Authors: Tawny Taylor
Stepbrother Romance 2– Consumed
A New Adult Alpha Billionaire Romance
Stepbrother Romance 1 - Obsessed
Stepbrother Romance 2
Stepbrother Romance 3
ABOUT THE BOOK
Stepbrother Romance 2- Consumed A New Adult Alpha Billionaire Romance (originally titled: Hostile Takeover 2)
I hate him. I want him. I’m so effed.
Kent Payne is one of those guys – with a panty-melting body and an ego bigger than his…you get the picture. But he’s also a total tool and an irritating, arrogant pain in the ass. I was an idiot during spring break and handed him my V-card. And now it’s summer and things are worse than before. Even though the womanizing prick is a reckless a&&hole with women, whenever he comes near me, my body burns for his touch. Even though I know it’s stupid, I ache for the feel of his arms around me and I long for his kisses…
Until I learn he’s kept a secret from me. A very big secret that will change everything…
NOTE: Stepbrother Romance 2 is the second book in a THREE PART SERIAL with a “soft” cliffhanger ending.
Books in the STEPBROTHER ROMANCE Serial:
Stepbrother Romance 1 - Obsessed
Stepbrother Romance 2
Stepbrother Romance 3
Genre: Romance, New Adult/College, Billionaire Stepbrother, Stepbrother Billionaire Romance
I hate him and yet I want him. Desperately.
I am so effing dead.
Mom just got married, and now I have to live with my new billionaire stepbrother, Kent Payne. I should be happy, right? We aren’t surviving on noodles and rice anymore. And at first I am. But things change. Quickly. It’s
. Kent Payne. He is exactly what his name implies--a pain in the ass. Sure, he’s gorgeous, and rich, and built like a god. But he’s also a controlling, irritating, womanizing pain in the butt.
Now, thanks to our parents, we’re members of one big, happy family. Woo-to-the-fu**ing-hoo. He’s a jerk. And nothing can happen between us anyway.
So I shouldn’t care about who he’s kissing in the kitchen...
And I definitely shouldn’t be fantasizing about him being my
Genres: Romance, New Adult/College, Billionaire Stepbrother
Our gazes tangled.
The air squeezed out of my lungs. I couldn’t inhale.
His gaze flicked to my mouth, and my heart did a somersault in my chest.
Was he going to kiss me?
A breeze carried the smell of flowers and man to my nose. A lock of hair fluttered across my face. I reached up to capture it, but he lifted a hand and smoothed it back, behind my ear. “You look like your mother,” he said, his voice very low.
Was that meant to be a compliment?
“You look like your father,” I told him with my heart in my throat. He was still staring at my mouth, this beautiful, mysterious man. It was wrong, so so wrong, but I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to find out what it would be like to be kissed by a man who knew how to kiss. I wanted to be touched by a man who knew how to touch a woman.
He didn’t move, just remained fixed in place as if he was trying to decide whether he would kiss me or not.
And so I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his.
His lips were firm at first, unwelcoming. But I knew he wanted me. I didn’t back off. I arched my back so my breasts barely brushed against his chest and moved my mouth slowly, softly over his.
The smoldering kiss continued for a million racing heartbeats, maybe more. I completely lost track of time, of space, of everything. Until there was a deep rumble, like thunder.
And then lightning struck. Somewhere out there. In the distance.
And also between Kent and me.
Kent grabbed my shoulders, pulled until my torso was flush with his. His mouth claimed mine. It was the kiss I’d been waiting for my entire life. It was soft and rough, thrilling and scary. It was a question and an answer.
It was a conquering.
And I surrendered.
I was his. His to claim. His to touch. His to take.
My body molded to his. My mouth opened. His tongue swept inside, and I savored his intoxicating, sweet flavor.
Heavy need pounded between my legs. I writhed. I whimpered. I welcomed his invasion.
I felt him shift beside me and then he was above me, and I was angling back, my shoulders supported by a strong, thick arm. My head rested on the seat and he climbed over me, breaking the kiss.
I pulled in a gasp. My head was spinning. All I saw was Kent, his face…and the desire burning in his eyes.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered as he kissed me again. His kiss was tender. It was thorough. It was oh,
good and yet not enough. The burning between my legs was becoming unbearable.
“Please,” I begged, arching my back so my breasts brushed against his chest. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the delicious pleasure pulsing through me. He couldn’t stop now.
“Shayne,” he murmured, cupping my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip and I quivered from head to toe. Did he know what his touches did to me? What his kisses did? I was so hot I felt like I would combust. And the burning was the worst
, between my legs. I wanted it to stop...and I didn’t.
My hips rocked back and forth, back and forth. The friction against my center felt so good but even that wasn’t enough. I wanted to tear my clothes away, to feel his skin gliding over mine. To feel his wet, warm mouth on my nipple.
“Your mother is trusting me to protect you,” he said, voice husky. Even as he said those words, his hand slid down, fingertip tracing a line along the pounding pulse in my throat. The gentle touch made me whimper.
