Stepbrother UnSEALed

Stepbrother UnSEALed: A Bad Boy Military Romance

By Nicole Snow

Title Page

Stepbrother UnSEALed: A Bad Boy Military Romance

I: Bastards and Beach Bums (Delia)

II: On Target (Chris)

III: Truth or Dare (Delia)

IV: Landmines (Chris)

V: Over a Ledge (Delia)

VI: What Happens in Vegas... (Chris)

VII: One Week in Paradise (Delia)

VIII: Under the Skin (Chris)

IX: Unforgettable (Delia)

X: Unnatural (Chris)

XI: Distortions (Delia)

XII: Sweet Delia (Chris)

XIII: Alone (Delia)

XIV: Hearts That Bleed Together (Chris)

XV: His (Delia)

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Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.

Published in the United States of America.

First published in August, 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 – Kevin McGrath - Kevin Does Art. Photo by Allan Spiers Photography.

Description

MY HERO, MY RUIN, MY RECKLESS TEMPTATION...

DELIA

I almost landed in my stepbrother's bed, and I want it to happen again.

I'm too good for him. He's too crude for me. Fantasy is where this twisted thing should end.

Chris Cleveland tempts me because he's
wrong.
Swoon-worthy, all-American Navy SEAL. Bad boy. Manwhore.

I didn't know he was off limits the night we got hot and heavy. I didn't know our folks were hitched.

Hell, I definitely didn't know I could ever want what I'm not supposed to have this badly, and one more smirk of his devilish lips just might bring me to my knees...

There's a lot I don't know anymore.

And he's about to teach me.

CHRIS

Love's a goddamned joke. I bed women between missions and rock their worlds with military precision. I never taste, touch, or tease the same chick twice.

Get in, get out, and leave her a breathless mess always worked flawlessly – until Cordelia.

I can't pry my perfect new stepsister out of my skull. I've never wanted to corrupt a girl so bad. She's my new target, my conquest, my obsession.

Lucky I'm a SEAL. Losing isn't in my blood.

But Delia's already lost, and her panties are about to be in flames.

“H
oly shit! Do you
see
the meat on that boy?” My best friend Marnie's high, whiny voice cuts through the beach party's racket.

She's so loud and desperate I expect the gorilla in the speedo she's been eye-fucking for the last ten minutes to skip fetching our drinks and drag her behind the rocks for some alone time. It won't take much for him to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off – exactly what the excitement lining her face says she wants.

“Delia, did you see –“

“I saw,” I say, draining the last dregs of my water bottle. “Believe me, I couldn't miss him. He's like the oldest dude here.”

Her smile quirks. “Oh, come on. You're never jealous. Don't tell me you're pissed that I poached him first with a little flirting? We'll be down to geeks and dad bods by the time you make a move.”

Laughing, she shakes her hips, causing her beauty queen body to bounce. I don't know how she tolerates those skimpy, skin-tight bikinis. Not that one wouldn't feel awfully nice right now in the California sun.

“It's okay, Marnie. Really. He's a good pick. Not really my style, you know.”

It's not just the overgrown body builder with the tangerine skin I'm talking about.

I stare down at my tank top and shorts. I've probably got the most conservative beachwear here – same as always. Sometimes, I think everybody else enjoys these parties on dad's private stretch of beach way more than I do.

Sometimes?
Okay, make that all the time.

She throws her head back and laughs louder, slapping me on the shoulder. “Oh, girl. Just what the hell is your style, anyway?”

I shrug, and she leans in closer. “Kyle told me you two never fucked. Jesus, lady, you're about to start your senior year and you're
still
a virgin. Don't tell me you're going to be the only one in our circle to walk off campus with a fancy degree in hand and your cherry intact.”

I wrinkle my nose. Marnie acts like a crazed lioness when she gets a few drinks in her, and I make a mental note to slip away once she's had a few more, maybe got her arms around her latest hottie.

“I'm
going
to get you laid, you know. I've made it my personal mission.” She wags her finger at me and flips her blonde hair with the pink highlights back. “I know you brought a bikini. Go slip into it, show off your sexy, and maybe I'll ask big boy if he's got a friend when I'm done with him.”

The smile she's wearing makes her look like a shark. Shaking my head, I fold my arms, one more reminder that I'm overdressed, even though I feel like I'm half-naked out here.

