Stepbrother, Mine Page 2

  What if he didn't fit in, as he suspected? What if his old man didn't even recognize him after the intervening years? What if his new stepmother was a stepmonster? He could always live in the dorms, true, but the thought of sharing a room with some asshole was not appealing in the slightest. At least if he lived with his father, he would have his own room, his own space and could keep his own hours. College dormitories had curfews. He wasn't down with that, preferring to come and go as he pleased.

  Once again swallowing his nerves, and deciding he would deal with whatever came his way, he strode toward the church, slinking through the side door just as the first notes of 'Here Comes the Bride' began to play on the old organ. With all eyes on the bride, he slid into a seat at the rear with little or no fuss, the guy next to him shuffling to make room. The church was jam-packed, which was not surprising. His father always did like to show off. Looked like he'd finally found a wife he thought worthy of showing off.

  The old resentment stirred, forcing him to remember some of the worst fights between his parents in those last bitter months.

  “You never dress up anymore, Laura. How can you expect me to take you places when you don't even put the effort in?”

  Logan shook his head, dislodging the memory. That had been a long time ago. Maybe the old man had changed. He got his first clear view of the woman who would be his new stepmother as she glided past, her chin raised and her color high. Then again, perhaps not. The woman was definitely worthy of showing off. His father was nothing if not materialistic. He supposed this woman would be the same. They usually were. All the girlfriends he'd had since he'd left Logan's mom shared the same sense of self-worth and arrogance. He'd begun to dub them all Ms. Perfect. Well this Ms. Perfect had finally attained that most coveted of statuses – Mrs. Perfect.

  ~

  The ceremony went off without a hitch. Once they'd gotten over the collective moment of holding their breath when the minister asked if anyone present knew of any reason the pair should not be married, it was all downhill.

  Afterward, the happy couple strode back down the aisle hand-in-hand, smiling and kissing along the way. It was all very cutesy and sickening to Logan. He started forward, intending to offer some form of congratulations – he could be grown up about this, on the outside, at least – when a short, round woman shoved him aside, where he landed on his ass with a soft thud, the hard wood of the pew bruising his behind.

  “Harry,” she gushed. “Marie. What a wonderful couple you are. Allow me to offer my congratulations to you both on this magnificent day!”

  “Are you okay?” The voice was gentle and somewhat shy.

  Logan turned his head with a frown, intending to bluster his way out of conversation, when he noticed who was talking to him. The pretty little blond in the killer red dress. Oh, man she was so hot he was half afraid to touch her, but he took the offered hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. “I'm fine, thank you.” He busied himself tugging his jacket into place.

  “Great Aunt Tess can be quite rude,” she admitted with a blush. “I apologize on her behalf. It's nice to meet you...”

  He stuck out his hand, again capturing her smaller one and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Lo– ”

  “Come on, come on. They're doing the pictures outside and you're needed, girl.” It was the other lady in red, come to snatch his prize away. “Sorry,” she wrinkled her nose at him, making Logan wonder if she knew him. “I'm sure you can catch up with your friend later.”

  With that, the older woman dragged the girl away, their heels going clippetty-clop on the slate floor of the church. “Damn,” he muttered, before remembering it was rude to swear in church. He watched the girl's ass as it went. “Hate to see you leave,” he whispered. “But love to watch you go.” Perhaps there would be some fun at this reception after all.

  An elderly woman paused as he spoke, and he tried not to squirm under the glare she gave him. “Young ruffian,” she accused, tapping her way outside with her walking stick.

  “Young, dumb and full of...” What way did that saying go, again? He shrugged, wondering if there was a bus or if he should try and find his own way to the reception. Figuring he could walk it, he exited the church and followed the small group of people who were also walking, depending on them to lead the way.

