Her Wicked Stepbrother: A Nolan Bastards Novella Page 9

“Would you look at that?” A crooked smile pulled up the corner of his mouth. “I knew there was a smartass buried somewhere deep inside you.”

  “Why are you here?” she snapped.

  “Because you need me.”

  A sneer curled her lip. “I do not need you.”

  “You do.” Sudden emotion churned in his dark eyes. “You need me to tell you the truth.”

  Her stomach dropped to the floor. Moments ticked by while dread at what he would say next congealed in the pit of her stomach.

  “The truth about what?” she asked, though she desperately didn’t want to know.

  “All this time I’ve been looking for The One, I knew I’d never find her.”

  Resentment burned in her chest to be reminded of his manwhoring, especially now. “Oh, yeah? Well, you certainly gave it your all.”

  “I’ll never find her, because she doesn’t exist. Like ye said.”

  Something in his tone riddled her with doubts, but she shook them off. “You wouldn’t think it’d be so hard, finding the perfect big boob, tiny brain combo.”

  “I told ye, it’s not about her looks.”

  “Then what?” Weariness snapped the last of her patience. “What in the hell are you looking for?”

  “The one who can make me forget.”

  “Forget what?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You.”

  Her brain stuttered.

  When he bent his head and drove his hand through his dark hair, she saw that it trembled.

  Dazedly, she gaped at him. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  He lifted his gaze, and she gasped. More heartache than she’d experienced in a thousand lifetimes swirled in his eyes. He showed it all to her, without holding back even one teardrop of his anguish.

  Wild flutters tickled her belly. “But you hate me.”

  He gave his head a slow shake.

  “Yes, you do.” Her voice rose with her indignation.

  “I do not hate you.” Heat seared each word. “I hate that our parents are married and now you’re my sister. I hate that I cannot be with you. I hate that no matter how many other girls I try to sleep with, none of them can make me forget you. Forget how much I want you. How much I need—” He bit out a curse.

  She shot to her feet. “What? What do you need?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.” Because though she couldn’t begin to guess what he might say, she knew without a doubt that she needed it, too.

  He stared at the floor at her feet while her heart tried to thrash its way out of her body.

  “All my life, I never asked for anything. I never wanted more than I’d already been given.” Softness and steel fused in his voice. “All the bullshit with my dad, and the way people looked at us because we were bastards, I didn’t fight it. I didn’t demand they treat us better. I knew who and what I was, and I didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought about anything. I was happy. I was content. I didn’t need a goddamn thing from this world.” His eyes captured hers. “Until I met you.”

  Her throat parched, she swallowed with difficulty. “People were mean to you?”

  He rolled his shoulders. “They looked down on us.”

  “Why? Because you don’t know who your dad is?”

  “You’re kind of missing the point of everything else I said.”

  “I heard you. I’m”—she made a motion with her hand—“processing.”

  “Take your time.” He leaned with one shoulder against the doorjamb and folded his arms, the picture of relaxed patience.

  She searched his face for signs of deception, but found only a tender vulnerability that speared her heart. Dare she believe he was telling her the truth?

  “Why?”

  A pucker appeared over one of his eyebrows. “Why didn’t I tell you?”

  “Why me?”

  The shadows cleared. “You’re kind, and sweet, fiercely so, and the way you look at me—”

  Furious heat rushed into her cheeks. She was so obvious, he’d known all along how she felt about him.

  Bare feet appeared in her line of sight. Then he slipped a hand beneath her chin and gently lifted. “Don’t hide it from me. Please. I need it. You’re the only one who’s ever looked at me like that.”

  Like a lovesick fool? “Girls at school look at you like that every day.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He dragged the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone. “It’s not the same because they’re not you.”

  Her breaths came short and shallow. She’d never been so close to him. To the chaos in his eyes.

  “You look deeper. You see me. The real me.” He bent his head until his forehead touched hers. “And you like what you see. Like you think I matter. No one’s ever looked at me like that before.”

  She wanted to deny every last bit of what he said, but his scent teased her senses and claimed her awareness. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

  Her eyes flew open. “What do you mean, the girls you try to sleep with? You meant all the girls you do sleep with, right?”

  “I said what I meant.” He eased back one step, and another.

  “Look, I’m a virgin, okay? I need you to explain to me.”

  “I haven’t been able to, uh… rise to the occasion.” His shoulders lifted when he drove both hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans. “I can’t… do it. Not with any of them. Believe me, I tried.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Maybe you should talk to a doctor.”

  He dropped his chin and pierced her with a pointed look. “There’s nothing physically wrong with me.”

  “How do you know? I mean, if you can’t—”

  Exasperation and amusement battled for dominance of his features. “Trust me, I know. Let’s just say I’ve independently verified my, uh, prowess.”

  “Oh.” Understanding struck. “Oh!”

  Why did the thought of him bringing about his own pleasure make her skin flush so hot?

  “But even in that, only you—thoughts of you—will bring the thing about.”

  He thought about her when he masturbated? “This is a joke, right?”

  He glanced down. “What do you think?”