More, I needed more.
As if he could read my thoughts, his fingertip ventured lower, along my collarbone, lower, angling toward my ample cleavage.
Yes, oh yes. Keep going.
He had to keep going.
“But you’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t stop staring at you, wanting you.”
Twenty-two years ago, at exactly twelve minutes after three, an adorable baby girl was born to a young couple who were crazy in love with each other. That baby, of course, was me. And that young couple was my parents. Today I turn twenty-two. And a lot has happened in the course of those twenty-two years—besides the obvious.
My mom and dad split up. A high school romance that was probably doomed from the start ended before I was out of diapers. Dad disappeared. Mom spent the next two decades working two, sometimes three, jobs to keep us in mac-n-cheese, Walmart jeans, and our miniscule two bedroom apartment in Ferndale. And yet I grew up blissfully content. I had a great childhood. I was loved and I knew it. I was encouraged to follow my dreams, to try new things, to learn and explore and take risks with everything… but my heart.
Loving a man, as I was told many, many times, was a sure road to ruin.
And so I followed my mother’s sound advice--until she went and did the unthinkable. She fell in love with a man and married him. I met his son while they were on their honeymoon. My life hasn’t been the same since.
In fact, all the peace, happiness, and joy that I once took for granted have evaporated. And ironically, I’m not starving or cold or desperate. I’m living in a mansion.
But I’m miserable.
Because I’m falling in love with an asshole, of course.
And I can’t have him.
of which I speak is Kent Payne. He’s my stepbrother. And he’s also the devil incarnate. Stupid me, I lost my V-card. To him. A couple weeks ago. He was my first. I was definitely not his. And, based on the parade of half-naked women who’ve strutted through his house since then, coupled with the conversation we had before we had sex, it’s safe to assume I won’t be his last, either.
You see, Kent believes in fucking other women to make him forget the one he can’t have. That’s me. Clearly he’s trying very hard to forget. And clearly he hasn’t succeeded… yet.
My mom was right. Falling in love is a sure road to heartbreak. I am in absolute misery.
Mom has been so preoccupied with her new husband, she hasn’t even noticed how stiff and strained Kent and I are when we’re in the same room. To ease the tension a bit I’ve done everything I could to stay away from the house. I’ve pounded the pavement, applying for jobs at every business in town. And I’ve spent as much time as I dared with my bestie, Ransom. But that wasn’t a lot. She’s been super busy. Last week she married my ex-boyfriend and she’s also in the latter stages of making a baby. These days she goes to bed early, wakes up late, and takes a nap in the middle of the afternoon. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for
I checked the clock. It was a little after ten in the morning. By now Kent would be long gone, at work, thank God. Lately it was absolutely excruciating being around him.
Sadly, this was my fault. I’d done this to myself. So I had no right to complain.
I yawned. I stretched and lounged for a few minutes in the super-soft bed I’ve been sleeping in. It has been a while since I moved in, but I still don’t feel like Kent’s monstrous abode is my home. It’s full of his stuff—pretty stuff, but not my stuff.
Not to mention I knew he slept on the other side of the wall. That one. Right next to my bed. Sometimes, when I was alone, I would close my eyes and press my hand against it, imagining it was his chest I was touching instead of stupid drywall.
I didn’t do that now, though. No time for such silliness this morning. I needed to get rolling.
I made use of the crazy-nice bathroom attached to my room, showered, dressed, put on some makeup, and smoothed my hair into a stylish bun on the top of my head. Then I wandered out to the kitchen in search of food.
“Surprise” a small group of adults screamed, jumping up from behind the kitchen island as I entered.
Stunned, I stammered, “T-thank you,” to my happy birthday wishers—mom, her husband, and…Kent.
Mom raced toward me, arms stretched out in an offer of a hug, which I gladly accepted. “Happy Birthday to my baby girl! I have a surprise for you!” She spun around and reached toward her husband. The handsome gentleman behind her pulled a small gift-wrapped box from behind his back and placed it in her palm. Grinning like a little girl who’d just learned she was about to get a new pony, Mom handed the box to me. “I hope you like it!”
It was nice to see my mom so happy. It didn’t matter what was in that box. That huge smile was the most precious gift I’d ever received.
I glanced at Kent. He was looking a little impatient, his gaze locked on the clock hanging on the wall. I pulled the bow off the box and set it on the gleaming stone counter. Then I tore off the paper.
Inside was a white box, the kind that would normally hold something sparkly from a jeweler. I lifted the lid and discovered a silver and gold key ring with a very recognizable emblem embedded in its center.
Cartier. The key ring was a Cartier, the first designer anything I’ve ever owned.
“Wow,” I said, my tongue tied into a knot too tight to allow me to utter another word. I grabbed Mom, and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you.”
“Aren’t you curious what the key is for?” she asked as she bounced in my arms like a toddler who’d OD’d on cookies.