  ~

  The reception venue was a huge old barn, converted and updated with all modern conveniences. Fairy lights twinkled inside on a giant black swathe of a back-drop, and the tables were tastefully decorated with floral and diamante center-pieces. He paused to sniff a white lily, the pollen tickling his nose as he inhaled. Running his fingers along the table, scattering the small crystal rhinestones dotted on the top, he realized there were no place cards.

  At a loss as to where to sit, he found his way to the bar, where he ordered a soda and settled in to await the arrival of the guests of honor. Somehow, he managed to strike up a conversation with a middle-aged accountant – the most regrettable conversation of his life thus far – and literally groaned in relief when the rest of the wedding party arrived a short time later amidst cat-calls and whoops of joy.

  He had to admit they looked good together. His father, with his suave good looks and his athletic physique stood beside his glowing bride who rested her head against his upper arm in a show of tenderness. But looks could be deceiving, as he knew well. How many times had his parents put on a public show of affection for the benefit of one of Harry's cronies? Too many, and more times than not, as soon as the public eye had moved on, they retreated to their own sides of the house.

  “Welcome,” called the woman in a soft and joyous tone. “It's so good to see you all here today to celebrate our wedding.” She blushed, her cheeks glowing a riotous pink. “I'm sure you're all wondering about the seating plan.” She smiled suddenly, her face lighting up. “Could you all please gather in the middle of the room, for a moment?”

  With perplexed expressions, the guests made their way to the dance floor, leaving the tables behind them. Logan kept to the fringes of the group, wondering as much as anyone what the hell was going on.

  The woman smiled again before gesturing to the tables ringed around the parquet floor. “Whoever you're standing beside, abandon them,” she encouraged, waving her hands in a quickly-quickly motion. “Now, whoever you ended up with is your dinner partner.”

  “Highly unconventional,” one lady muttered, taking the hand of a young man and allowing herself to be seated between a lady with an extremely short skirt and an older gentleman with a paunch, while the young man took up the seat on the other side of the short-skirted-girl.

  “Fantastic idea,” another gray-haired man announced, eagerly following a slender brunette to a table. “I usually end up in the same company at these things.”

  “Looks like you're with me.” He smiled at the pretty blond who was busy making 'oh-no-you-didn't' eyes at the bride.

  “Looks like,” she agreed, allowing herself to be guided to the nearest table. He watched in fascination as she smoothed the material of her dress over her rounded ass before sitting on the chair he'd pulled out for her.

  An elderly man in a ghastly tweed suit plonked himself in the chair Logan had earmarked as his own, leaving the only unoccupied seat directly across from his target. Well, damn. With a rueful shake of his head, he seated himself, and filled a glass of water from the jug, offering it in turn to the person seated next to him – a business-like woman with short red hair in spikes, who was busy rocking an acid green mini-dress. What an eclectic group of guests.

  To his other side was a young girl of approximately seven years old, with a freckle-spattered button nose and two missing front teeth. “Hi,” she grinned, showing off the gap in her teeth.

  “Hi,” he replied, filling her glass when the business-woman declined, preferring her scotch on the rocks.

  “Will you dance with me later?” the little girl asked.

  He noticed the blond paying close attention and afforded her a long
look before answering. “Of course I will,” he replied, winking. “But I might step on your feet a little.”

  She giggled, hiding behind her hands. “Maybe you should practice first.”

  “What a good idea.” His gaze bored into the pretty girl sitting across from him. “Would you care to take one for the team?” he inquired with a mocking grin.

  “I um...” Her gaze swung left and right, but the other occupants of the table were all busily conversing with one another. “I would be, um, glad to?”

  “Is that a question or a statement?” he asked, cocking a brow and sipping from his water glass.

  “A statement,” she replied more surely. “I'll dance with you.”

  Her blush was a joy to behold, making her face seem younger and more innocent. “I'll hold you to that.”

  Chapter Two

  Sophie

  The guy was every girl's dream – dark brooding good looks and if she'd guessed correctly, his body was well maintained. She felt herself drift into daydreams as she avoided his hot stare. What would it feel like to dance with him? She imagined fireworks and sunsets, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and at the end of it all, a sizzling kiss. Oh, my.

