmed by
the sensation of being so near to her, of feeling my bulging head slip around
in her honeyed nectar. “It has to,” I whispered. “Every time I look at
you,
all I want to do is get inside you again.”

I was so close. But Madison gently, yet firmly took me by the
wrist. I could see lust in her eyes, but there was something else too. Maybe it
was self-restraint…

“We can’t,” she repeated, and this time there was no “maybe” in
her tone. I withdrew and she let her fingers brush mine. “I’m sorry, Preston,
but think of what could happen if we got caught…”

I nodded. As frustrated as I was, she made sense. But dammit, I
didn’t want her to make sense! All I wanted was to throw caution to the wind
and bury myself in my darling little stepsister.

She fixed her skirt and helped tuck my cock back inside my pants,
her hand lingering on its straining girth longer than she needed to.

“Let’s hope there’s wine tonight,” I said as her fingertips left
me, her graceful body moving around the car and sliding into the passenger
seat.

“I think I’m going to need it,”
Maddy
replied, trying to avoid my gaze as I sat down beside her. We didn’t say
another word as her hand found its way to my thigh, giving me a reassuring
squeeze.

A drink was definitely going to be required. Maybe a little buzz
would help me forget, but as we drove, all I could do was try to ignore the
heat radiating from her fingertips. My mind drifted, traveling back to the day
she ran into me on the street with those big beautiful tears in her eyes… So
perfect… So broken…

One
month earlier…

“Madison
,
lunch was over two minutes ago.”

I looked up from microwavable meal. It was a
small plastic bowl of steamed rice and veggies, but the shitty microwave in the
break room had only heated things up on one side, leaving me with broccoli
stalks with freezer burn still clinging to them.

My gaze fixed on Miguel Herrera, the general
manager of the small rental company I worked for. He reminded me of a man who
had once done greater things, but had since been exiled to the dredges of
monotony that corporate life entailed. Maybe he’d been military, or maybe he’d
once been a little higher up the food chain where commands weren’t questioned
and his iron fist ruled all. Either way, it was painfully clear that a man like
Miguel was never meant for a company like
ExecuSpace
.

ExecuSpace
itself was an interesting
animal. Instead of renting tangible things like cars, homes, or office
buildings, they rented out
virtual
office space. I sat behind a desk answering a multi-line phone system where
each line represented a different suite supposedly housed in the six-story
building I worked in. A prompt would pop up on my computer with each call,
reminding me to answer for “Lindsey’s Lawn Service” or “Jack
Vogler
, Esquire.” Then I’d place the caller on hold and
transfer them to the client’s voice mailbox, their cell phone, or even their
home phone where they
really
worked.

Basically,
ExecuSpace
rented nothing at all—nothing but the illusion that their clients were more
important than they really were. It was brilliantly deceptive, and it worked
like a charm.

That meant the phones were busy. That meant
that sometimes I didn’t get to take a lunch break, and when I did, running
sixty seconds past the mark would earn me a visit from Miguel’s dark, scowling
face.

“You left your desk at half past noon, didn’t
you?” he asked, raising one of his charcoal eyebrows. I shuffled the food in
her bowl and nodded, taking another bite.

“I did, but I got stopped in the hall by Mr.
Franklin, who wanted me to run back to my desk and put a parcel into the
outgoing mail. Then when I got back there, Lacy got a phone call from her ex and
ran outside to take it, so I had to wait for her to get back before I could
leave again. After that, Ms. Harris asked for a physical list of the calls
she’d received today, even though they’re all logged on her voicemail, and ten
minutes later I finally got to heat up my lunch and sit down here.

“So,” I continued, glancing up at the clock
over my shoulder, “I’m not two minutes late. I’m actually just sitting down to
eat, so I’ve got about twenty-five minutes left.”

Normally I wouldn’t have spoken to Miguel—or
anyone at
ExecuSpace
—that way. That was because I
desperately needed this job, or I’d be completely screwed in the way of keeping
a roof over my head. That meant putting up with grueling twelve- to
fourteen-hour shifts, even if I had to clock out at five p.m. like everybody
else, enduring the abuse of my colleagues and the incompetence of my supposed
assistant, and above all else, not stepping away from my desk unless I needed
to use the restroom or had some other emergency.

But today was different. Today, after four
long, arduous years without so much as a pay bump or a pat on the back, I was
not in the mood.

I had bills to pay, and they were mounting
quickly. I’d been hired in at a measly ten dollars an hour and that hadn’t
changed, even though my responsibilities had. I was no longer the receptionist
answering the phones, opening mail, and sending off a few e-mails every day—not
that my job had ever
only
entailed
that, despite what they’d told me during my interview. I was the personal
assistant to pretty much everyone on the floor, as well as the office manager
for when nobody else wanted to deal with the bullshit that sauntered up to the
front desk every day. I could—and had—run the entire operation by myself on
many occasions. So why was I still being treated and paid like Lacy, the girl
with no education, no computer skills, no ambition, and no desire to be here?

Lacy also happened to be my “assistant,” but
she was an awful lot like my burden. She rarely lifted a finger to answer a
call before I got to it and yet she still had her job and half the office
tripping over themselves to take care of things for her. That usually involved
passing her work off to me while she skipped out on some obscure “errand” or
spent an hour in Miguel’s office with the door shut. She was young and pretty
and she knew it, and I supposed that was what got a woman ahead in this place
more than anything else.

Miguel appraised me, putting his hands on his
waist in a way that spread apart his blazer to reveal his paunchy belly. I made
sure to tightly cinch my legs together under the table, though the violet
pencil skirt I was wearing hugged my thighs enough that I was sure he could use
his imagination as to what was between them. I didn’t want him to do that, of
course, but there was no stopping Miguel Herrera when he decided he wanted
something.

