My Stepbrother, My Lover

by Ward, Alice

  My Stepbrother, My Lover

  By Alice Ward

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Alice Ward

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

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  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  THE PREQUEL

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  THE NOVEL

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  EPILOGUE

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER

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  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  "My Stepbrother, My Lover" is a Hot New Adult Stepbrother Romance by Alice Ward – A Full Sized Standalone Novel with NO Cliffhanger!

  I should have known better.

  The moment Jackson Montgomery III showed up for his tutoring session, I knew he was trouble, but I ignored my intuition.

  Soon, I couldn't get my mind off him and he had no trouble letting me know that he wanted more than lessons from me.

  The only problem was, he was the heir to a family fortune and I was the product of a single, feminist mother and working to supplement my financial aid at Harvard.

  We shouldn't have been together, but I'm proof that opposites attract and I was definitely attracted to him and wanted him in a bad way.

  Temptation weakened my resolve and I ended up having the most erotic night of my life with Jackson, but by the next afternoon everything took a turn for the worst.

  The sexy frat boy that just rocked my world was in his ex's arms and I was devastated.

  Then, a surprise engagement announcement from my mother revealed yet another unbelievable turn of events.

  She's marrying Jackson's father, and the man I hated and wanted more than anything was now going to be my new stepbrother!

  This book is intended for a mature audience, 18+ only.

  THE PREQUEL

  CHAPTER 1

  “Oh my God, Kennedy. I can’t believe you’re tutoring Jackson Montgomery the Third,” my roommate, Lauren, gushed as we sat down to lunch in the Lowell House dining hall.

  “I can’t believe you’re eating nachos for the fifth day in a row,” I teased her. “Where does it all go?”

  Lauren shrugged and took another giant, cheese filled bite, compliments of the meal cards we both received as part of our financial aid package at Harvard. While most of our classmates ventured off campus to eat, or cooked for themselves in their Houses, we ate three meals a day in the dining hall. We both worked on campus to help pay our tuition so we didn’t have the time to cook or the money to go out.

  I tried to stick to healthy choices like the salad bar, but Lauren ate whatever she wanted without ever gaining a pound. Not only didn’t she have the perfect body, she also was one of the most beautiful people I knew. Her long blonde hair and soft chestnut eyes drew attention everywhere we went. If I didn’t love her, I’d probably hate her out of jealousy. She washed the nacho down with a long drink of Mountain Dew and continued talking about my new student.

  “Have you ever seen Jackson on campus? He is sexy. He’s a business student so I’ve never had any classes with him, but I’ve seen him at a few parties.”

  “I have no idea who he is.”

  She raised an eyebrow and popped another chip in her mouth. “You mean you don’t know what he looks like, but surely you know who he is.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Of course I know who he is.” I laughed. “I know I’m a little out of touch, but I don’t live under a rock.”

  Everyone at Harvard knew the Montgomery family. They’d attended the college since the doors opened in 1836. Jackson’s great, great grandfather, Royce Montgomery, graduated at the top of his class in the Harvard MBA program and went on to build an empire of resort hotels. The family was notorious in Boston, more like legends than actual people. I’d been nervous about meeting Jackson since the day before when Sidra, my boss at the Student Services Center, called to let me know I had a new student.

  “I’ve actually watched a couple of profiles on Jackson Montgomery II,” I confessed. “His generosity is amazing. Did you know that, to date, he’s given away more money than Royce earned in his first twenty years in business? You have to admire a man like that. He reminds me of my mom, only he has a lot more money to give.”

  “I love your mom.” Lauren smiled. “You must have had the most amazing childhood.”

  That’s a comment I got a lot. My mother, Gloria Nightingale, was the textbook definition of a free spirit. She was raised by hippies and spent most of her twenties studying women’s history in Europe. She wasn’t enrolled in Oxford or any other university; she just picked a destination and learned everything she could on her own. When she was twenty-eight, she returned to the States and got a Sociology degree from Berkley. From there, she went to Stanford and finished a PhD in Women’s Studies, with heavy focus on ancient cultures. When the Doctoral Board accepted her dissertation, she celebrated by getting pregnant with me.

  I had no idea who my father is, but I was one of the most intricately planned babies in history. Mom knew she wanted a child, but she had no interest in having a husband. She spent six months scrutinizing profiles of potential sperm donors before finally settling on MC6890360. Forty weeks later, I was born.

  My mom’s doctoral dissertation received a lot of attention and she published two accompanying papers while she was pregnant with me. Three months after I was born, Harvard offered her a teaching position. We’ve been in Boston ever since.

