“Because I figured you’d have to listen to me while you’re at work.”
She lifted her chin. If he wanted a post-prison booty call, he’d better think again. “What do you want?” she asked, managing to sound confident and in control, though her stomach dipped and she wrestled to keep her posture erect.
Did he still see her as just a hook-up?
“I want you,” he said, and even though those words alone shouldn’t cause a combustive reaction, they did. Her heart slammed against her ribcage and her nipples hardened without shame. He stared deep into her eyes and continued, “As my girlfriend. My woman. And hopefully, if I’m lucky, as my fiancée.”
Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and she forgot to breathe for a second. Was this really happening? She stepped back and hoped there was a chair she could fall on, but she had to settle for an iron sculpture. “C-come again?” she asked, just to make sure.
He curled his lips into a boyish smile that no grown man should be allowed to have—especially one that sexy. “I resigned from Leland.”
Her jaw dropped a notch. He left his job? Conflicting emotions pounded through her bloodstream and she blinked herself out of a trance. “But… you love that job. Why did you do it?”
He stepped toward her, sending her insides into a crazy spiral. “I want to be with you, and being with you shouldn’t feel dirty or wrong. It’s not something I want to hide from people and neither should you. You’re not an inmate anymore, but that’s how our story started and I want to honor that.”
“How does our story end?” she asked enunciating each word with the same intensity.
“Together. I love you.”
Her hand flew to her chest. If he continued to say those things she’d have a cardiac arrest. “Why did you say those things before I left your house?”
He inched closer, the gleam in his eyes so intense and powerful. “Because I needed to process things. You were right. I had a hard time understanding you and listening. Maybe it does have to do with my family and my ex. But it wasn’t fair to put you in the same box. Besides, I hurt and I missed you, but I needed to decide not to work there on my own.”
“I never expected you to quit your job for me,” she said, resolute on making him understand. A part of her applauded his resolve, yet another part worried. What if he blamed her? She stood upright, the tip of her fingers tingling with the urge to touch him. She flexed and relaxed her fingers, trying hard to keep her nervousness in check.
“I know. But it’s better this way. Don’t feel bad for me. I’m continuing the program I started and have been negotiating to start it again with a different prison. Trust me, I’ll be fine as long as you’re with me,” he said, retrieving a small box from his jeans. “It’s been months since we’ve met, and since we started fooling around. I didn’t expect it to happen—to become something more—but now I can’t live without you. You made me become a better man. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” The tremble in his voice gave away his anticipation of her answer.
The world seemed to spin around him, or was her vision blurry due to the lack of oxygen in her brain? She gazed at his large hand opening the box, and a beautiful solitaire diamond ring sparkled inside. “Oh my god.”
He brought her hand to his lips. His eyes flashed with hope, and a happiness traveled through her. Her throat thickened. This was it. Trent Coleman just asked for her hand in marriage.
“I’ll understand if you’re not ready, but I’m tired of taking things slow. I want to go big with you,” he said quickly. “I believe in us.”
She drew in a breath, and when she exhaled, every microscopic remnant of doubt evaporated in the air. Their affair had grown beyond fantasy, and she wasn’t some crazy woman who had hoped for more. She deserved more, and damn it she’d get it. They both would. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
He held her and kissed her. The kiss quickly escalated, and she had to bring it to a stop. After work, she’d stop at Victoria’s Secret and buy a red bra to celebrate before going to his place. But they had to stop. “God, you always kill me with those kisses.”
“You’re in for a lifetime of them, sweetheart,” he said.
Why did he always say things that made her stomach flutter? She smiled. Soon she’d need to tell him she had to go back to her job and he had to meet her later. But now, she linked her arms around his head and leaned into him for more.
“A lifetime can’t come soon enough, Trent.”
Epilogue
Three years later…
Mia kissed little Nick’s forehead one more time. The one-year-old sighed in his sleep, the cue for her to leave the room. Still, she glanced at the space decorated with zoo animals and stroked his brown hair for a while.
She stood and picked a few pieces of dirty clothes from his hamper. Saturday night laundry never looked so good. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and headed to the laundry room.
Trent was out of town, which meant she’d do laundry and then call him for some old fashioned, dirty, phone sex. Her husband didn’t travel by himself often, but when he did they kept that tradition.
She loaded the stainless-steel washer, and then flicked the button on. During the last two years, Trent had become somewhat famous. He’d written a book about the prison counseling system. While he’d kept the core of how they’d gotten involved private, he never hid from anyone he ended up marrying an inmate he’d once counseled. They were both free, no longer counselor and inmate, and if the public believed they reconnected after prison, she didn’t care. A magazine once even did an article on them, to her amusement. As long as results from his program—which he’d managed to conclude with the help of not one, but several prisons in Oregon—received a platform she was happy.
She was also super happy about her own landscape company. He’d provided the initial investment, and also lots of support. Trent never stopped believing in her.
The washer started, and she leaned over it to pick some clean clothes from the drier, and when she stretched upright she felt heavy hands on her sides. “What a good wife you are.”
She gasped, her heart slamming against her rib cage. “You’re home early. You were supposed to come back tomorrow.”
