Her Wicked Stepbrother: A Nolan Bastards Novella Read online

  Her Wicked Stepbrother

  Copyright © 2019 by Amy Olle

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing and Em Petrova

  Cover Design: Michele Catalano Creative

  Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Andrew Biernat

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Married?” An arrow of panic pierced Brynn Hathaway’s heart. “But you just met.”

  A soft light came into her dad’s eyes, the same light Brynn had noticed two weeks ago after he’d returned home from meeting his online girlfriend in person for the first time. “Sometimes when you meet someone, you just know.”

  Her fork, heaped with pasta salad, hovered midway to her mouth. “Know what?”

  He reached for another piece of barbecue chicken. “That they’re the one.”

  She frowned. “The one what?”

  “The one you’re meant to be with.” At first, she didn’t recognize the sound reverberating in her dad’s throat, so rarely did he laugh. “Someday, you’ll understand. Someday soon, I imagine.”

  Unsure what he meant, her scowl deepened. “Will I get to meet her soon?”

  “She arrives next week.”

  “Arrives? Here?” Brynn squeaked. “Like, for good?”

  His grim features softened. “Don’t worry. You’re going to love her. I promise.”

  But will she love me?

  The sudden lump in her throat. “And the wedding? When will that be?”

  “Soon. After they’ve had a chance to settle in.”

  “They?”

  “Siobhan has three kids.” His low, rusty laugh sounded again. “Three boys.”

  Brynn’s fork clattered to her plate.

  She’d always wanted a sibling. But three? Three boys?

  Three brothers?

  Brynn didn’t know anything about brothers. Her best friend, Molly, had a brother, but Joey wasn’t a good example of the typical male sibling. He barely spoke in complete sentences and spent all his time playing video games.

  After dinner, Brynn raced upstairs and barricaded her bedroom door. She climbed onto the bed with her laptop and switched it on. Her fingers trembled as she stabbed at the keyboard and read about the home her soon-to-be family was leaving behind in Ireland and the flight that would deliver them to Chicago the following week.

  In her ears, her heartbeat thrummed as she struggled to recall what her dad had said when she’d asked him the names of her new brothers. Something about his bride-to-be, Siobhan, naming each of her sons after a hero from Irish folklore. Brynn’s hands flew over the computer keys.

  Rory, the youngest of the three boys, had been named after a tenth-century Irish king while Cian, who was only a year older than Rory and about to turn sixteen, shared his name with a legendary warrior. Aiden, the eldest of the brothers, was seventeen years old, like Brynn, and derived his name either from the Celtic sun god and or a revered fifth-century Irish saint.

  One last internet search revealed no heroes or gods, mythological or otherwise, shared her name. Instead, she learned that Brynn translated roughly to the Welsh word for hill.

  A saint, a warrior, a king, and… a hill?

  Tiny darts of panic jabbed, and she smacked the laptop shut.

  In truth, the answers she most wanted couldn’t be discovered by an internet search.

  What would her new family be like? Would she like them? Would they like her, despite her unremarkable name? Would her new mom like her any better than her real mom had?

  Everyone knew Brynn’s mother didn’t love her.

  Her entire family knew it, including her aunt and uncle and all five of her cousins. The other families in their close-knit Chicago neighborhood knew it. And thanks to the cruel, loud-mouthed Samantha Whitaker, all the kids at school grasped the fact that Brynn’s mom didn’t love her only child enough to stay.

  Most importantly, Brynn knew it.

  Her mom’s abandonment when Brynn was twelve years old had cratered a hole the size of Lake Michigan in her life. Not only had she lost her mom, but her even-tempered, affectionate father had fallen into a dark despair that, five years later, he’d never fully emerged from.

  Another pang of fear had her snatching a notebook off the nightstand. Flipping it open, she scribbled a list of chores she needed to complete before their arrival.

  Over the next week, whenever the panic rose up, she attacked another task on her list. She mowed the lawn and skimmed the leaves and insects out of the in-ground pool in the back yard. Indoors, stocked the kitchen cupboards with a variety of snacks and a host of ingredients, then she helped her dad convert the office upstairs into a bedroom that two of the boys could share. In the partially finished basement, they set up another space for the third boy to use as a makeshift bedroom.

  She found the whole thing weird, buying food and picking out bedding for people she’d never even met.

  The day before they would pick Siobhan and her sons up from the airport, Brynn cleaned every room in the house. She even scrubbed the bathrooms, making sure to close the doors after she’d finished so that her cat, Romeo, didn’t turn on the faucets and leave a hairy mess in the sinks again.

  The next morning, she cut a cluster of flowers in the garden and stuffed them into a clear glass vase. Their fragrant scent filled her nostrils when she set the vase in the center of the dining table and made a quick scan of the house.

  Everything was perfect—as perfect as a home without a mother could be. For the first time since her dad had announced his intentions to remarry, a fragile bud of hope blossomed in Brynn’s chest.