  Proof of his arousal pressed against the fly of his blue jeans.

  Shock ricocheted through her body with a dizzying rush that left her shaking all over. “What does this mean?”

  A heavy, irrefutable grief settled on his shoulders. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. Because our parents are married.”

  “Then why did you tell me all this?” The plaintive wail burst from her.

  “Because you’re incredible, and if fuckwits at school cannot see it, then fuck them.”

  Misery and anger and self-doubt were a volatile mix inside her. Finally, she blew. “Prove it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying.”

  “Why would I lie about this?”

  “To hurt me. To embarrass me. To make me believe you want me just so you can break my heart again.”

  His features contorted. “That’s demented, and it’s not what I’m doing. And when did I break your heart?”

  “Every day. Every stupid day, with every stupid girl you kiss.” Her voice broke with her sob. “If you want me, then show me. Prove I’m not wrong for wanting to believe you.”

  He went unnaturally still. “Ye know I cannot do that.”

  She rushed forward.

  His eyes flared with a warning, and she tripped to a stop.

  How had she not seen it before? It’d been there all along. Not disdain or loathing, but alarm. Fear.

  Panic, imploring her to stay back.

  She didn’t heed his warning.

  He remained motionless when she placed her hands on his chest, rose up on her tiptoes, and brushed her lips against his.

  The thrill that whipped through her pulled a
soft moan from the back of her throat, which tore a growl from somewhere deep inside Aiden’s chest. His arms closed around her, strong and gentle, possessive but tender, while his mouth nibbled hers in a soft, claiming kiss that set her world spinning wildly around her.

  She was kissing Aiden, and he was kissing her back.

  Though she should stop the kiss, she didn’t. Though she should resist her stepbrother, she couldn’t. Instead, she reveled in him. She relished his spicy scent and soothing heat. She gloried in the luscious taste and feel of him. In the proof of his desire pressing against her stomach.

  Helpless to stop herself, she plunged headlong into him. Her heart galloping, she became lost in his kiss. With soft bites and small licks, his mouth cherished her. It was everything she’d ever wanted.

  No matter that it could tear her family apart.

  Then it was over, and he was turning away.

  When he reached the doorway to their shared bathroom, the heat his kisses stoked inside her flamed out, like a bucket of ice water splashed over a fire.

  “Wait, you’re leaving? After everything you just said? After that kiss? You’re just going to leave me feeling all… all…?”

  What was she feeling? She’d never felt this way before, but she liked it. She liked it a lot.

  She wanted more.

  She needed more.

  “I never should’ve come.” Raw emotion frayed the edges of his voice. “I only wanted you to know the truth.”

  “Aiden, wait.” She touched his arm. “Stay. Please. Show me what happens next.”

  His face leached of color. “Our parents are downstairs.”

  “We’ll be quiet.”

  “Jesus—”

  A frantic, irrational fear gripped her. “You were right. I—I need you.”

  “I cannot stay,” he croaked.

  “You can’t leave.” Her hold on his arm tightened. “You—you—you can’t say all those things to me and then—then… leave me.”

  In his eyes and on his face, a kaleidoscope of regret and longing played out.

  “You and me, it can never happen.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Mortification swamped her.

  All the hurts in her heart seemed to flood forth at once. Harry and Kyle, her mom, and now Aiden. They all mixed and churned inside her. Too many rejections. Too much pain for one fragile heart.

  “What is wrong with me?” she whispered. “Why can’t anyone love me?”

  Tender grief twisted his features. “Nothing is wrong with you. You’re perfect.” He pushed a lock of her hair off her forehead, then dropped his hand away. “Perfect in every way. Except one.”

  Her heart shattered. “What? Please tell me what it is.”

  “You’re my sister.”

  Chapter 10

  Four days later, Siobhan gave birth to a baby girl.

  Brigid Jane Hathaway was wrinkly and screechy, and when Brynn cradled the baby’s tiny, wriggling body in her arms, she decided little Brigid was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen.

  Siobhan picked the baby’s name to match that of the Celtic goddess of poetry, and her noble brood now included a saint, a warrior, a king, and a poet.

  Brynn was still just a hill.

  The first night, her dad stayed at the hospital with Siobhan and the baby, but he came home briefly the next day to grab a shower and a change of clothes before heading back. She didn’t talk to him again until the following evening when he called to check in.

  “How’s everything there?” he asked. “You doing okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. How’s Brigid?”

  “Ah, she’s amazing.” Her dad’s wonder-filled voice crackled through the phone’s crappy speaker. “I can’t wait to bring her home. Should be sometime tomorrow or the next day.”

  “You’re not coming home tonight?”

  “Siobhan and the baby need more time to recover. The nurse promised me she’ll spring us the minute she’s able. What about you? Any Saturday night plans?”

  Shock stole Brynn’s voice.

  Did she have any plans? She hadn’t set eyes on Aiden since he’d kissed her and told her she was The One. The boys were out, and Molly, who had planned to come over and spend the night with Brynn, had contracted the stomach flu, which meant Brynn had the entire house to herself.