He reached beneath the dress she wore and pulled down her panties. “We finished the meeting today, and I couldn’t wait to see you and the kid.”
“Well, he’s sleeping so you only have me. I hope you’re not disappointed.”
He kissed the back of her neck. “Not in the least.”
He cupped her breasts, and she turned to see him. God. The man still made her weak at the knees. She ruffled his hair, which curled at the tips. He was due for a haircut but she loved to run her fingers through it. “I missed you,” he said. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Let’s get started then. Nick has been waking up at six am.”
“You can sleep in tomorrow. I’ll play with him,” he said.
That was almost as nice as Trent surprising her and showing up early from his trip. He lifted her up and placed her on the dryer. She kissed him, and he skated his hand up the hem of her dress. She wrapped her legs around him, inviting him into the V of her thighs.
She moaned into his lips. He cupped her pussy, his finger making an invisible pattern at her center and sending little thrills to her core. She clenched her legs around him, wanting him inside her more than ever. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She touched his jeans and unzipped them. When his cock jutted out, she gasped and palmed the impressive length. “This is so much better than sexting.”
“I know.” He thrust his fingers inside her and she moaned, her slick walls taking him in.
“God.” She rode his hand, humping it while her fingers glided up and down his cock. He positioned his cock between her folds and plunged into her, his hands cupping her ass and pressing her against his shaft. With quick but powerful thrusts, he imp
aled her, fucking her the way she loved. The way only he knew how.
Are you ready for another naughty short? Enjoy the first chapter of Forbidden Stepbrother.
Bonus! Chapter One of Forbidden Stepbrother
This will end badly.
Tiffany Burrows swallowed the lump of apprehension in her throat. The sound of footfalls quickened her pulse. What the hell? She’d just arrived at the family’s cozy cottage in Lake Louise for a stress-free weekend. Her stepmother had guaranteed no one would be in the place. Marisa had said the cleaning lady should have already straightened up the place the previous weekend.
Tiffany tipped her head to listen again. No way the steps echoing on the dark wood flooring belonged to an arthritic old lady. Her body froze. What if someone wanted to rob the place? She reached for the crystal vase and clenched it with both hands. It probably cost a fortune, but life was priceless, right? I hope I won’t find out in the literal sense.
Someone coughed, and she gripped the vase against her chest. Trouble came from upstairs, and it was definitely male.
She hid behind the stairs, and lifted the vase. Her fingers were slick with sweat, and she wiped one of her hands on her jacket before gripping the crystal again. Her heart raced, and she didn’t need a blood pressure monitor to predict her fate. Oh. God. She’d be one of those rare cases of a young woman dying from a heart attack right on the spot when meeting an intruder.
Air bottled in her lungs, but she focused on staying still. At least, besides a lamp on the side table, all lights were off and he couldn’t see her.
Fear brewed in her belly and bubbled into her throat. She squeezed the heavy crystal so hard, the sharp edges bit into her flesh. Lifting it over her head, she took a deep breath but a nervous sound rushed from her lips.
A man stepped off the stairs and turned around. No.
No, no, no. Did he hear her?
Maybe it’s karma. Oh the irony. Her doctor had recommended she take some time off her stressful work in one of New York’s busiest firms as a graphic designer. She’d travelled all the way to Lake Louise and for what? To have some lunatic attack her and finish her off.
She should have enjoyed life like her late best friend Patricia no longer could. Instead, she had focused on work to run from the fact she had been the one behind the wheel when the car crashed against the tree and changed them forever.
The rustle from shoes yanked her from her thoughts, and as she gazed at the polished Italian leather loafers in front of her, she gasped.
“Why on Earth are you holding a vase in the dark, Tiffany?” asked the familiar deep cultured voice, sending thrills down her spine, and tingles in her most shameful places.
“I…” she started, then, confused, let out some air and ran her fingers through her pixie hair. She blinked once. Twice. But nothing changed the fact her sexy stepbrother, the six-foot-two Adonis, watched her from a few feet away as surprised as she. His hands rested on his waist, the contours of his striking face slowly tightening probably because he realized what her presence there meant.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Marisa told me to come here. I needed a breather from work, and she insisted I have the place for a few days.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Instinctively, her gaze slid down his hot muscular body, inconveniently covered by winter clothes, and landed at his legs. The thick, muscular thighs stretched the denim fabric, and as she looked lower, he had on shoes. He probably wore his prosthetic leg now.
She swallowed. She hadn’t seen him without it, but honestly she hadn’t seen him much after the accident. Does he still blame me? She gathered her wits and regarded his face once again—resentment flickered in the rich depths of his almond eyes.
Yes, he blamed her for losing half his limb and his former fiancée and their unborn baby. He’d probably always feel the same way, which only made her desire for him even more forbidden.
Santiago motioned to step back, but his good knee got stupidly stubborn on him. Tiffany. How long was it since he’d last seen her? Three, four years? After his fiancée Patricia’s funeral, he had made sure to avoid his troublemaking stepsister every chance he got. Sharing the same space with her made him face emotions he’d rather forget.