  She didn't even know his name and here she was having romantic notions about him. Surely he would catch the gist of her thoughts from the burning of her cheeks. She both wanted to leave the table and scoot closer to him in equal measures. Holy-hot-boy, he had a great smile. Instant attraction bloomed in her stomach and lower, she felt things she'd only ever felt when watching TV and a particularly steamy love scene was aired.

  She had to get herself under control if she was to dance with him, especially since she knew the music would start up directly after their meal. Leaning back and allowing the server to place a bowl of steaming soup in front of her, she silently prayed that she wouldn't make a fool of herself by dribbling it all down her front. This was the first time in her life that she was the subject of a hot-boy's hot-stares and she was relishing the attention, even as she was clueless as to what to do with it.

  Another server filled her glass with golden bubbling champagne and before they'd moved on, she downed the entire glass in one go, holding it out to be refilled once more. The server – a guy she recognized as belonging to her school – gave her an odd look, before twitching an eyebrow, but he refilled her glass, and Sophie was grateful. The champagne seemed to settle her nerves a little, but every time the guy glanced in her direction, she felt like she needed to pee. Either that, or the bubbly was going right through her.

  The second course was a selection of hors d'oeuvres, among which was a small portion of escargot, which she'd discovered a love for on a trip to France with her parents before her father's death of a massive heart attack, seven years previous. She daintily placed two of the snails on her plate and used a tongs to hold the shell as she dug inside with her fork. The first snail departed its shell with ease, the garlic flavor bursting on her tongue.

  “Yuck!” Seven year old Maisy made a face as Sophie chewed and swallowed. “That's a snail.”

  “Mmhmm,” Sophie agreed. “Tasty snails.”

  “Yuck,” the girl reiterated, sticking her tongue out.

  With a laugh, Sophie grasped the second one with her tongs, finding it more difficult to remove from its shell. She twirled and pulled a little harder and in fascinated horror, watched as it flung itself off her fork, sailed through the air like a tiny space-ship and landed with a plink in the hot-boy's water glass. To make matters worse, he had just raised his glass for a sip and got a face full of snail water for his troubles. “Oh, God,” Sophie groaned, feeling her face burn like the fires of hell. “Kill me now.”

  Hot-boy wiped the water from his face with a napkin, before digging around in his water glass for the offending piece of meat. He winked at her before plopping it straight into his mouth.

  Sophie didn't know whether to be offended that he ate her snail, or thrilled – he ate her snail! – and so settled for crossing her arms with a soft scowl, while still blushing. “Tasty,” he agreed, his gaze drifting to her jacked-up cleavage. “Very tasty.”

  ~

  Closing the lid of the toilet, Sophie perched on the edge of it, trying to calm her racing heart. That guy would be the death of her if he kept giving her those eyes. After the snail debacle, she'd fled to the bathroom and in her haste had caught the toe of her shoe and tripped over the hem of her dress. With a deep laugh, he'd come to her rescue, offering her a hand up and pulling her tightly to his front as he did so.

  She'd gasped something unintelligible and beat feet to get away from him. God alone only knew what fresh embarrassment she'd fling upon herself when she went back to the table; so for now, she was hiding out. Opening her clutch, she fished out her compact and lipstick, slicking some of the glossy red liquid on her lips. Aside from a few stray tendrils of hair, her look was holding up well enough.

  A few minutes had passed before there was a gentle knock on the stall door. “Yes?” she queried.

  “Soph, are you in there?” her mother asked. “Come out, sweetie, there's someone you need to meet.”

  “Who?” She rose and opened the door, emerging into the wider space, to lean against the sink. “Crap!” Jerking away from the sink she dragged the back of her dress around and stared in rumination at the large damp patch now adorning her rear end. Would it never end?