  But while she waited with her dad at the airport baggage claim, her mind returned to her troubled thoughts. What should she say to the woman who would become her stepmom? What did she possibly have to talk about with teenage boys? She knew nothing about Ireland or video games.

  When the first trickle of passengers flowed down the long corridor, a sheen of moisture kissed her skin. She glanced up at her dad, who searched the faces passing them by. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips while she waited for the spark of recognition to alight on his features.

  Bodies poured into the corridor, swarming like the butterflies in her stomach.

  “Do you think she’ll like me?” Brynn whispered.

  But her dad had already shuffled forward. He lifted his arm and a strikingly beautiful woman with black hair strode toward them. With an unsteady smile, he raked his hand through his neatly combed light brown hair.

  “Alan, my love.” The woman stepped into his outstretched arms.

  Under her breath, Brynn practiced the correct pronunciation of her stepmother’s name—Shiv-awn Shiv-awn Shiv-awn.

  The couple lingered inside their embrace, taking a moment to share a few softly spoken words while behind them, three strangers wearing three sullen scowls loomed.

  Then suddenly Brynn found herself pinned
by Siobhan’s bright gaze. “You must be Brynn,” she said, her smile as pretty as her lilting Irish accent.

  Please love me. Please please please please.

  Siobhan reached out, and Brynn drew close, until the cloud of sweet perfume enveloped her. She wanted to melt into the warm, motherly hug, but Siobhan withdrew her touch before Brynn had experienced its full impact.

  “Boys.” Siobhan gestured to the trio hanging back. “Come meet Brynn.”

  Every muscle in Brynn’s body tightened as the three strangers fixed their dark gazes on her. “Boys” seemed an inaccurate term to describe them. Though lanky, they had wide shoulders, and the tallest of the three measured nearly a head above her dad.

  “Hawareya?” The shadow of a smile touched the tall one’s face. “Yer a wee one, an’t ye?”

  The skinniest boy snickered. “Dat’s roy. Tow next to ya, we awll are.”

  Brynn’s brain stumbled to keep up with their quick, melodic speech. Unsure what was being said, she looked to the third boy, who stared daggers at her from beneath the hood of his black sweatshirt.

  Her heart thrashed against her breastbone harder and harder the longer he stared—glared—without speaking.

  “Aiden, say hello to yer sister.” Siobhan tugged the hood off his head.

  Brynn gasped.

  He had rich, dark hair and turbulent brown eyes that glittered with flecks of liquid gold. Sharp angles defined his cheekbones and jawline and the straight, elegant line of his nose. Only the callous sneer upset the perfection of his mouth.

  “She’s not me sister,” he said, each heavily accented word spoken with cruel precision.

  Despite the sting of his rejection, relief coursed through Brynn at that technical fact. He was not her brother, and thank the heavens for it. For one, if his dark scowl was any indication, he seemed more likely to murder her in her sleep than develop anything remotely resembling sibling affection. But more than that, what she felt when she gazed at his ruthlessly beautiful face could never in a million years be deemed sisterly.

  A hot July sun mugged them when they exited the airport terminal and trekked across the heat-soaked parking lot to her dad’s SUV.

  While Siobhan claimed the front passenger seat, Rory climbed into the back with the mound of luggage, and Brynn somehow wound up wedged between Cian and Aiden on the middle row bench seat.

  The length of her body pressed against Aiden’s, and his heat seared her everywhere they touched. She snuck a glance at him and found her curious gaze immediately ensnared by his dark eyes. He held her captive a moment, then slowly turned his head to stare straight ahead.

  Flushed and overheated, she inched closer to Cian, but as her dad steered the car through the airport parking lot and out into traffic, she became aware of the menacing grimace on his face. A shiver of alarm skittered up her spine.

  Carefully, she tracked the target of his terrible scowl to the car’s rearview mirror and her dad’s reflection there. Reflexively, she shrank back, only to come up against Aiden’s hard body once more.

  She jolted. Shoving her hands in her lap, she kept her eyes facing the front of the vehicle as they barreled along the interstate.

  Oblivious to Cian’s death-glare, her dad chatted away, pointing out the soaring black monolith of Willis Tower and a few other landmarks visible from the car’s interior. With a pang, Brynn observed the nervous waver in his voice.

  At home, the stream of his chatter continued to flow as they hauled suitcases inside and dropped the hulking luggage in the middle of the living room. Though the open concept layout of the 1930s brick bungalow didn’t necessitate a tour, her dad provided one anyway.

  Brynn crept toward the stairs, trying to escape the chill from Aiden’s ice-cold stare. But no matter where she sought to hide in the suddenly cramped living room, his dark gaze stalked her. Goosebumps prickled across her flesh and she rubbed a hand up and down her arm.

  When her dad finally fell quiet, Siobhan laid a hand on his forearm. “It’s a lovely home.”

  Brynn had never seen her dad blush before.

  “Isn’t it lovely, boys?” Siobhan faced her sons.

  It must’ve been Rory who grunted.

