Forbidden Stepbrother

by Carmen Falcone

  Forbidden Stepbrother

  Contents

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Copyrights

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Acknowledgments

  About Carmen Falcone

  Also by Carmen Falcone:

  Forbidden Stepbrother

  by Carmen Falcone

  Tiffany Burrows is desperate for a relaxing getaway to get a break from work. When her stepmom offers a few days at the family Canadian cottage, she takes it in a heartbeat. But her dream turns into tense reality when she discovers her sexy, estranged stepbrother under the same roof, and worse: stranded due to a nasty snowstorm.

  Travel journalist Santiago Cruz never expected Tiffany to show up during his stay in Lake Louise. Years ago, her reckless behavior stripped him of the family he could have had and he’s never forgiven her. He’s also never forgiven himself for the inconvenient fantasies including his sexy stepsister.

  The forced proximity makes them own up to their mistakes and emotions, while starting a rendezvous hot enough to melt the coldest winter…

  Copyrights

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any locales, or persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Copyright ©2017 Carmen Falcone. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, and transmit in any form or by any means. For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the author via her website: www.carmenfalcone.com

  Edited by Wolfe Ross Editing

  Cover design by Sweet & Spicy Designs

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2017

  Dedication

  To Jane Nelson, Crystal Yawn, Monique Daoust, Dina Bushrod & Jennifer Schultheis. Thank you for everything!

  Chapter 1

  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’r
e 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 blues 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.

  Tiffany had always been his secret passion… and sharing the cottage with her without touching her would send him straight to the nuthouse.

  Chapter 2

  Tiffany eyed the sugar pie and didn’t think twice. Grabbing the knife from the dish dryer, she cut a generous slice. Her personal trainer in New York would tell her she might as well inject animal fat into her veins. Screw Jayden. He didn’t have to deal with Santiago. If she couldn’t have Santiago, she sure as hell would eat pie.

  She took a bite, and sprinkles of sugar off the crust melted on her tongue. Hhhmmm. For a moment, sweetness invaded her palate. Who said food wasn’t a great escape mechanism?

  She held the glass of water, unsure if she should set it on the counter or have another gulp. Her fingers clasped the foggy cold surface. Her gaze darted to the snow, falling quicker than before. The clock read well past 4 p.m. She leaned over the counter, watching the sky, which had turned shades darker in mere moments. The snowstorm moved fast, and as much as she didn’t want to be confined with Santiago, she couldn’t allow him to just wander off in the cold. One tragedy on her conscience was enough.

  “Tiffany,” the husky male voice called behind her, and she jumped. A bit of water splashed out of the glass, and she patted herself. Why did his accent have to be so freaking sexy?

  Even when she’d first met him, when she was a hormonal teenager and her father had started to date his mother… an edge —almost of impatience —blended in his deep, complex baritone. His voice provoked a stir in her body, her nipples shamelessly tightening without her permission.

  She turned around, and produced a phony smile. “Did you come back for more pleasantries? Will this interaction require a Prozac?”

  He leaned against the threshold, eyes on her. Was it wrong to do the same? His hair appeared longer than on his TV show, the thick jet-black tips curling past his ears. The hairstyle was carefree and sexy, and matched the dangerous spark of his midnight eyes. Broad-shouldered and athletic, Santiago hadn’t been voted sexiest television host by a women’s magazine for no reason.

  What are you thinking? Reboot. Reboot. The silence stretched beyond seconds. The fake smile faded from her lips, and her pulse raced in places other than her wrist. A flicker of an intense, unreadable emotion hit his eyes, and he opened his mouth but just scratched his head.

  “I’m staying for the night. It’s impossible to fly in this weather.”

  She shrugged. Confusing emotions swirled inside her. What did his staying with her exactly mean for them? . “O-okay.”

  “We’ll stay out of each other’s way.”

  “Piece of cake.” She sliced another chunk of pie. “Since this place is ginormous, I’ll go to the west wing, and you can have the other wing.” She meant to sound sarcastic since they shared a cottage and not the Waldorf Astoria, but, as usual when she was around him with her barriers lowered, she turned into a paranoid teenager with a forbidden crush. Just like before.

  He quirked up his lips, but the planes of his face didn’t show any amusement. “Funny.”

  She took a bite of pie. This time, food equaled the perfect way to keep her mouth shut. Maybe if she kept eating around the clock, there would hardly be any words to exchange with him. A couple bits of sugar stuck to the corner of her mouth, and she slipped out her tongue and licked it. When she raised her gaze, she found him watching her.

  Probably thought she had poor manners, despite being a blue blood. No sane woman within inches of a guy that hot would stuff a large amount of pie in her mouth. Maybe because no sane woman would have those sinful thoughts toward her stepbrother. The one who had loved her best friend. The one who hated her for all
she’d put him through.

  “You take the suite. I’ll sleep in the guest room,” she forced herself to say, if only to break the silence.

  “The guest room has been converted into a home office.”

  “Well then, perfect. It will be my work away from work.” Great.

  “No. You stay at the suite. I’ll manage.”

  “Okay. I’ll agree, but only because I’ve been battling insomnia and want to stay away from sleeping pills,” she said.

  “Insomnia?” he asked, and for a moment concern gleamed in his eyes. He angled forward.

  “Yes, I’ve been working too much and you know the typical modern stress.”

  His lips curled at the corner of his mouth. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I’m trying,” she said, and eyed the carb bomb in front of her. “Want a piece of pie? I’m glad Marisa kept my sugar addiction in mind when she arranged for groceries.” She cocked her head in the direction of the dessert, desperate to lighten the mood between them. “It’s store-bought, but you wouldn’t tell.”

  He peered at the pie, then shook his head. “No.”

  “Do you want water? Coffee? Fruit? Small talk over recent news?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. Why the hell did he keep staring at her like he had words buried in his chest he needed to get out? Telling her he thought she was the scum of the Earth didn’t count. Maybe he had a new insult to share. “Is there anything else you want, Santiago?”

  Santiago touched his throat, as if he could will away the frustration lodged inside. Her beautiful eyes flashed with interest, and if he stared at them he’d be lost. Best not to leave things to chance, so without a word he turned around and left the room heading for the office. He’d almost said too much. The self-hatred he’d continue to hide from everyone. Especially from Tiffany.