Stepbrother Master (2 page)

“If I were the dreaming type ... well … maybe someday I’ll find what you’ve found with Mr. Bennett. I only hope I don’t have to look too far.” Her gaze drifted to the window, and I caught sight of Ford in the yard below, once again hauling bags of rocks. If Celeste had looked hungry while she surveyed the wedding dress, right now she looked downright ravenous. I tried not to let it bother me. But it made a certain sort of sense as to why she acted like a complete bitch … but it didn’t explain his behavior.

Celeste suddenly cocked her head at me. “Are you seeing anyone, Emma?”

Caught off guard, I replied, “Not at the moment.” I told myself not to pry, but I couldn’t hold the question back. “What about you?”

Her eyes drifted to the window again. She gave a cat-like smile, close-lipped and teasing.

Fabulous. Beautiful, rustic mansion, an incandescently happy mother, and a raging bitch of a housekeeper. I frowned. I couldn't put my finger on why Celeste bothered me so much. Whatever it was, though, I certainly wasn't sold on Mom's glowing opinion. God knew she wasn't the world's best judge of character—at least, not with men.
But I didn't want to jump all over someone I'd just met, either. I tried to give Celeste the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was just trying to make nice with Russ’s new wife to solidify her position.

Russ yelled, “Dinnertime!” from downstairs, and I pushed Celeste to the back of my mind.
I'm over-analyzing things. I probably just need some sleep ... but first, I have to get through a meal with my new family.

As the three of us entered the enormous dining room, with its vaulted ceiling of bare timber and a gorgeous two-story fieldstone fireplace, I realized that we had become four. Ford had returned.

He clipped out a low, “I’ll be right back,” and headed toward the same hallway as the guest room we’d just been in. Shit. Was his bedroom close to mine?
God, why do you do this to me?
I was still trying to wrap my head around the thought of eating across the table from my new stepbrother; I didn’t have it in me yet to deal with spending a whole summer just down the hall from him. My stomach felt tense.
Nerves, that’s all
. Just nerves. Nothing at all to do with the fact that my soon-to-be stepbrother was both drop-dead gorgeous and a complete asshole.

I need to get better at lying to myself.

My father was thinking with his dick.

It wasn’t something I wanted to contemplate because no son wants to think about his dad’s dick, but it was a fact I had to face.

I tossed the two fifty-pound bags of river rocks to the ground and watched our newest ranch truck roll to a stop in front of the house. If my stepmother-to-be hadn’t absolutely needed to have those damn rocks lining the walkway before the wedding, I would’ve been the one fetching our newest guest. Instead, I’d had to send Griff. Despite being as old as dirt, Griff could still move quickly when he wanted to. The way he slammed the door and rushed to retrieve the luggage would make it obvious even to a blind man that he wanted this task over and done with.

Couldn’t say I blamed him.

I waited, eyes shaded by my hat from the spring sun beating down, to see our latest arrival.

A fucking stepsister.

And a spoiled bitch of one.  

Just what I needed.

Her mother had already settled in and taken a liberal hand to
adding a woman’s touch
to the house. I wasn’t sure what had been wrong with the house before, but we had throw pillows now, for fuck’s sake
. Who needs goddamn throw pillows?
My dad and I had functioned just fine before throw pillows and river rocks, but it seemed there was a new sheriff in town: Cynthia Carter Yates Palmer —and you could tack Bennett on in a few more days. Which brought me back to my dad thinking with his dick.

For the record, he loved the fucking throw pillows. And Cynthia, it seemed.

It wasn’t that I thought Cynthia was a total gold digger.
Okay,
it was more like I was trying not to think that about her. The fact that she was only a handful of years younger than my father was definitely a mark on her side, as was the fact that I hadn’t heard my father laugh so much in years as he had in the last few months.

I was trying. I was really fucking
trying
.

But when I’d overheard her telling my father that we just
had
to send the private jet for her daughter, I made a swift exit before I was tempted to share my opinion.

And now the daughter was finally here.

The passenger side door of the truck swung open almost a full minute after Griff had already jumped out.

Was she waiting for him to get her door?
I shook my head. I’d already pictured a royal, stuck up bitch when I saw the pink sandals and the long, tanned legs slide out of the truck and dangle for a beat before they found purchase on the running board. As she climbed out of the cab, her yellow and pink sundress molded to the curve of her ass. And what an ass it was. Round and juicy, like a peach.

