Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  “Hey babe.” Samantha’s voice slithers into my ear as she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, as if we’ve even met more than three times.

  “What are you doing here, Sam?” I hiss at her quietly, though not quietly enough to avoid getting an evil look from one of the stage managers. Is this girl following me or something?

  She slaps my chest playfully and rolls her eyes, as if I’ve just said a joke of some kind; “Uh, because I intern for the Archer campaign? Duh?”

  Oh fuck. Reagan’s immediately furious reaction to my having Samantha on my arm before suddenly makes way more sense; because she’s a campaign intern, kind of like the type of campaign intern that she broke up with that idiot Chet for fucking. The pieces slide a bit more together and I cringe as I think about it.

  She answers a question with a line I don’t hear but that makes the older news anchor chuckle. But then as she looks up with a smile on her face, she suddenly sees me standing there behind the cameras with Samantha hanging off my arm, and her smile fades instantly. She’s glaring at me, so much so that I even see the stage manager signal for another camera angle. There’s a bit of smug satisfaction with seeing her jealous like that, but it’s an empty victory considering the way shit went down this morning and the two pieces I’ve just put together, and I can’t even find a crumb of victory in it.

  The interview ends, and I finally get Samantha to get off my arm by promising to call her later even though I’ve certainly never saved her number anywhere. I almost want to smile at the predictability of Reagan marching right up to me after she yanks off her microphone, but I keep it under wraps at the look in her face.

  “I thought you weren’t coming.” Her eyes flash past me at Sam walking away behind me and her eyes narrow a little’ “So how’s Sam?”

  I reach out and put my hand on her arm; “Calm down, it’s not what it looks-”

  “Don’t tell me to-”She stops and takes a deep breath; “Hudson I don’t care,” She shrugs my hand off and takes one small and yet infinitely giant step back; “We’re both adults here, you can do whatever you want.”

  I take a step towards her, my voice low and growling; “You know what I want.”

  She opens her mouth but then shuts it abruptly as she nods towards the sound of Samantha giggling obnoxiously at something across the room; “Yeah, I guess I do. Have fun, Hudson.”

  *****

  I feel like a fucking idiot when I knock on her door, about to escort her to fucking Chet Kennedy’s “gala” event; whatever the fuck that is. I’m literally driving the girl I can’t get out of my fucking head into the arms of her shitty ex-boyfriend. The old Hudson would have punched this Hudson in the nuts and told him to sack up.

  She opens the door though, and any and all rational thought just flushes right out of my mind as I stare at her. She looks stunning. I mean, she always looks amazing, but the short, slinky, form-fitting little black dress she’s wearing is like a punch right to my gut, and I find myself just opening and closing my mouth as I let my eyes roam over her. And then of course the thought hits me that she isn’t wearing this for me, and I frown.

  “Well?”

  Her voice startles me out of my freeze and I jerk my head up; “Jesus, why are you wearing that?” I immediately cringe; Nice man, nice.

  Her lip curls into a snarl; “Well fuck you too, Hudson.”

  “No, I mean - isn’t this a formal-”

  “It’s black tie, black cocktail dress; isn’t that your circle of things?”

  Yeah, hardly.

  “I’m just saying you look nice.”

  “Gee, thanks. Funny way of showing it.”

  I roll my eyes; “Listen, Ray-”

  “Can we go please?” She looks at me sharply; “I’ve got a date waiting for me.”

  I freeze; “Excuse me?”

  She taps her heeled foot on the ground; “I said can we go.”

  “You know what I mean, that second fucking part.” I growl.

  She smiles at me, as if she know’s she’s just scored a hit on me; “My date, Hudson. Chet’s waiting for me.”

  I can feel my blood pressure jump through my skull as I grind my teeth and clench my fists. I know exactly what she’s doing, but the shittiest part is, it’s working.

  “You’re dating Chet again?”

  She shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world; like last night never happened. I can still imagine the way her lips felt wrapping around my cock, or the way her hair smelled and the way her skin felt so warm and alive when she slid down onto me. I’m instantly thinking how it incredible she felt rocking up and down on top of me, and the sounds of her cries as she came. And suddenly, I’m rock-hard inside my pants, which is thoroughly confusing with the angry scowl she’s giving me in our current situation. All I want to do is kiss her hard right here in the doorway. I want to shove her up against the door, lift up that teeny little black dress she’s wearing and remind her exactly how good last night felt since she’s clearly pretending to have forgotten.

  “Reagan can we just fucking talk about this like adults instead of acting like children?”

  She stares daggers into my eyes; “I am acting like an adult, Hudson. Now can we please go so I can get on with being an adult with my date?”

  Chet, who I get to fucking drive her to. Who I get to watch her moon over all night at this stupid fucking ‘gala’ while everyone fawns over the two of them and takes their pictures and tells them what an incredible ‘power-couple’ they are. In recovery and in the program, they talk about “relapse triggers” like “feelings of frustration,” or “expecting too much of other people.” If you can ball every single one of those triggers into one damn thing, it’s called “Chet Kennedy’s stupid fucking gala event that I have to take Reagan to.”

