Stepbrother Charming Read online

  Stepbrother Charming: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

  By Nicole Snow

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Stepbrother Charming: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

  I: Hit the Floor (Claire)

  II: Little Miss Perfect (Ty)

  III: Calm and Stormy Seas (Claire)

  IV: Knock Out (Ty)

  V: Undeniable (Claire)

  VI: Long Fuse (Ty)

  VII: Everything to Lose (Claire)

  VIII: Closing In (Ty)

  IX: Somewhere Between Heaven (Claire)

  X: Frozen (Ty)

  XI: Reset (Claire)

  XII: Big Day (Ty)

  Thanks!

  Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America.

  First published in April, 2015.

  Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.

  Please respect this author's hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!

  Cover Design - LJ Anderson - Mayhem Cover Creations

  Description

  NOBODY WARNED ME CHARMING MEANS INFURIATING, INTENSE, AND IRRESISTIBLE...

  CLAIRE

  I'm ready to slap my new step-brother clean across the face.

  Brash, arrogant, and stinking rich doesn't begin to describe Ty Sterner. He's also sinfully sexy, and wicked talented at making my blood boil.

  Ty thinks it's funny to chase me around like I'm the next notch in his bedpost. He lives to piss me off. But that isn't why my heart skips a dozen beats every time I look at him.

  What happens if his crude jokes about us hooking up go too far? What if I admit I actually want this filthy talking playboy, and one little misstep lands me in Prince Not-So-Charming's bed for real?

  TY

  I can't decide whether to laugh my ass off or kiss her 'til her panties ignite. Little Miss Perfect's too hot and uptight for her own good. Knowing she's off limits just makes me want her more.

  There's a twisted thrill to flirting underneath our parents' roof. And I want a whole lot more than teasing her cheeks red, or watching her eyes pop when I'm strutting around half-naked. I want to rock her world into a screaming mess and leave her soft lips breathless.

  Too bad this is the summer I'm supposed to get my crap together to build the family fortune. That's a distraction I don't need when all I really want to do is find out how perfect Claire feels between the sheets...

  I: Hit the Floor (Claire)

  Visiting Club Zing is supposed to be my last hurrah, a post-college escape before the long summer falls across Seattle, and ushers me into grown up land. It's supposed to be my last girl's night out before distance makes things a whole lot harder.

  So, why the hell can't I keep my eyes off him?

  “What's up, Claire? You're nursing that thing like you're about to go away to Saudi Arabia for a year!” My best friend Dana points to my Long Island iced tea and lifts her own. “Come on! Put it down and keep up with me, girl. This is our night!”

  Sighing, I raise my glass and clink it against hers. “Cheers,” we both echo.

  Somehow, I'm not feeling it. I've never liked goodbyes. And I really don't like this other bastard stealing away the attention my bestie deserves, even if he's moving around the club like he owns the place, sculpted to leave more than a few pairs of panties scorched.

  Who am I kidding? Is this seriously how it ends?

  By now, I'd normally be holding back the tears and hugging Dana's shoulders while she takes her stompy boots out to the dance floor. I don't understand how she wears those things so gracefully – they look like something German soldiers used to march in – but they always make her the center of attention when she busts her moves.

  I'm going to miss her stupid purple hair and how she can't let go of the goth look, even though she's pushing twenty-two, just like me. Hell, I'm going to miss this place. Mostly, I'm going to regret wasting this precious time with my eyes glued to the devil by the bar, the giant towering above everybody else.

  It's so obvious I can't hide it anymore. Dana grins at me after a long, dizzying sip on her drink. She spins around and follows my eyes.

  “Jesusss, Claire! Don't tell me you've never seen the owner before? Haven't you seen him?”

  “Nope, never.” I shake my head. “That's the boss man? He's so young...”

  My friend waves a hand, flashing the bright purple nails that match her hair dye. “Pssh. You'd own this place if your daddy was a billionaire too. That's Tyler Sterner. Playboy for life and easy on the eyes when he's actually here doing his job.”