  “I love my mom too,” I told Lauren. “But growing up with her wasn’t as fun as you think it was. I remember wishing she could just be normal like all of the other moms. Everyone else got to go to Disney World or the beach for Spring Break. I was dragged to lecture halls and feminist bookstores in places like Roanoke and Boise.”

  Lauren pointed a dripping nacho at me. “My mom was a normal bake-sale kind of mom and I’m telling you, you had the better deal,” she argued.

  I’d stopped listening to her. Instead, I stared at her plate of nachos while I blindly stabbed at my wilted lettuce.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, Kennedy, just have some,” she said, pushing the plate towards me.

  “You know I can’t eat stuff like that,” I told her. “It will go straight to my ass.”

  And it would. I’ve had a problem with my weight since I was fourteen years old. I know I’m not “fat”, but I have to work to stay at a comfortable 135 pounds. My mother had a naturally high metabolism, so I know that the weight issue had to come from my donor’s si
de.

  My metabolism wasn’t the only thing I inherited from dear old MC6890360. While my mother has brunette hair, brown eyes, and an olive completion, I’m a strawberry blonde with green eyes and porcelain skin that burns almost instantly in sunshine. I appreciate that Gloria took in all of the important things, like medical history and IQ scores, when choosing my donor, but I sometimes wished she’d placed a little more value on physical features. I don’t hate the way I look, but I would have liked to be able to go to the beach without wearing gauzy white coveralls.

  “If it makes you feel any better, my mother insists that all of the junk I eat is going to catch up to me when I’m twenty-five. She says that’s when everything starts going downhill,” Lauren told me.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to steamed chicken and vegetables,” I teased.

  “So what time are you meeting with Jackson?”

  I checked my watch. “In thirty minutes. Neither of us has class this afternoon.”

  “I’ll never understand you morning people. I swear I can’t function before ten a.m. So do you know which classes he’s having trouble with? Don’t families with his kind of money hire private tutors?”

  “I don’t know any of the details,” I told her. “Sidra just said to meet him in my cubicle at one-fifteen.”

  “So you’ll be finished around two-thirty? Or are you doing a double session?” she asked, her eyebrows moving up and down. “Cause if you’re back before three, you can tell me all about it before I have to go to Econ.”

  “Just a regular session, but then I’ll have to meet with Sidra and discuss my plans for him. I should be back around three-fifteen, three-thirty.”

  “Damn it! I have class until five. There’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate, wondering how things went with Jackson.”

  “He’s not a celebrity,” I reminded her, rolling my eyes again. “He’s just a guy who’s fallen behind this semester. A nice guy, if he’s anything like his father. A real bastard if he takes after his grandpa.”

  “Yeah, I hear that one is a piece of work. He must be going crazy watching his son give away the family fortune. I heard that he was nearly impossible to work with. The board of Montgomery Enterprises forced him out, that’s when Jackson’s dad took over.”

  “I’ve heard the same thing.” I pushed back from the table. “I need to get going. I guess I’ll know which elder Montgomery Jackson the Third takes after soon enough.”

  “I’ll come straight home after class,” Lauren insisted. “Make sure you’re in the room around five-fifteen.”

  “I’ll give you every last boring detail,” I promised as I gathered my bags. I pulled on a light jacket, dumped the remainder of my lunch in the trash and set off for the library.

  ***

  I crossed through the quiet library and found Jackson waiting for me in my private tutoring cubicle.

  “You’re late,” he greeted me with a teasing grin.

  I checked my watch and frowned. “I’m five minutes early,” I told him, even turning my watch around so he could see for himself.

  “Ah yes, but my granddad always says that if you’re not twenty minutes early, you’re late.”

  Great, so much for him being like his dad. I’ve known him for thirty seconds and he’s already quoting grandpa.

  “I have eight other students and four classes of my own,” I told him, feeling bitchy all of the sudden. “You can show up at your scheduled time or you can wait. I’m Kennedy Nightingale, I’ll be your tutor for the rest of the semester.”

  “Jackson Montgomery,” he smiled and stuck out a hand, never losing his friendly twinkle in his eyes. “You have an interesting name Kennedy Nightingale. Judging by your last name, I’d assume that you’re nurturing, you know, like Florence Nightingale. But your first name, that makes me think you’re a liberal, or at least your parents are.”

  “Yes, well, you know what they say about assuming,” I shot back and his grin only got annoyingly bigger. “And you shouldn’t judge people based on their names. For example, if I did that to you, I’d assume that you’re an arrogant, spoiled brat who’s just killing time at Harvard until Daddy hands over the company.”

  “Feisty,” he laughed. “I like that. You’re mom’s Dr. Nightingale right?”

  “Yes.” I was surprised, but didn’t show it.

  “So I was right about the liberal parents.”

