Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)

by Loren, Celia

  A Stepbrother Warriors Novel

  Book Two

  By Celia Loren

  Copyright © 2016 Hearts Collective

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

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  HARD FOUGHT

  A Stepbrother Warriors Novel

  Book Two

  By Celia Loren

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter One

  Paris, France

  "Ms. Stratton? We're boarding now," the first class lounge attendant murmurs sweetly above me. Like all the Air France employees, she speaks perfect English.

  "Mmph, thanks," I manage to say around the cotton ball feeling in my mouth. I push my sunglasses back up on the bridge of my nose. I'm nursing a wicked hangover and just want to get on the airplane with a sleep mask over my eyes.

  I grab my carry-on bag and walk out of the lounge toward the gate, wondering when they started making airports so fucking bright. It's like a lab in here, all glaring white surfaces made specifically to reflect the sun back into my face. I rub my temples with my free hand as I walk up to the short line of first class passengers already gathering with their tickets in hand. I rummage through my bag for mine as raised voices from the airline counter float over.

  "I specifically went online early to reserve the emergency exit aisle seat. Specifically, do you understand that word?" a middle-aged American man spits out at the young woman behind the counter.

  "Yes, sir," she replies, her voice quavering a bit. "I was just asking if you would be willing to switch to the window because there is an injured American veteran on the flight, and I thought it might help his leg if he could stretch—"

  "I just don't understand for the life of me how that became my fucking problem, OK? Maybe you should—"

  "Excuse me?" I loudly interrupt him as I walk up behind him to the counter. He turns around to see who would dare do such a thing, and I get a glimpse of his flushed, angry cheeks, and spittle caught in the corners of his mouth. "Are there any first class seats left?" I ask the attendant with a sweet smile.

  "Ah, yes—"

  "We're in the middle of something!" the man sputters at me. I ignore him.

  "Great. This injured veteran you mentioned, I'd like to buy him an upgrade please," I say, whipping my Black Amex card out of my wallet and handing it across the counter.

  "Really?" the attendant asks, looking delighted and relieved.

  "Really," I say, then turn to the man. "To thank him for his service." The man turns away in a huff, but at least he doesn't make any more of a scene. "There's not any way to pay for a downgrade for his seat, is there?" I ask with a wry smile.

  She laughs. "I wish you could, believe me. Alexa Stratton, what a pretty name," she adds with a grin. "Thank you for doing that. I was just warned about giving away too many free upgrades, and I thought maybe another American would help the man. I felt sorry for him…he's got a big cast on and everything. And…" she starts to blush.

  "What?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. She nods toward the waiting area. I let my eyes skim over the crowd, looking for what could have caused this reaction in her.

  My gaze lands on a tall, broad-shouldered man with his leg, in a cast, stuck out at an awkward angle. Even with a full beard, his dark eyes and high cheekbones are apparent from thirty feet away.

  "So this extra first class seat," I murmur, turning back to the counter with a grin, "any possibility you could make it next to mine?"

  "I think I could arrange that," she says, typing on her keyboard. "There we go. You have an enjoyable flight, Ms. Stratton," she adds, her eyes glittering wickedly.

  "I'll do my very best," I promise her with a smile. At the gate, the ticketing agent switches his mic on.

  "First class passengers, passengers with disabilities, and those with young children, you may now board Flight 131, direct to Tampa International." I line up and see the injured vet slowly stand up out of the corner of my eye, no doubt answering the announcement for passengers with disabilities. Well, he'll find out soon that his seat has been changed.

  I walk briskly down the jetway and onto the plane, then turn left into the first class seating, kept completely separate from economy on these huge 777s. Dropping into my seat, I pull off my sunglasses and fish my emergency concealer out of my purse. I swipe some under my eyes, doing my best to hide my tired bags, and then run my fingers through my hair. A flute of champagne appears on a silver tray next to me and I look up to the flight attendant.

  "Oh, merci, but could I actually have a glass of orange juice...Luc?" I ask, spotting his name tag. He nods and smiles, then turning away and delivering the champagne to a businesswoman two rows in front of me.

  I stare out the window, watching our bags being loaded into the plane. I promised myself that starting today, I'd swear off two things: men and drinking. So far, not doing great on the men aspect, but I did pass on the champagne. I think the problem is that while I went out last night with my Parisian friends for one final night of sin and really tied one on, I did not manage to meet a man to take home. Probably because my friends
kept choosing gay clubs. So while I have drinking out of my system, I'm still feeling that itch that only a man can scratch. Just one more fling, that would do it, really!