  Cian flopped onto the sofa and plopped his feet on the coffee table. “We had a lovely home in Ireland.”

  After that, everyone went in separate directions.

  Brynn sought refuge in her bedroom, where she remained until night had fallen and the house had grown quiet.

  Needing to brush her teeth, she padded barefoot down the hallway and opened the bathroom door—

  She reared back at the sight of a naked male body. Wet from the shower, he’d flung a towel over his head and was rubbing his hair while steam and the fresh scent of body wash floated in the air.

  Frozen, she stared, mouth ajar, at his smooth, taut skin. The temptation was too strong and her eyes fastened on his penis. She’d seen drawings of them in her health class textbook, but she’d never seen one in real life.

  While she looked on, it started to grow—and grow—until the hard shaft stood erect against his flat abdomen.

  Whoa.

  The replica Ms. Norbury had used in class to demonstrate proper condom placement hadn’t done the male member justice. Brynn’s gaze roamed up his sleek, taut body. A shamrock tattoo stamped one of his hip bones, and his torso rippled with his movements. By the time she reached his face, he’d finished drying his hair and golden brown eyes watched her watching him.

  A wicked smile played on Aiden’s lips. “Like what ye see?”

  She jumped as though scalded. “Oh my God. Uh… I… I… I….”

  “It’s all right. I can see ye do.” He tossed the towel aside, seemingly unperturbed to be stark naked in her presence. “Do not tell me ma.”

  Shock had stolen her ability to speak.

  He pointed at it. “She doesn’t know about this yet.”

  The tattoo. He was talking about the tattoo. Why was he talking about his tattoo rather than covering his gloriously naked body?

  Heat rushed to the surface of her skin, so hot she feared her body was on fire. Her soul seared.

  She should leave. She knew she should leave. She should run as fast as she could from the magnificent sight of him, naked and wet and hard… everywhere. An audible gulp squeezed from her tight throat, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t drag her gaze away.

  “If yer gonna stay, maybe ye wanna help me out here?” With an aching slowness, he smoothed a hand down his torso and gripped his rigid shaft.

  With a yelp, she yanked the door shut. Whirling, she stumbled down the hall to her. Slamming the door shut behind her, she pressed her hands to her face.

  She was burning hot.

  For her freaking stepbrother.

  Chapter 2

  Brynn couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  About him.

  All of him.

  She fell asleep with thoughts of him banging around inside her skull and woke to the clatter of him in her mind. She wanted to see more—to know—more about him. What did he like? What didn’t he like? Other than her.

  He obviously hated her, which shouldn’t have surprised her. The kids at school kind of hated her, too. Most especially, Samantha Whitaker. But was there something, or someone, he didn’t hate? She wanted desperately to learn the answer to that riddle.

  The morning after their bathroom mishap, Brynn padded downstairs, her thoughts consumed with her older (by five months) stepbrother. Maybe, he didn’t hate her as much as he hated being forced to leave his life behind and move to the other side of the world? She had to admit, had their situations been reversed and she’d just landed in a strange city in a foreign country, she’d probably have been a little grouchy.

  When she reached the bottom stair, she spotted him at the kitchen sink, drinking a glass of water and gazing out into the back yard. The air in her lungs seized.

  He wore gray running pants, and his white T-shirt hugged his lean torso. A sliver of
sunlight picked out the lighter strands of his dark hair, and the mix of russet and black fascinated her. Without her conscious consent, her gaze sought flesh, touching over the glimpse of skin at his collar and the muscles on his arms before winding up on his bare feet, which were lean and had a high arch.

  What the hell was wrong with her that she found everything about him physically appealing, even his feet?

  In her sleepshirt, she crept forward.

  A nearly infinitesimal jerk passed through him when he detected her presence. His head whipped around and she found herself pinned beneath his stormy gaze.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He studied her quietly for a moment, as though considering the most efficient, untraceable means to bring about her demise. Then, without a word, he set his glass in the sink and gave her his back as he turned toward the basement door.

  When the sound of his footsteps on the stairs had faded, the breath returned to her body with a sharp kick. He’d truly mastered the hate-ignoring thing. Not even Samantha Whitaker could best him.

  Later that evening, Brynn decided she wanted to cook dinner for everyone. If Cian or Rory, or even Siobhan for that matter, were disappointed or in any way upset by their sudden displacement, she wanted to give them something that might make them feel a little better.

  Aiden, she wasn’t worried about. He obviously had no feelings.

  When it’d been only her and her dad, she’d often prepared small meals for the two of them, the way her mom once had.

  After her mom ran away, Brynn feared her dad would abandon her, too. For months, the constant worry had gnawed at her. If her mom hadn’t loved her enough to stay, something must be wrong with her, and if something were wrong with her, how long would it be until her dad came to the same realization?

  Desperate to make her dad happy and prevent him from abandoning her, too, Brynn had taken over many of the household chores. All the chores she hadn’t done when her mom was around.