“Key?” I looked at the ring again. Oh yes, there was a key. I hadn’t noticed it. I’d been too focused on the key ring’s logo. “Yes.”
“Look under it, in the box,” Mom said, grinning over her shoulder at her husband.
Noticing the white paper fitted neatly into the bottom of the box, I flipped it out and opened it.
1238 Oakbrook Street, Plymouth.
It was an… address?
“It’s yours. Your new home.” Mom swiped at the tears dribbling down her cheeks. “A house of your very own.”
“A house?” I glanced at Kent, catching his gaze for a split second before he jerked it back to the clock. “A house?” I repeated.
“Yes. It’s roughly half way between here and Ferndale. Do you remember all those open houses we went to when you were younger?”
“How could I ever forget?”
Mom clapped her hands together. “Your favorites were always the older homes, with the fireplaces and fancy woodwork. You always said you wanted to buy a house like that and renovate it. So…”
So… she’d bought me one? An old house? With a fireplace?
“Really?” My heart soared. “Really?” I repeated.
“Go see it. I hope you love it.”
I grabbed her and squeezed her so hard I might have cracked a rib or two. Then I smiled at her husband, who I assumed helped Mom with the purchase, since she didn’t work anymore. There was no way she could have afforded it on her own. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Mom said, stepping back to take her place next to her husband. “It’s going to be sad, not having you so close, but you’re an adult now. I know you want your own space, your own life. You… haven’t been the same since I married Dirk.”
“It isn’t because I’m not happy for you. Because I am,” I said, my gaze swinging back and forth between Mom and Dirk. “For both of you. It’s just… like you said, I need my own space.” I clasped the key ring to my chest. “This gift is perfect.” For more than one reason.
I heard a door slamming and swung around, discovering Kent was gone. Probably off to make another million.
His father scowled. “The boy was never the patient sort.”
“No problem,” I reassured him. “I know he’s a busy man.”
The elder Payne pinched his lips. “Yes, well…” I could tell he had a lot more to say, but he left it at that.
I let the subject go and offered Mom and her husband a cup of coffee, which they refused, saying they were on their way out. I sent them off with a wave, poured my morning dose into a travel cup and hurried to my car.
In a half hour or so, I would be stepping into my first house. Mine. All mine. I couldn’t believe it.
This had to be the best birthday of my life.
My mom loved me.
Not that I had ever doubted her love. I hadn’t. Not even lately, as she’d become increasingly preoccupied by the silver-haired fox she’d married. But for the first time I realized she didn’t just love me, she knew me, like nobody else, better than I knew myself.
This was the perfect gift, the perfect house. I was in love from the moment I stepped through the creaky front door.
The porch was falling down. The original wood floors were sloping and scarred and dusty. The walls were cracked.
But this house was my dream house. I could look past all the ugly. And what I saw was the beautiful house it could become.
This was exactly what I needed. Not just a home, but a project. A reason to wake up every morning.
I stood in the middle of the living room and cried.
“Do you hate it that bad?” a male voice said from the front door, which I’d left hanging wide open.
Recognizing that voice, I dragged my hand across my face and turned to the first visitor to
. “No way. I don’t hate it. I love it.”
“Really?” Looking completely befuddled, my impatient stepbrother, Kent glanced around the space. I knew what he saw. He saw all the flaws. The cracks. The falling plaster. The ugly wallpaper. The ugly floors. “You love
“I do. I love everything about it.” I set my hand on the grimy fireplace mantel. “Look at this.” I lifted my hand, palm out, showing a layer of grime clinging to it. “What’s not to love?”
He scrunched his nose and loped inside. “Everything.”
“Says someone who has no vision, no imagination.”
Eyes full of laughter, he started to lean against the wall, thought better of it and instead folded his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s a first, someone telling me I lack vision.”
“Aw, have I wounded your pride?” I teased, enjoying our exchange. Since
day, things between us have been tense. This was the first time it felt easier.
Trying to look wounded, but failing, he shrugged. “Perhaps a little.”
“I would apologize, but I’m not sorry. And I doubt there’s a thing I could say to deflate your pride, anyway. It’s steel-strong. Make that platinum-strong.”
He chuckled, the sound making me feel more at ease. Meandering around the room, he eyed a few details, the mantle, of course, the trim around the doors, the windows. “You are always a bright spot in my day.”
“Am I?” I asked, following him with my eyes and appreciating the view. I didn’t know what brought him here. I didn’t really care. I was just glad we had this moment alone. We probably wouldn’t have many more once I moved out. That was a good thing, but a bad thing too. I was going to miss him. His smell. The way he sniffled in the mornings as he scurried around, getting ready for work. The way he bounced when he put on his pants (I could hear him through the wall). “Considering the fact that you’ve made every effort to avoid me lately, I would have expected you to say the opposite.”
His expression turned serious.
So much for things being easy. Why did I have to go and mess it up? I was my own worst enemy.