When his gaze finally dragged back up to meet
mine, I realized what he wanted was for me to toss away my lunch and go back to
my desk. I held his stare, trying not to let my mouth twitch or my knee shake,
trying not even to blink. I didn’t want to make any move that might be
perceived as a sign of weakness, because today, after a shitty annual review
and yet another thirteen-hour shift the day before, I was taking my goddamn lunch
break.

Eight hours. That’s what I get
paid for,
I
reminded myself, a low heat rising in the pit of my empty stomach.
Lunch is supposed to be an hour. Lacy gets
an hour. So do Ross and Ben. Miguel himself takes as long as he likes. I’m
entitled to sit and eat once a day, thank you.

“Okay. You just sit there, then, while
there’s a crisis up front,” Miguel growled, waving a hand dismissively in my
direction. He looked utterly disgusted with me. “I’m sure the rest of us can
manage your job for you.”

I ignored his tantrum. It wasn’t easy—I could
feel my cheeks beginning to scald and my throat tighten. “What sort of crisis?”
I managed as I took in another deliberate mouthful of rice. I tried not to
wince as my tooth sunk into a shard of carrot.

“One of last month’s interviewees showed up,”
he answered, and I could tell by the tone in his voice exactly which one it
was. “Again.”

I finally looked away, heaving a sigh through
my nose. Last month, Miguel had wanted to hire a few more salespeople and had
put out an open call on Craigslist. We’d received hundreds of applications, and
he and Ross, our staffing manager, had decided on group interviews being the
most efficient way to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were.
Unfortunately
in their enthusiasm, they’d made promises they
couldn’t keep, and some of the prospective hires had to be told they either
weren’t good fits (mostly due to some background check revelations) or that
there simply wasn’t enough room for them on the team.

Except that Ross refused to tell them that.
He just dodged their calls, allowing each and every one to go to his voicemail
and directing me to say he wasn’t in the office. Miguel had declared the matter
was “beneath him” and that Ross would just have to deal with it.

But when Ross didn’t deal with it, it
suddenly became my problem. Suddenly I had to let someone down regarding a
decision I hadn’t even been a part of. Suddenly I had to bear the brunt of
their anger and frustration. Me, the woman who was constantly reminded that she
was “only” an administrative assistant and
not
a manager.

“Isn’t Ross around?” I asked, though I was
sure I already knew the answer.

“He’s at lunch. And you
are
our front desk girl, so this seems like it falls under your
purview.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You know what he’s here
about, don’t you? It’s been a month, and Ross hasn’t returned his calls. He’s
probably furious.”

Miguel shrugged. “Part of your job, Madison,
is to handle customer service issues. If you can’t hack it, well, then…”

He trailed off as he always did. He never
actually said he’d fired me or that I should look for some other job, but the
threat was always there hanging in the silence. He knew it. I knew it. But he
didn’t have the guts to utter the words out loud. He was
that
type of asshole, the one who did everything in his power not
to do his own dirty work, not to seem like the dick that he really was. If I
went to HR to complain now and said, “He made me feel as though my job was in
jeopardy,” Miguel could come right back and say, “I never said that.” And it
would be true. The bastard sure knew how to wiggle.

“I’m entitled to a lunch break,” I reminded
him, but I knew I was losing the fight. There was no point, really. We both
knew he wasn’t going to make Lacy take care of it. When it came to reminding
people about the nature of their job, I was the sole target.

“Like I said, you’re two minutes over.”
Miguel’s gaze flicked to the clock. “Five, now. You’d better get back to your
desk and take care of this before it becomes a payroll issue.”

I slammed my plastic fork down onto my tray
and stood, making sure to scrape my chair all the way back across the floor. I
tossed the tray hard into the garbage can, maybe too hard, because as I passed
Miguel he stepped directly in my way.

“And stow the attitude,” he said, a smugness
lifting the corners of his lips.

I stared at him for a moment, and in that
time, something just… snapped. I was sure this was a bad idea. I was almost
certain I would lose my job. But in that one exhausted, frustrated, hungry
moment, I lost my temper and brushed past him, thumping my shoulder into his as
I careened down the main hall.

“Hey!” he called after me. I could hear and
feel his footsteps pounding the carpet behind me. “Madison! Don’t you
dare
walk away from me when I’m talking
to you!”

I ignored him, continuing on my path. As I
passed Ross’ office, I could hear the soft sound of his Pandora station and see
a light on from under the door. I tried the handle. It was locked.

“Ross!” I said, banging hard enough for one
of our clients to poke his head out further down the hall. “Ross, you have Mr.
Davies here to see you!”

“I’m not in,” he said. I could practically
taste the cowardice in his tone.

“You’re a manager,” I said, for once
reminding my so-called betters of their positions rather than the other way
around. “And you’ve been ignoring his calls for a month. Just come out and tell
him he hasn’t been hired. It’s not that big a deal!”

Ross didn’t answer, and by now, Miguel was
catching up. I shook my head, snorted, and strode toward the front desk again.
Even in heels, I was quicker than Miguel’s fat ass.

“
Maddy
,” Lacy said
as I came into view around the corner. She was texting while Mr. Davies sat in
one of the reception area chairs. She brushed a dark lock of hair from her face
and tried to pretend like I hadn’t just caught her slacking off once again at
work. “Mr. Davies is here for…”

“For Mr. Culling,” I finished, smiling at Mr.
Davies. That smile felt wrong and wild, but the momentum of my anger was
thrusting me forward now. I couldn’t stop. “I’m Madison Hearst. We’ve spoken on
the phone.” I extended my hand for his.

Mr. Davies stood up and hesitated a moment.
My eyes fell to his left hand, the one that was shriveled and tucked against
his side. Some kind of accident, I’d been told. But I didn’t need that one. I
only needed his right.