  Oh, and it was her birthday.

  She mumbled some non-answer that satisfied her dad, then disconnected the call.

  Standing in the kitchen, she gaped at the cell phone cradled in her palm, too stunned to move.

  It’d probably just slipped his mind. She couldn’t fault him for forgetting. With so much going on the last few days, it was completely understandable.

  Any minute now, he’d remember the date and call her right back to wish her a happy birthday.

  She stared at her phone, waiting.

  But the phone didn’t ring.

  Brynn abandoned the device on the kitchen counter.

  It was fine. Really, it was. So he forgot. So what? That didn’t mean he didn’t care about her. Of course he did. Siobhan and the baby needed him. They were his family now.

  And Brynn? Well, she was eighteen. Technically an adult, even if she didn’t feel like one.

  Even if she felt like a little girl who missed her dad.

  A vise clamped tight around her chest. How could her own father have forgotten her birthday?

  When the boys left without saying anything, she’d been disappointed, but the sting hadn’t lasted long. The fact was, they hadn’t spent the previous seventeen years celebrating this day with her.

  With a mental shake, she pushed away from the counter. It was her birthday, dammit. If no else cared, she’d have to throw herself a party.

  In the pantry, she flipped on the light. Stretching up on her tiptoes, she pulled a brownie mix down off the top shelf and, at the island, dumped the ingredients into a large mixing bowl. She started the oven warming, then set to work stirring the contents of the bowl.

  With every little twinge of disappointment that struck her, she whipped the mixture more vigorously. They had a special bond, she and her dad. Nothing could sever their connection. Not her mom leaving them. Not him remarrying and starting a new family. Through it all, they’d remained close and they would do so now as well. She’d make sure of it.

  When her arm ached from beating brownie batter, she poured the concoction into a pan and set it in the warm oven to bake. Then she gathered the butter, cocoa, and powdered sugar and carried them to the counter. While she whisked together the ingredients, she pondered all the ways she could cement her relationship with her dad.

  What if she picked up some extra hours at his office? That way, he’d be able to spend more time with Siobhan and the baby, at least at first. But also, she would get to spend more time with him, and by helping out, she’d have a chance to prove to him how valuable she was to have around.

  She’d help him make more money, too, which would make Siobhan happy.

  If she did all that, he’d have to love her.

  Her mood lifted until she felt as light and fluffy as the chocolate frosting. She set the frosting in the refrigerator to chill while the brownies finished baking, then, though there was no one else home to help her eat it, she ordered a large pizza to be delivered from her favorite restaurant.

  It was her birthday, after all.

  While she waited for the pizza to arrive, she flipped on the TV in the living room and switched through the channels before landing on a movie she never would’ve watched if her stepbrothers had been at home. It was a Cinderella retelling that somewhat mirrored her own life—if one of the mean stepsisters was her stepbrother instead. Who also happened to be a prince. Plus, was a thousand times grumpier.

  The thought of Aiden as a prince teased a smile to her lips when she paused the movie long enough to remove the brownies from the oven and set them on the cooktop to cool.

  Aiden was far from princely.
Or saintly, for that matter. But he’d told her she was The One, and she’d never felt more like one of the princesses from the bedtime stories her mom used to read to her.

  Brynn’s heart swelled to recall his words. To remember the soft, tortured light shimmering in his dark eyes when he’d confessed the truth.

  It was the truth, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t lie about something like that.

  Would he?

  Doubt kicked in her chest. What if he’d lied only to get her to stop crying? To forget for the moment that Harry had stood her up?

  The doorbell’s chime jerked her from her thoughts. She paid the delivery guy from the pile of bills her dad had left on the kitchen counter. Balancing the warm, aromatic pizza box in one hand, she snagged the short stack of envelopes from the mailbox before kicking the front door closed with one foot.

  She deposited the pizza box onto the coffee table and quickly rifled through the mail. When she flicked to the third correspondence, her hand stilled. Addressed to Aiden, it’d originated from Trinity College in Dublin.

  Ireland.

  Her stomach clenched. Had Aiden applied to attend the school? Was he leaving?

  Brynn choked down a couple of slices of pizza, a task made difficult with her heart wedged in her throat. Though she watched the movie playing out on the television screen, her mind fixated on that letter. What did it say? She could think of only two topics that might be contained within it. Either he’d been accepted for or denied admission to the university.

  Her fragile good mood shattered like broken glass.

  If Aiden left, would she ever see him again? Would he come home only for special occasions and the few holidays he could manage the long trip overseas? How could she bear seeing him so infrequently? How could he tell her she was The One, and then abandon her?

  Panic crawled up her spine, and she surged to her feet. She snagged the pizza box off the coffee table and carried it into the kitchen, where she crammed it inside the refrigerator. She didn’t even bother labeling the box with the permanent marker she’d been using to claim her food before the boys ate it.

  In the pantry once more, she rummaged around until she found a half-used pack of birthday candles. Only seven remained in the box, well shy of her eighteen years, but she smeared frosting over the brownies and pushed all seven wax sticks into her impromptu birthday cake.