Stepbrother's Secret

Jesus Christ.

It’s pure heaven.

It’s pure sin.

My hand strokes down over Cate’s hair and she softens, laying her head on my shoulder. “I’m going to take good care of you now,” I vow, rocking her gently. “You’re safe.”

“Cate! Cate!’” Rebecca’s calling voice cuts through the night, through the moment I’ve woven against my better judgment, and I have no choice but to set my stepsister down, my arms missing the weight of her immediately.

What the hell are you thinking?

Laughing again, Cate streaks across the glen and into her mother’s arms.

I’m so absorbed by the girl and her bubbly happiness, I almost don’t notice my father watching me through the dense copse of trees. How long has he been standing there?

A minute later, I have my answer.

He steps past Rebecca and Cate, stopping in front of me where I still stand by the tire swing. “You think a neglected, backwoods stepsister would have caused a political scandal?” My father’s voice is stern. It’s his campaign manager tone. “Just imagine what would happen if you got caught fucking her.”

I grind my jaw. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“You sure about that?” He glances back at the tearful reunion taking place. “Maybe we should keep the girl in North Carolina. You know the press watches you like a hawk, Tristan. If she’s going to be a temptation, Rebecca can travel back and forth—”

“Listen to yourself. I’m not a fucking animal. And I’m not going to do something to jeopardize my reelection,” I growl. “She’s coming to Connecticut.”

“You’re sure?”

Am I?

Yes.

Of course I’m sure. I’m not going to sleep with my goddamn stepsister.

Not only is it wrong. Forbidden, based solely on our relationship through marriage. Not only is it sick, considering she’s probably too young. But my father is right about the press constantly hounding me. They’ve decided my age and the way I look makes me interesting. I’m an eligible bachelor to them, instead of a serious politician, but this reelection and the progress I’ve made is slowly changing that. Whatever feelings I have already developed for Cate need to be suppressed. Fast.

Before I do something that could ruin me.

Easier said than done.

2

Cate

I’ve never been on an airplane before.

I’ve especially never been on a private one with leather seats softer than butter. Clean carpeting and little curtains covering the windows. I’m really glad my mother suggested I take a shower and change before we left for the airfield because I would have felt terrible traipsing mud all over the place. Even in my best blue dress, I feel out of place in such luxury.

Now, I sit on a leather bench across from my stepbrother, Tristan, ankles crossed together, my hands wringing in my lap.

Lord in heaven, I’ve never seen anything like him.

His green eyes are the sharpest, most intelligent ones I’ve ever seen. Mama said he’s a politician. An important one who might even be president one day. I can believe it. He looks at me like he’s trying to read every single thought in my head. Well thank goodness he can’t. My thoughts would probably sound incredibly simple or boring to a man like him. He must know every fact and figure in the whole world.

I don’t have a television or anything, but back when daddy was still alive, he used to bring back the Sunday paper from the store. There were always politicians’ pictures in black and white, but I don’t remember a single one of them looking like Tristan. No sir.

He’s beautiful.

Like a movie star or something.

His hair is the color of hickory tree bark after it rains. His eyes remind me of my beloved glen, the one that is now miles below us. A speck in the distance. And since Tristan is trying to read my mind, I try really hard not to think about how he held me in that glen, so close to his big, hard body, his skin smelling of fine cologne. I shouldn’t be hoping he hugs me like that again, should I? I don’t have a lot of experience with family or even people, in general, but I know kin don’t get so close they can feel each other’s breath on their necks.

The memory causes an alarming tingle between my thighs and I quickly cross my legs, watching as Tristan’s green eyes darken to another shade.

“We should discuss plans,” he says in that Yankee accent. “For Cate.”

Mama, who is sitting to my right, perks up. “Yes, that’s a great idea, Tristan. Obviously, she’s going to live with your father and I. At least at the beginning—”

“She’ll have her own place,” Tristan interrupts, reaching toward a sideboard laden with crystal decanters, pouring himself a glass of something amber colored and resting it on his knee. “I’ve already reached out to a realtor. The apartment is being prepared as we speak”