Fuck
.

Blond hair was pulled into a low ponytail and a pair of those giant sunglasses covered half her face. I shouldn’t care what her face looked like, but goddamn if I could stop the curiosity stirring inside me. If it matched the tight, little body my eyes were devouring, this was going to be the longest fucking summer of my life.

She held up her hand as if shading her eyes and took in the ranch house.
It’s a sight, that’s for sure.
Not really a house so much as a mansion. My dad did well for himself before retiring young. I couldn’t help but wonder if she were surveying it in the same calculating way that I’d sworn I’d seen on her mother’s face.

The apple doesn’t usually fall all that far from the tree, now does it?

I couldn’t help but straighten when she pulled the sunglasses from her face and slid them on top of her head.

Fuck. Me. Running.

My groan was already out in the world before I had the sense to stifle it. Mac whistled low.  

“Hot. Damn. I wouldn’t mind taking that filly for a ride.”

My glare in the ranch hand's direction silenced him. “You want to keep this job? Then you’ll keep your eyes on the fucking cattle and the horses. Keep ’em off the girl.”

“Sorry, Boss, but I hate to break it to you. That ain’t no girl. She’s
all
woman.”

Fucking cocksucker. Now my attention was back on her. Specifically, her tits. That dress should’ve been lying crumpled on a bedroom floor somewhere, not covering her body. Little white buttons strained across her ample chest, just waiting for me to unbutton them, expose what were sure to be gorgeous tits, and suck on her nipples.

What the fuck was I thinking?
I shook off the disturbing thought. This chick would be my goddamn
stepsister
in a matter of days.

Which meant she was off limits for the one thing stuck-up pussy is good for—watching that perfect mix of arrogance and sass submit to me, hands bound behind her back, on her knees, and preferably with her fuckable mouth open and waiting for my cock.

The girl’s mouth fell open, synchronized with my thoughts, and my dick took on a life of its own.

Goddammit.

I reined it in when I realized her expression was a direct result of Griff tossing her bags into the house … rather unceremoniously.

Remembering that she was used to being treated like a princess—complete with private air transport—doused my rising libido. And it stayed doused even as she strutted toward the house.

Mac paused in his task, and the kid’s damn mouth hung open. The swing of those hips had him mesmerized. I’d like to say that she was putting something extra in her step to catch our attention, but I’d made a careful study of women and every damn thing about them over the years. I was willing to lay money on the fact that she had no clue that she was walking as if she were heading straight for her lover’s bed.

A vision flashed through my brain—me, waiting in my room, propped against my headboard, and her strutting that gorgeous ass toward me. I’d tell her to stop and turn, to bend and present herself to me, to let me see that submissive ass and cunt before I fucked them both. The image was so real I could picture her thighs slick with arousal and the scent coming off her. I’d eat that beautiful pussy first, savoring the tangy sweet flavor.

She slowed on the sidewalk within a few feet of me, giving me an awkwardly shy smile. I imagined what she would taste like when I fucked her with my tongue.

What the fuck was I doing?

I returned her smile with a curt nod, not meeting her eyes and grateful for the hat shading mine. I couldn’t be held responsible for whatever she’d see in my gaze right now.

Once the door shut behind her, I knew it was only a matter of time before my father would expect me to come in for introductions. Introductions that I wanted no part of, and yet I couldn’t avoid. The roughness of my surroundings might have dimmed the manners that had been instilled in me since childhood, but they hadn’t completely died out. I emptied the last of this load of rocks, made my way to the front door, and opened it on silent hinges.

“We’re happy to have you with us for the festivities and the rest of the summer,” I overheard my dad saying.

Yeah. Thrilled to have another woman taking up space in the house and mentally calculating the value of the property it sits on
.

Dad glanced over the blonde’s shoulder. “Hey, perfect timing, Ford. Now I don’t have to track you down to meet Emma.” She turned to face me, a smile spreading across her face … which promptly died when my dad added, “Emma, this is Ford, my son. He runs the ranch.”

Did she really not know who I was outside?

Her look of shock would suggest that she’d had no fucking clue. Well, wasn’t that interesting?

She offered her hand and I shook it, savoring the feel of her soft, delicate palm against my rough one, and trying to get some kind of read on her—did she like it rough? Would she recoil in disgust if I told her I wanted to tie her up and fuck that perfect peach of an ass? I jerked my instincts to a halt; I had absolutely no business trying to get a read on her. She was completely off limits.