  I’m furious; raging inside like a bomb about to explode. But I swallow it, all of it, as I look at her sharply; “Fine. Let’s go.”

  This is fucking ridiculous.

  Chapter Twenty

  P A S T

  “Hang on, are you serious?” Quinn glances at Chelsea, and they both turn to look at me skeptically.

  “Yeah, I’m serious.” I roll my eyes at them, “What, you don’t think I can do it?”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that Ray!” Chelsea says quickly, shaking her head; “It’s just, uh, I mean it’s just that you’re-”

  “You’re twenty-two, Reagan.” Quinn says evenly, frowning slightly.

  “So?”

  She rolls her eyes; “Ok, you’re twenty-two, and you have zero political experience. That might be a problem here.”

  “Quinn, I do have a degree in political science, and I’ve spent the last two years working with Chet on his campaign stuff.”

  Quinn snorts and Chelsea opens and closes her mouth quickly as if she’s trying to figure out what to say to that.

  “OK, OK, laugh it up, I know. Chet’s…Chet, but the experience with the campaign is real, guys. It - I don’t know - it got me moving and got me thinking about stuff like I never have.”

  “But Ray, the Senate?” Chelsea looks worried.

  “State Senate, but yeah.” I shrug; “If you’re gonna dream, dream big right?”

  Quinn grins; “You’re actually going to do this, aren’t you?” I nod and she rolls her eyes; “You’re fucking insane, you know that right?”

  “Well, with endorsements like that!” Chelsea laughs and turns to look at me; “So when do we start?”

  PRESENT

  “So I told you about getting my amateur pilot’s license, right?” I raise my eyebrows towards Chet, nodding as I plaster a dopey, fake smile across my face. I’m not really listening to a word he says though, since I’m concentrating on not looking at the scowling Hudson standing right there with us. Hudson who’s alternating between rolling his eyes at practically everything Chet says and glowering at me every time I very purposely laugh at it.

  I might be laughing on the outside, but inside I’m scowli
ng just as hard as he is now; I mean where the fuck does he get off being so possessively alpha about me talking with Chet when he’s the one that had Samantha and her tits hanging off of him barely hours after we’d slept together. It’s classic fucking Hudson, I grumble inside. But if anything, I’m more scared than pissed, as much as I don’t want to admit it. In fact, I’m doing my damnedest to ignore it, since I’m scared what me being jealous of Hudson with another girl really means, especially after what I talked about with Quinn and Chelsea.

  “So what do you think, Hud?” Chet’s nodding his head and wagging his eyebrows at Hudson, who’s piercing scowl and pointed silence he seems to be oblivious of; “Pretty soon you and I can get up there together and do a little ace piloting, huh Iceman?”

  “Why would I do that.” There’s almost a humor in the way Hudson does nothing to hide the disdain in his voice or the plaintive ‘I don’t fucking care’ look on his face when he speaks to Chet, but I bury that humor with a scowl instead.

  Chet sighs dramatically; “Well hell man! I thought they taught you guys how to fly planes in the Air Force!”

  Hudson’s eyes narrow at Chet; “I’m sure they do teach people to fly planes in the Air Force,” He says, his voice icy.

  Chet snaps his fingers and shakes his head; “Right, right! Ranger, right?”

  Hudson’s fist clenches at his side; “Marine.”

  “Ahhh, well, I was close!”

  Hudson’s eyes very plainly say “no, you weren’t” but he mercifully keeps his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Chet doesn’t; “Well you’ve still got planes with the Marines, right? Don’t they take you up in them to get pushed out or something?” He chuckles and I see Hudson’s jaw tighten; “I thought that was your guys’ thing!”

  Hudson smiles broadly at Chet, his eyes like a shark’s; “Oh it is! I’d be happy to show you sometime if you wan-”

  “Don’t you have some other place to be,” I hiss at him.

  “Whatever you say, Princess,” he mutters sarcastically to me, and I jump as I feel his hand quickly swat at my butt behind me where Chet can’t see. He narrows his eyes like he’s about to say something to me, but he turns sharply on his heel and walks away instead, without another word to either of us.

  “I’m, uh, I’m sorry about that.” I shrug and try to smile at Chet’s smirking face; “He gets-” He gets, what, possessive? Dominant? My body hotter and my pussy wetter than anything I’ve ever felt before? “He gets feisty sometimes.” Feisty, right. My mind is instantly flooded with thoughts of just how “feisty” he got the other night when his hands were on my ass, bouncing me up and down his cock. I swallow hastily, trying to force the flush from my face.