  My brow furrows. Seriously? This guy barely looks older than we are. It's even more amazing I haven't seen him around campus or here on our earlier outings. He's got the kinda body any woman with a beating heart would notice anywhere.

  He's at the end of the bar, slapping some older, balding man on the back and laughing. Two plastic looking girls are at his side in short skirts, their ruby red lips and pearly white teeth grinning at him like statues.

  Massive is a gross understatement. He puts everybody else in his shadow, even the other well-built guys next to him.

  He looks like something from another age in the neat suit jacket wrapped around his broad shoulders. An aristocrat, maybe, remembering all the paintings I studied for my art history minor.

  Except country gentlemen didn't get this built in the old days taking strolls through the hills and chasing after foxes. No way. Mister – what's his face? – Sterner looks like he's been pumping serious iron and eating big to get big in all the right ways.

  The harpies next to him step aside for drinks, and I get a view of his tight packed torso. He's a Greek god from head to toe, a six foot something goliath with a beast of a jaw and blue eyes that look like they're there to put out the fires he's bound to spark in every girl who looks at him. The quirk in his lips and the messy wave in the dark hair on his head matches the self-assured way he's leaning back against the stool.

  Something tells me looks are deceptive, as they usually are. This Tyler might look like Prince Charming, but I have a crazy feeling he's more like the ultimate rogue with the way these chicks are eyeing him.

  “Hey!” Dana reaches up and snaps her fingers in my face. “Seattle to Claire Frost – come in!”

  It's nothing new, she's done it a million times before when I space out. I always push her hand away and get annoyed. Tonight, I just smile, knowing how much I'm going to miss her crap.

  “There are plenty more hotties here who'd actually give us the time of day, if that's how you want to roll this evening,” she says with a grin. “Check out that one!”

  I follow her finger to the dance floor. There's an edgy looking boy with a few too many piercings and a swirl of thick ink around his eye that makes him look like an Amazon warrior.

  Ugh. Just her type – not mine.

  I'm all for edge and ink, but I like to be able to feel a man's bare skin too beneath his decorations. I nod, take a long swig of my tea, feeling the delicious vodka and rum bathe my belly in fire.

  “You go on. Looks like he's eager for a dance,” I say, flipping my wavy hair back.

  “Oh, no, you don't!” Dana wags a finger. “Come on! Shake your pretty ass. It'll be fun now that you've got the good stuff in your system!”

  “Dana, Dana, Dana!” I keep calling her name as she jerks me out of my seat and pulls me toward the dance floor, but nothing's going to stop her tonight.

  It's ou
r last good night at our favorite club. I'm heading north tomorrow to take a few weeks off at my mom's house before the big internship begins. I landed a paid gig with Cascades Now!, an environmental lobby with an amazing reputation for landing awesome consulting work. It's half of the equation I need to jumpstart my career – the other fifty-percent is coming from my mom, former three-term Congresswoman, Amanda Frost.

  As for Dana, she's off to Portland for her MBA. Really, I think she just wants to embrace the city's weirdness. There's no doubt whatsoever she'll fit in great with Portland's eccentric scene and endless supply of food trucks.

  I'm trying not to think about the future. It's uncertain and exciting and so damned unnerving sometimes I feel my stomach churn. Thankfully, the alcohol hits right as we step onto the floor, numbing everything in its sweet fire. Everything is a glorious distraction up there, and it's easy to see why my friend is a dance-o-holic.

  “Go, go go! Shake it like you're going blind!” she chirps.

  I laugh, wondering how many drinks Dana had before I showed up. We're definitely going to need a taxi home after tonight.

  I move my hips, mimicking her movements. The dress I've picked out is too tight to dance comfortably – or maybe I've just let all the senior year stress add a few too many inches to my butt. Regardless, I hit it hard, and the liquor in my system helps me feel like I'm not making a complete jackass of myself.