And I needed to get the fuck out of there before I convinced myself otherwise.

My dad said something about her catching up with her mom, but I was already trying to figure a way out of this awkward as hell situation. Cynthia laughed and whispered something cute about my dad, to which he responded by whipping her ass with the towel, like a teenager.

Jesus. These two.

Emma cleared her throat and looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. “So … you run this whole place, huh?”

Her question sounded forced, but it was a welcome distraction.

I nodded.

“How long have you been in charge?”

Does she really fucking care, or is this that polite small talk I left behind when we ditched Silicon Valley for Montana?

Given that it wasn’t a yes-or-no question, I responded with the bare minimum of information. “Since college.”

I waited for her to give up, considering I was barely participating, but she pushed on. “Is it weird to have your dad as a boss?”

She clearly didn’t understand that my dad was fully retired, and the only boss around this place was me. That fact had never bothered me before he’d taken a trip to California to pick up some wine and come back with a fiancée. Maybe if he’d been more involved with operations, he wouldn’t have left in the first place, and the ranch wouldn’t have been invaded by Cynthia and now
Emma
.

I stared at her for a beat before filling her in that I was the boss around here, and then added,
“Probably a good thing, because someone has to look out for him.”

Her head jerked back at my words, and I could almost see her realize that I wasn't sold on this whole business between our parents. I didn’t need to stand here any longer, wasting my time, to get that point across.

“Excuse me. I've got work to do before dinner,” I said, before turning on my heel and walking back out the front door.

* * *

My reprieve didn’t last long, however, because my phone buzzed with a text. I tossed down the river rocks I was
still
hauling to check it.

Dad: Your ass needs to be in the house for dinner.

Me: Yes, sir.

Dad: And be nice to Emma.

I didn’t reply to that last text. What was I supposed to say? That I’d be so nice to Emma she’d be introduced to the wonder of multiple orgasms? I’d have her spinning on the business end of my cock? Not happening.

So I went back into the house and sat through dinner. I chewed my steak—damned good beef—and listened to Emma and Cynthia chatter on about the wedding. Although, to be fair, most of the chatter came from Cynthia. But still, every time Emma opened her mouth to reply to one of her mother’s questions, I fantasized about stuffing my ball gag between her pouty pink lips. Which then had me thinking about her
other
pouty pink lips.

Fuck.
I had to get the hell out of there before I sprouted a hard-on the size of a ponderosa pine.   

So I shoved back my chair, made my excuses, and escaped to the peace and quiet of the horse barn. I breathed in the sweet scent of hay and the earthy aroma coming from the stalls. A nicker from my favorite mare was a welcome sound. The shit-talking coming from Mac to whomever was listening to him was decidedly not.

“Dude, you should have seen the ass on this girl. Fuck. Me. My dick might never be the same after she’s through with it. I’ll be ruined for all other pussy. It’s a fact. I’m telling ya.”

I rounded the corner and saw Mac leaning against a stall, with TJ, my most reliable and talented ranch hand, and Griff, both sitting on the bales of straw. TJ wasn’t usually one for talking too much shit about women. He tended to be the
respect them and they will come
sort. I wasn’t sure how much luck he’d had with that approach, but regardless, he was a good man. Griff rarely said anything. Just chewed his dip or a toothpick. Or both.

The first time Cynthia saw him let loose a stream of tobacco juice onto the front lawn, she’d almost fainted. And then offered to buy him an antique spittoon. My thoughts of Cynthia immediately brought back thoughts of her daughter, who one of my hands was talking about fucking.

Sometimes being the boss sucked. Now was not one of those times.

“One more word comes out of your mouth about that woman, and you’ll be riding fences for six months straight. The only action you’ll be getting will be your own fucking hand … you get me?”

My voice was cold and hard, a tone I didn’t pull out often with the guys. But this time, I wanted there to be no question that I meant what I said.

“But you saw her—”

“I’m not fucking kidding, Mac. She’s off limits. You don’t look at her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t talk about her. She’s not your business and never will be.”

Mac bristled, and I suspected it was because I was dressing him down in front of Griff and TJ. I probably could’ve been more diplomatic about it, but I wasn’t fucking around. She wasn’t for him.
She wasn’t for me, either.