  “It looks like we’re both right.” I smiled sweetly. “Why don’t we concentrate on the work? Sidra emailed me your schedule, which classes are you having the most trouble with right now?”

  “All of them,” he confessed. “I had some… personal issues at the beginning of the semester. I had a solid 3.2 GPA up until February, but then everything sort of fell apart. I bombed all of my midterms and if I don’t get caught up, I’ll lose eligibility at the house.”

  “The house?”

  “Sigma Chi,” he explained.

  A frat boy, of course.

  “I see, so you need to do well on your finals to stay in your frat.”

  He nodded. “I plan on running for Chapter President next year. I can’t get kicked out now. Plus, my granddad would be furious. And my dad insists that I carry at least a 3.0 to keep my allowance.”

  I studied him critically for several long, silent moments, wanting to be furious at that last confession. Good grades equals allowance. Certainly a rich kid problem. Finally, I said, “I don’t want to know what happened at the beginning of the semester, but I need to know if you’ve dealt with it. With your current semester grades, you have to ace absolutely everything between now and May. Can you focus? Or are you just going to waste my time?”

  His chin lifted at that, just a touch, but enough to know I’d hit a nerve. “I’m ready to focus. I’m not stupid, Kennedy. Quite the opposite, in fact. I know I have tons of work to do, and I also know that I need someone to keep me accountable.”

  “Well, I can certainly do that. How many hours a week would you like to meet? I have eight hours available on my schedule, but we can meet less if you’d like.”

  “Is that why I was assigned to you?” he asked. “Because you’re schedule was the most open?”

  “I’m sure that was one of the reasons.”

  “But are you qualified?” he pressed, leaning forward. “Have you taken these classes? Or do you just do this because it’s a requirement of your financial aid package?”

  “My financial situation is none of your business,” I answered coldly. I was ashamed that he was right. I got a tuition break since my mom taught at the school, but there was still a hefty balance left over each semester. Tutoring my classmates made it possible for me to get through school without taking out loans.

  “I assure you that Harvard University wouldn’t let an unqualified student work in this department,” I continued. “To answer your second question, I took Internet Marketing and International Trade Ethics last semester. I had Domestic Finance the semester before and got Advanced Comp out of the way my second semester.”

  “So you’re a business major as well? I’ve never noticed you in any of my classes.”

  “I started taking college courses while I was still in high school. I’m double majoring in Business and History; I tackled all of my business courses first.”

  “Business and history… so you’re going to law school?”

  I felt a ripple of surprise that he was able to figure it out. Maybe he was smarter than I gave him credit for. “That’s the plan.”

  “I’m going to apply to the Masters Business College. Maybe you could help me with my application?”

  “You won’t have to do that until fall,” I reminded him. “And if you don’t get these grades up, there won’t be a point in filling out any application. Let’s focus on one thing at a time.”

  “Whatever you say,” he agreed.

  We spent some time talking about how he learns best and then looked over the assignments he had due the following week.

 
; “The comp paper is due Thursday, the Marketing presentation is Friday. Marketing is a group project, so I won’t need your help with that,” he explained.

  I shook my head, gritting my teeth. I hated group projects because I usually ended up stuck doing all of the work while my classmates gave the Power Point a quick look right before we had to present. “From now on, I will be supervising all of your course work, included group projects. I’d like to meet again on Thursday. That will give you two days to outline both your paper and your portion of the group presentation. I’ll go over it with you and we’ll build from there.”

  “Thursday is fine, what time?”

  “I can do one-fifteen again if that works for you.” I looked up from my tablet and caught Jackson staring at me, a sly grin curving up one side of his face. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” he replied, his smile deepening. “I was just thinking that you look nothing like your mom. Not in a bad way, you’re both very beautiful. But you’re very… different. Your dad must have some really strong genes.”

  “That’s a safe assumption.” I replied. I wasn’t about to explain MC6890360 to a guy who could probably trace his lineage all the way back to the Mayflower.

  “I haven’t taken any of your mom’s classes, but I’ve heard a lot of great things about her. I’m surprised you aren’t following in her footsteps.”

  I laughed. “That would be too easy. I grew up listening to my mother lecture day in and day out. I sat through so many of her classes I probably already qualify for a degree.”

  “And you don’t like easy?” he asked, he eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  Of course he doesn’t understand. He’s following in his father’s footsteps isn’t he? And his father did the same, and so on, and so on. I wonder which generation was the last to have an independent, original thought.

  “I don’t mind easy, I hate boring.” I explained.

  “Well I can’t say that I blame you there. That’s what’s great about my family’s business, it’s never boring. There’s always something to do or somewhere to go. Have you ever been to Fiji?”