  It feels good to move – especially when dancing helps me lose track of Prince Not-So-Charming. I don't even see his freakishly perfect jawline hovering over anyone now.

  And I'm not the only one who's lost track. Nobody's paying attention to me, as usual. Several eyes are on Dana, though, including the grown up emo kid who's been circling us on the floor like a shark, his silhouette whirling through the throbbing bass and neon lights.

  “Hey, little mama, you got a name to go with those moves?” He finally sneaks past me, and he's hitting on her so obviously I start to laugh.

  “I'm nobody's mama!” Dana pushes playfully against his chest, and then he grabs her with a grin, pulling her into his arms. “If you want to dance with a grown woman, then step the fuck up. Don't give me that crap. Show me you've got some skills yourself!”

  I watch them whirl and twitch in each other's arms. Dana flashes me a drunken wink while I try to cut in with the small talk. That's the cue we've worked out for each other to make ourselves scarce, but it's always been Dana who makes off pretty. Or should I say makes out? Fucks and moves on?

  Nobody ever dances with me for more than a minute before I freeze up or shrug the idiot off as a complete asshole.

  I've never been into easy, forgettable dick like my best friend. Ugh, and she's already grinding up against him. For a second, bright red jealously burns in my veins. I wonder how it comes so naturally to her – she's had a gift for free, uncomplicated lovin' ever since our freshman year in the dorms.

  Whatever. I hope to God my grown up desire to play the dating field seriously before I jump into bed with some bastard will pay adult dividends. They've got to, right? I need to believe all this waiting around for the perfect man isn't for nothing...

  I'm spinning, listening to people blabber drunkenly and laugh. The hard rock switches over to some techno stuff, and the lights go insane, doubling their speed. I'm not even wearing heels and I stumble, nearly losing my damned grip on the floor.

  Plowing into the huge shadow in front of me feels like slamming into a brick wall. He reacts quickly.

  His arms are around me in an instant. My cheeks burn first, and I've got about three seconds to figure out how I'm going to apologize for smacking into him before I look up. When I finally do, my heart stops.

  It should've been predictable as hell, yeah, but when it happens, it doesn't soften the blow one bit.

  I'm staring into Tyler Sterner's glacier blue eyes.

  He looks at me for what feels like a whole minute as I start to stammer and tumble back. His lips – those evil, kissable, suckable lips! – pull up like horns, exposing some adorable dimples on his cheeks. Who knew Prince Charming had the devil's smile?

  “Shit, babe, you look like you've never been out on the club floor before. You had one too many, or what?” He steps close to me again, throws his hands around my waist, and jerks me close like we've already been intimate. “What's the matter? Don't tell me I'm right. Can't believe an ass like yours doesn't have a few good moves.”

  My mouth drops. I try to speak, but the words won't come. Flushed, stunned, infuriated doesn't begin to describe the shock turning my blood to ice.

  I can't believe these are his first words to me – his only words – if I have anything to say about it.

  “Come the fuck on,” he growls, starting to grind and sway with the music. “Move with me, baby. I wanna see everything shake through that thing you've got on. I like to see what I'll be bouncing later when I'm balls deep inside you.”

  Jesus, and here I thought Dana's new buddy was way too forward. My brain can't process what's happening, and my confusion rolls out in a laugh.

  I start laughing and try to double over, but he's holding me too tight. I hate admitting the asshole's hands feel good on me, but I guess that's part of the charm. If you can call it that – my Prince is about as charismatic as a swamp toad.

  Does he seriously think he's too good to skip cheesy pickup lines? Does he always just jump right into how he's going to fuck a girl?

  “What's so goddamned funny?” He says, that stupid sexy smile on his face finally pointing down. “Don't tell me you've been hitting E or some crap. We don't allow that shit here. Listen, I'll toss your ass out and find whoever the fuck sold it to you if that's why you're laughing your damned ass –“

  I slap his chest. “I'm laughing at you, idiot. And I've had exactly one Long Island iced tea this evening. Not exactly an illegal substance, last time I checked.”