  "Right here, monsieur," Luc says, indicating the seat next to me. Well, not really next to me. It's actually across a foot-wide console area that separates the pairs of roomy seats.

  "There aren't any more normal seats?" a deep, gravelly voice asks.

  "Well, you could have your old seat in economy, but perhaps you...and your leg...would feel more comfortable here," Luc suggests.

  The man grunts. "Thank you. You're probably right."

  "Don't thank me, thank your compatriot here," Luc says, turning to smile at me. I blush. I was hoping to remain anonymous. "I can put your crutches out of the way until we land. And I'll be right back with your complimentary champagne, monsieur."

  "I didn't order any—" the man begins, but Luc is already off. "Thank you," the man says to me quietly. I look up and into his unsettlingly bright green eyes for the first time as he towers over me. His thick beard crawls up to just under his cheekbones, and his gaze bores right through me. His hair is dark brown, shaggy, and seriously in need of a cut. His lips are thick and set firmly in his strongly set jaw. His face would almost be too perfect if it weren't for the jagged scar that reaches across his right temple almost to his eye, and extends under his hair in the other direction. I remind myself to breathe. "You didn't have to do that," he says, turning to sit down. He lowers himself carefully and arranges his right leg straight out in front of him. I feel gratified to see that he has enough space to stretch it out completely.

  "I...it was no problem."

  "I don't like charity."

  "Alright, I'll send you a bill," I reply lightly, a bit surprised but understanding where he's coming from. No one likes to be seen as a charity case.

  He glances at me sharply, and I think I can see the crease of a smile line by his eyes. "You order me that champagne, too?"

  "No, that's complimentary. Comes with your first class ticket."

  "Then how come you're not drinking it?" he asks, nodding at the orange juice in my right hand.

  "How observant. I don't drink. Or I won't. From today on. Not including the wee hours of this morning, I guess. I'm counting that as last night."

  "Sounds like you've really turned over a new leaf."

  I cock my head at him, trying to ascertain if he's joking or not. His voice is so low, his delivery so dry, that it's tough to tell. "You'd really clean up at the poker table, you know that?"

  "I've been told that, yes," he replies.

  "Your champagne," Luc says, presenting him with a glass.

  "I actually can't...this medication I'm on..." the stranger says quietly.

  "Ah, of course. My mistake. What would the gentleman like?"

  "What do you have?"

  "Everything," I answer for Luc. "Trust me, you're going to like first class."

  Chapter Two

  I stare at him out of the corner of my eye as he pockets the Givenchy products from the toiletries bag that Air France provides. He looks up and catches me staring.

  "Sorry," I say, turning to look out the window as the buildings around Paris pull away as the plane rapidly ascends.

  "I thought my mom would like them," he explains over the engine. "My sister's too much of a tomboy."

  "How old is she?"

  "Nineteen last month."

  "When was the last time you saw her?"

  "Why?"

  "Well, for girls, eighteen, nineteen...that's when you start to really become a woman. Sorry. I mean, I'm sure she'll always be your little sister. So?"

  "Um, I saw her for a couple weeks almost a year ago. Or last month, actually. It's been about a month." I raise my eyebrows at him. "She saw me a month or so ago. That's what they told me. I wasn't awake yet."

  I blush. "Sorry. That was rude of me."

  "No. Most people would have asked me a lot more questions by now. Other questions. Not about my sister."

  "I always wished I had a sister. Would have been nice to have another woman in the house." I pause. "That's the moment when most people start asking me questions." He just smiles like the sphinx. "My brother's two years older than me. He's great, but...you know..."

  "A boy."

  "Exactly." The plane levels out and the engines quiet. At the front of the cabin, Luc hands out lunch menus.

  "Going home for a visit? Or for good?"

  I sigh. "I don't know. 'For good' sounds so final. But I guess that's what I'm doing. Trying to make a fresh start of it, that kind of thing."

  "No drinking."

  "No drinking, no—" I stop. I almost revealed my no-more-men policy, but I'm giving myself until after this plane ride to enact it. Thankfully, Luc stops at our row and hands us the menus. "I'll take the steak salad, please."

  "Same. Can't believe there's steak up here," he adds to me as Luc leaves. "You should taste what passes for food in economy."