  Chet just chuckles in this affected, eye-rolling way as he sips the martini in his hand; “Oh, he’s just looking out for you.” He arches a brow at me, giving me what I’m sure he believes is his most charming smile; “Can’t say I blame the guy; if I had my way, I’d be looking all over you too.” The thought of Chet looking at me anywhere close to the way Hudson does makes me nauseous, but I smile at him anyways as if I totally get what he’s saying.

  “Say, you know speaking of which, I’ve been thinking a lot, Reagan.” Fuck; I think I know exactly where this conversation is headed, and it’s not one I really ever need to have with him.

  “Chet, I-”

  “No, now hang on now, Ray,” He puts his arm around my shoulders, and if we weren't surrounded by people and press, I’d already be pushing him off me and telling him where to stick it. But I know I’m supposed to behave myself, and after the near miss disaster of being found with Hudson in my damn bedroom, I feel like playing by the rules might be a good thing.

  “You know-” Chet looks around before he leans close, “Can we talk somewhere a bit more private?”

  I don’t even know what to say as he’s suddenly leading me to the side of the large ballroom and down a darkened hallway away from the crowds and music.

  “Chet where are we goin-”

  “Ray, baby, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry you had to find out about that; before I mean, about me and that staffer.”

  I stare at him incredulously; “Wait, that’s your apology?” I almost want to laugh at how insanely cliche this guy is; “You’re sorry that I found out? Not that you were fucking one of your interns like some sort of politician cliche out of a movie-script?”

  Chet smiles and nods his head patronizingly at me; “Now, let’s not be crude, Reagan. You know these sort of relationships sometimes just happen in politics.”

  I roll my eyes; “No, Chet, I don’t know that.” But I’m also done having this conversation, and I just shake my head; “You know what, fine; apology accepted.” I turn to leave, when I feel his hand grab my arm, tightly.

  “Oh I’m so glad, Reagan.” He’s grinning that smarmy smile at me again, and I’m suddenly on edge; “I think we’re going to have a lot more luck the second time, I can feel it.” And then before I know what’s happening, he’s yanking me towards him and trying to kiss me.

  I sputter and push away from him; “Chet!” I can feel my pulse racing, roaring in my ears like an engine as the adrenaline spikes; “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  He’s still holding my arm, and he chuckles; “Oh, com’on babe, don’t tell me you haven’t missed a little of the ole’ Chet magic.” I open my mouth to say something but he just keeps going; “You remember, Reagan, just like the old times huh?” He’s pressing me back against the wall behind me, and I’m feeling every inch of my skin crawl as my throat freezes up. He leans close, running his hand up the front of my dress and making me cringe in revulsion; “You look so tense, bab-”

  In the blink of an eye, his arm is suddenly getting wrenched away from me and behind his back. There’s a snapping sound, and he’s screaming. Hudson - Hudson - snarls like fucking wild animal as he brings his fist crashing down across Chet’s face, sending blood splattering from his nose as he cries out and drops to his knees on the ground. He’s holding his face and staring up at the utterly ferocious looking Hudson, and he’s screeching as Hudson’s fist crashes into his face again.

  And then I’m yelling - screaming even - and suddenly there’s the sounds of running footsteps as security comes thundering around the corner. Hudson snarls as two of them grab his arms; "Not me, you fucking idiots," He spits out, nodding towards the sniveling Congressmen on the ground cradling his limp arm as the blood pours down his face. I can barely nod as they look at me for verification, feeling as though I’m moving in slow motion as Hudson shakes them free and jerks his head around to stare at me.

  “Are you ok?”

  “I- I-” I’m stammering, my mouth opening and closing without words.

  “Reagan.”

  Hudson’s voice is sharp, and I jerk my head to stare at him; “What?”

  “Are you hurt.”

  I shake my head quietly; “No.”

  “Then lets go, now.”

  It’s not until we’re outside that the shock really hits me, and suddenly I find myself angry, and I’m angry at Hudson for some reason. I’m angry that I needed rescuing; that somehow I need him at all. We’re right by his car when I shake my hand out of his and stop suddenly in my tracks. Hudson turns to me and I suddenly snap; “I don’t need rescuing you know.”

  He frowns; “Could’ve fooled me, Princess.”

  I narrow my eyes at him; “I mean in general, I don’t need you saving me or anything. I mean I’m the normal one here, Hudson; you’re the one with all the baggage that needs rescuing.”

  He looks at me coolly as he steps closer to me; “Is that a fact? You think I need rescuing?”

  I purse my lips and frown, crossing my arms over my chest; “Mhmm.” And then he’s right in front of me, and I can feel my own body betray me at his proximity; my pulse starting to race and my breath coming quicker.

  “You know,” he growls, smirking that smug smile as he leans so close to my face that our lips are almost touc
hing; “We’d probably get along better if you’d just stop pretending you don’t want me.”

  “You’re fucking delusional, I don’t want you at all,” I sneer at him, knowing how totally unconvincing that sounds and feeling more like I’m trying to convince myself than him.