She took a couple steps in his direction. As Tiffany came into his field of vision, an annoying tingle throbbed in his amputated lower left leg, and he tilted his prosthetic wishing he controlled the sensation. If only doing away with the deep awareness of her were as easy. Whenever she came near him, a need as old as time burned inside him. An emotion clawed down his throat and squeezed his lungs.
“Does your father know you’re here?” Damn it. When he’d asked his stepfather to use his cottage for a week, he’d also demanded Alan not say anything to his wife. Santiago didn’t want anyone to know about his goals. Was it possible Alan kept his end of the bargain by not spilling the beans to Marisa, and this was all an unfortunate coincidence? He couldn’t stay under the same roof with Tiffany, not when he harbored feelings for her so sinfully wrong.
“I asked Marisa not to tell him. I didn’t want him to worry about me.” She tried to tuck her hair behind her ear, and he wondered if she’d just cut it recently.
Ever since he met her, when she had been sixteen and he’d been five years older, she always surprised him—and everyone else—with a different hair color and cut.
His jaw clenched. Her new style enhanced her bow shaped, extraordinarily full lips; and added sparkles to her big turquoise eyes. He never went for women with pixie cuts, as he preferred to thrust his fingers into a mass of sultry waves. Yet her new do fascinated him. His gaze slid down. A couple dark spots hung under said eyes, and despite all her beauty, her skin seemed rather dry, lacking the vitality so organic to her.
“Well, you’re going to need another jet setting destination. I’ve been here since yesterday and I’m not done.”
“Done? Done with what?”
Wouldn’t she like to know? He shook his head. “I’m interested in buying the cottage. Thought I’d come and take a look at the remodeling I’ll need to do once I own it,” he said, and wished it were true. He’d offered his stepfather well over market price, several times, but the old man was set on keeping the place.
She blinked, then put her hands at her waist. “Remodeling? This cottage is perfect.”
He snarled. “If you want a fancy dollhouse.”
“What? I can’t even believe my father would consider selling this. It has been in the family forever.”
“He’s been consolidating real estate. Wants to enjoy life. Besides, he told me he bought another vacation home somewhere else.” Mierda. Santiago pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll call the airfield company and tell them to find a pilot to pick me up,” he said. Shit. This wasn’t going according to plan. He’d waited over a month to book the world’s best ski instructor. The guy had worked with a bunch of amputee clients, even a few Olympians. The TV pilot he planned to pitch to his cable network—a winter version of his acclaimed travel show, where he visited dangerous destinations, was in development. To do a good job he needed to learn how to ski. How would he visit the coldest places in the world, if he didn’t master the sensation of gliding down the snow?
“Crazy. There may be a blizzard tonight.”
“I don’t have to go back to the States. I’m happy with Toronto or another city.” As long as it’s far away from you. He turned, but she nudged his elbow, forcing him to look at her. Or was it the sizzling sensation spreading through his flesh at such a random touch? God. He’d give anything to outline her jaw, then slide his finger down her neck and he’d quickly take off her—
“Are you really so arrogant? You’ll endanger yours and someone else’s life just to be away from me?”
He blinked out of his nonsense. “Endangering people’s lives because of my own agenda isn’t my style, Tiffany,” he said, and a part of him almost second-guessed his boldness. Her baby b
lues darkened to an intense cobalt, and if he hadn’t swallowed—twice— he wouldn’t have been able to breathe.
She shrugged. “Right. Well, go ahead and make your call then,” she said, and headed toward the kitchen.
He tried hard to ignore the pain in her voice, pointlessly. She left his sight, and his gaze adverted to her curvy figure. Patricia had been a runner, and many women envied her slim shape and strong biceps. Tiffany though… had an extra layer of flesh, and at times he imagined she had dimples over her round ass. He’d imagined stroking her culo, his hand vigorously massaging her ass.
Basta! He jammed his hand into his pocket and grabbed his iPhone. Turning, he slid his finger on the device and relief poured over him when the call went through. In the past, connection at the cottage was spotty and frustrating.
“Kevin here,” his pilot said on the other end of the line.
“There has been a change in plans. I need to leave ASAP,” he said, a trace of urgency in his voice.
“Hi, boss.” Kevin cleared his throat, and he pictured his longtime employee scratching his head. “Sorry, but it’s not possible to fly in this weather.”
“Even if I just want to go one town over?” he asked, desperate.
“Yeah. I just checked the national weather service. A cold front hit the area, and in a couple hours you’re going to be pounded with snow.”
“Then calling a car service is not an option. I don’t want to endanger anyone.”
“No one without a death wish would go out after that forecast. Is there an emergency?”
Shit. “No, I’ll sort it. Thanks,” he muttered and hung up. There’s no way out. He’d have to share the same roof with Tiffany for at least one night.
Tiffany had always been his Achilles’ heel. He’d wanted her more than he wanted anything. Best to stay away he’d told himself, because when he met her years ago she had been a minor and his stepsister. Those were enough reasons to keep him from her—and complete motivation for him to invest in a much more appropriate relationship with Patricia. Now, with Patricia gone and Tiffany older and legal, a lesser man would yield to the temptation.
Forbidden Inmate Page 7