  “It's alright,” Marie tsked, swatting at her wringing hands. “It's hardly noticeable.” She grabbed Sophie's arm in a loose grip and pulled her toward the door. “We didn't even notice him arrive, can you believe that?”

  “Who?” she chirped again. “Is it... him?”

  Her mother nodded, setting Sophie's heart to pounding. Now that the moment had come, she wasn't sure she wanted to meet him. Not just yet. Her new brother was here, and she felt her palms go sweaty and her mouth go dry at the thought of meeting him. What if he hated her? What if she hated him? Oh, God. No, she didn't want to do this yet.

  “It's him, alright. And I can't believe we didn't spot him when he arrived. It was only by chance that Harry spotted him at all, over by the bar.”

  “Who arrives in the middle of the second course?” Sophie wondered aloud. How disrespectful of him. She decided to knock that chip off his shoulder if he set one foot wrong today.

  “Oh no, honey. He's been here a while, he even said the escargot was especially tasty.” She smiled, and Sophie could practically see the thought 'things in common' flash across her mother's eyes.

  Well if he liked escargot, perhaps he wasn't that much of a shit. It was a shame there were no seats left available at her table. She'd like to get to know him in a social setting first. “What's he like?”

  Her mother gave her an odd stare, halting their progress towards the bar for a moment. “He's...very handsome,” she finally admitted with another strange look.

  She craned her neck to get a look at her mystery sibling, but couldn't see around Harry's broad back. The sleeve of a dark suit jacket was visible, but that was the extent of it. She found herself trotting faster, eager to meet this new handsome brother of hers. Maybe she could even set him up with Serena? Lord knew she was another in the sweet sixteen club.

  “Harry, darling.” Marie took hold of her new husband's arm, gently turning him to the side so as to introduce Sophie to his son. “Logan, dear. This is my daughter – your new stepsister – Sophie. Sophie,” she smiled, introducing her to – of all people – hot-boy. “This is Logan. He's your new brother, sweetie.”

  For a moment, the room spun, and Sophie reached out to grasp her mother's hand. No, surely not. The Universe was playing a mean trick on her. She glared at hot-boy Logan – her brother! – as if it were all his fault, and he dutifully shuffled his feet while looking just as uncomfortable as she.

  “Hello,” she finally said, frost in her voice. She extended a hand, gritting her teeth when he chose to kiss it, rather than shake it. The feel of his mouth on her skin, the cooler spot where his mo
ist lips had touched drove her half insane with want.

  No, this was not happening. This would never happen. And she for damn sure wasn't going to be setting him up with Serena.

  “Hello, Sophie,” he replied, his voice losing none of it's teasing tones from earlier. “It's such a pleasure to meet you.”

  She winced. The way he said 'pleasure' made her want to cross her legs and squeeze. “You too.” What else could she say? It wasn't like he'd known, was it? The attraction was still there. On her part, at least. She had no idea about him. Perhaps upon being introduced to his new sister, he'd merely shrugged off the attraction and determined never to think of it again.

  She took a moment to study him, comparing him to the picture in Harry's wallet. He'd filled out, and then some, no longer the scrawny, gangly boy with long awkward limbs. Oh, no – now he was godlike, all muscled physique and strong jawline. A lock of his dark hair flopped onto his forehead, and it looked so soft that Sophie had to restrain herself from sweeping it back with her fingers.

  His gaze seemed to devour her, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling with mysterious thoughts. She shifted, embarrassment engulfing her once more when she felt a throb down below, her underwear feeling slightly uncomfortable.

  “Am I missing something here?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowing to slits. Sophie wanted to slap his face for shattering her illusions about 'hot-boy'.

  “We've met,” she replied carefully. “Logan is sitting at the same table as me. I just didn't know who he was.”

  “I didn't know who you were, either,” he admitted, the sparkle gone from his eyes as if it hadn't existed in the first place. “Excuse me. I told my mother I would call her when I'd touched base with you all.” With the ghost of a smile, he retreated from their company, striding to the large doors as if something was chasing him.