  “Whatever. You here to laugh your pretty head off or dance? I'll even forgive the idiot remark if you shake it like I think you can. You've got the right stuff, babe.” He stares me up and down like I'm a piece of meat, making zero effort to stop his eyes from lingering on my cleavage.

  He bends me around in his arms, making me do a turn so he can get a perfect view of my ass. I've never felt completely undressed by a man until now.

  The smart thing to do is target his face with my next slap. But his hands zip down my back and cup my ass, giving it a sharp squeeze, perfectly timed to the way the music starts to throb again.

  Asshole! I shoot him a furious look, but it's really directed inward. I can't believe my body purrs happily with the raw, caveman way he's grabbing my goods. I don't understand what the hell he's doing to me.

  I jerk backward, breaking his grip. Tyler laughs, marches forward, and grabs me by the wrist as I'm trying to get away. “Okay, okay. We'll take it slower, beautiful. Give me another try. I'll keep my hands off anything hanging like ripe fruit while we're on the floor. Promise. That shit can wait 'til later when I've got you all alone.”

  My hand twitches in his, hungry to deliver the slap that'll get me the hell out of this place. Of course, I don't do it. His smile draws me in, and I catch Dana out of the corner of my eye, pressed up against the emo boy with her lips on his.

  Sigh. I slip back into his kinder, gentler grip and start to sway my hips, about the most conservative tempo anybody can keep to match the song. I try to keep my breasts and hips well away from direct contact with his washboard body.

  “I'm Ty,” he says after a minute. “This place belongs to the family, in case you didn't know why everybody's making room for us.”

  I blink and look around while he folds his arms around me. Crap, I hadn't even noticed. It's true. Half the people are gawking right at us, like we're skating on ice. Half the guys look fearful, or else so jealous they're about to hit the ground and worship us.

  I shrug, trying to hide the heavy weight on my shoulders. “Well, I guess a nice, private dance won't hurt.”

&
nbsp; He laughs. It's rich baritone and it resonates deep in my ears, turning my blood to lava. “Babe, this isn't exactly what I'd call private or dancing. Now, we can do the horizontal dance in my personal suite later if you want. You don't know it, but I've had my fucking eyeballs glued to you all night, and they're gonna melt right outta their sockets if I don't see you naked. I'll bet you turn into a fucking whore when those panties come off...”

  His voice drifts into a growl. God damn. How does he do it? I thought my anthropology class taught me Neanderthals were extinct. Except, now there's one with his arms around me, talking dirty in my ear, keeping his hands low enough to be polite – but still so fucking close to my ass.

  Too close. And having them one inch away from crude and uncivilized makes me think savage thoughts to match.

  What will I do if he puts his hands there again? How will I react if he goes further, pulls me into him, grinds his undoubtedly huge cock shamelessly between my legs? Who the hell am I becoming in this man's filthy grip?

  I jump. The music stops. He swoops in like he's aiming for a kiss, and I fight like hell to break his grasp. I need to get him off me before I lose my mind.

  This is officially too much.

  It's just as well too. Out of nowhere, two plastic looking bimbos come trotting up and grab his shoulders. There's one on each side massaging him with their long, bright nails.

  The redhead on his left leans over, and I let out a little gasp as she touches the tip of her tongue to his earlobe. “You said you'd be off the dance floor by now, babyyy,” she whines. “Is this girl joining in or no?”

  “Hold up. I need another minute.” He jerks out of their grip and steps up to me.

  I don't know how the hell I manage to keep my palms folded down instead of hitting him, but I do. He's shown his true colors several times over tonight. But it's not hard to see it's who he is – a rich jackass who's made Club Zing his personal kingdom – just like Dana told me.

  I feel like a fucking idiot for dancing with him. Jesus, I let him put his hands where nobody else's have ever gone before, even when I'd started to get hot and heavy with a few college guys.