  "Oh, I know," I reply. He raises his eyebrows at me, and it takes me a moment to catch on as to why. "How would I know? Is that what you're thinking?" He shrugs. "You're a man of few words. I don't know why that loosens my tongue, but it does..." I take a deep breath. "Alright, I guess it's safe to tell you about this. It's not like you're going to go run and tell my family...I left college a couple years ago to follow a man to Europe. The relationship fell apart pretty quickly, but I was too embarrassed to go crawling back to my father for help. So I lied and said I'd gotten this wonderful job at an internet start-up that gives micro-loans to abused women. I really laid it on thick, I know. They thought I was living this fancy, successful life, but actually I've been working in a bakery. I still managed to travel around Europe some when I had enough saved up, though, so I have tasted the economy food. But after a couple years of spinning my wheels...I didn't know where I was going. And Thanksgiving is this week, and the thought of spending another one on the Continent just sounded so depressing...so I dug out my old Amex, the one connected to my father's account that's only for emergencies, and bought a plane ticket home."

  "Maybe everyone should have to live below the poverty line for a little while," he says quietly. "I'm sure it would change some perspectives."

  "Well, I don't want to have to knead another ball of dough for the rest of my life. Though at least it gave me some exercise. There aren't really any gyms in Paris, isn't that funny?"

  "What's this thing?" he asks as his elbow bumps against the edge of the console between us. He fumbles with it for a second until I reach over and pull up on it.

  "It's an individual movie screen, see? You can adjust the height like this," I demonstrate, moving it up and down for him.

  "They don't all play the same thing?" he asks, looking around the cabin.

  "No," I smile. "There's a menu. You get to choose." He leans forward, pressing buttons. "You have fun. I'm going to take a nap," I say, taking the sleep mask out of the toiletries bag. "If Luc comes by, will you ask him to just leave the salad?"

  "Who's Luc?"

  "The flight attendant," I explain, settling back into my seat and reaching for the lever to lean the chair back. I go all the way flat and then loosen my seat belt a little, turning onto my side. I can never fall asleep on my back.

  "Sleep well," I hear him say as I pull the mask over my eyes. I smile. I only got a few hours sleep last night, and I quickly feel myself drift off.

  When I wake up again, I drowsily reach for my mask and push it up onto my forehead. I blink in confusion. I'm looking at a devastatingly handsome man just a foot away from me. His eyes open.

  "What time is it?" he asks groggily.

  "I don't know."

  "Got tired just after you passed out," he says, yawning.

  "I forgot where I was for a second there," I admit, pulling the lever on my seat so my chair moves back upright. "You didn't watch anything?" I ask, glancing out of the small windows at the clouds. It's tough to tell, but I'd guess it's late afte
rnoon.

  "Was going to watch one of those Avengers movies, but I fell asleep."

  "Oh, I haven't seen those."

  "Want to watch?"

  "What, together?"

  "On our own screens."

  "At the same time."

  "Exactly."

  "Alright," I acquiesce with a smile. I pull my screen out of its hiding place and click to the right screen. I glance over at him, and see his finger poised above the screen, waiting. I nod, and we both tap at the same time. I pull my headphones out as the production company logos fly onscreen, and then dig a blanket out of the seat pocket in front of me. Without asking, I shake it out and pull it over both of our legs. I love it when men do that, so I figure it probably works both ways.

  I settle back, leaning slightly toward him. It's nice, this feeling of coziness, and the butterflies in my stomach. Just two anonymous people, watching a movie together hundreds of feet above the earth.

  Chapter Three

  "I liked it," I say with a smile as I pull my earbuds out. "Not really sure about the guy with the arrows or Scarlett Johansson...I mean, they don't have any superpowers. At least Iron Man's got his suit."

  "At the end of the day, if you had to choose one of them to be saved by, you'd choose Thor, right? He's an actual god."

  "Exactly. Followed by Captain America," I add. "Or why doesn't Iron Man just make those other two suits like his? They'd still be assassins, but they'd have suits," I add. letting my leg fall against his under the blanket. I could feel the heat from his body throughout the movie, and now my body is practically humming with desire. I feel like I used to in high school, when my boyfriend at boarding school and I used to sit in the common room and snuggle together while we watched TV.

  "You know, it's strange. I don't even know your name," he says, leaning over the console and resting his forearms on it as he clasps his hands together.

  "Why don't we keep it that way?" I murmur, distracted by the sight of his huge hands, the knuckles covered in scars. He cocks his head at me ever so slightly. I lean over the edge, letting my fingers crawl inches away from his skin. "Like I said earlier, I'm going for a clean start. When the plane touches down, that's the start of a new life for me. But until then...why not take full advantage of our time together?"