“Jesus, no. I told you, I'm just here to get some sun and a nice buzz. Oh, and remind me to flip Kyle the bird next semester for talking about crap he really shouldn't.”

Trouble is, the idiot I'd broken up with a month ago was supposed to be the one. We lasted a few months, longer than my other boyfriends, and I'd actually been getting a little impatient about jumping his bones. He'd been the first man in awhile I could imagine going to bed with – until the day he sat me down and came out with the nasty, kinky stuff he wanted me to do.

I'm no stranger to weird, overpowering sex. I crave it. Heck, I've read all about it in those books about billionaires with dirty mouths and a love for handcuffs and spankings.

All the crap Kyle wanted? Picture the opposite.

I wasn't ready to tie him up and slap him across the face while he called me mama. Not in this lifetime. Not with anyone.

Seriously, why the
hell
is it so hard to find a normal man with a body like an Adonis on campus? Do the guys with an alpha bone in their bodies still exist outside romance novels?

“Aw, c'mon,” Marnie whined. “We need to do lunch so you can dish right back. I'm sure it wasn't all one-sided, and I'd love to hear what the little rat was really up to.”

I open my mouth to try to change the subject, and then I see Mr. Tangerine coming back, two martinis and a beer in his hands. Thank God.

“Here you go, ladies,” he says, pushing one martini into my hand and flashing me a wink.

Ugh. Some of these beach bums have the balls to try for two girls at once, and there's no way I'm falling for it. I nod, then turn my attention to Marnie as she gives me
the look,
as if to say
watch this.

“Damn, what kinda beer is that?” she asks, closing the tiny distance between her and Tangerine Man, a quick, jerky movement that causes her to crash her martini glass rim right into his thick chest. “Oh, shit! I'm
so
sorry.”

Every bone in my body wants me to roll my eyes. The beach bum laughs, wipes the booze off his pecs, and then pulls her into him.

“You know I'm gonna make you lick that off, right?” He growls it softly into her ear, but it's loud enough for me to overhear.

Marnie practically loses her panties on the spot. I turn away in disgust, sipping my drink, praying the strong alcohol beneath the fruity sweetness will help me forget the train wreck I'm seeing.

Who the hell invited him anyway?
I wonder. He's too old to be a student, unless he's like a grad student in fitness or something.

Marnie's a way bigger social butterfly than I am. Every time I get dad to open up the beach and fire up the bar for our private fun, my friend tells me it'll just be a few people, no more than a couple dozen. My eyes scan the crowd. I estimate there are way more than a hundred here, sorority boys and bleached out bimbos I've never even sat in a lecture with.

“Hey, Delia! Seriously, thanks again for letting us play on papa's property again. If anybody leaves their shit behind, come to me. I'll kick their ass.” Marnie reaches for my hand and gives it a firm squeeze.

“Yeah, me too,” Tangerine Man says lazily, not even pulling his eyes off her ass.

“Go have some fun! We'll link up again later,” she says, giving me a gentle push.

I'm too upset to turn around until I'm sure they're gone. It's not just my friend's too loud to live attitude, or her taste in the dumbest man candy around.

Everything here reminds me I'm stuck being the good girl again, and I don't want to be.

I'm tired of playing third wheel. Just once, I wish I could be somebody's number one, just for one night. I wish a tall, dark, and mysteriously kinky man would swoop in from nowhere and blow my hair back.

But the boys out here tonight don't fit the bill. Not one of them, not even close.

College is hell when your standards are too high, and luck won't even shake your hand, much less push a girl into the strong, sexy arms of a man with a brain and an attitude.

A couple hours after sunset, and it's just like every other party I've hosted for Marnie. I watch the sun sink below the roaring waves, and every building lining the Bay Area's coast comes alive.

I'm several hundred feet from the nearest party couple, sitting on a big, smooth rock, my fifth drink of the night halfway drained, an extra tall Long Island Iced Tea.

The liquor drowns my feelings, keeping me out later than I intended. I should go soon, but I don't.

I'm running behind on my senior project for Professor Thosser, the most arrogant, picky slave driver in the entire journalism department. He's also the teacher with the hottest connections for landing an internship or maybe a full blown career after school, and I'm determined to impress him.

Unfortunately, that means turning in a rough draft before summer's over, hopefully something interesting enough for him to cite in his Op-Eds to the big papers and endless seminars. A few simple citations for other students over the years landed them gigs with some serious money and mobility. One guy even wound up working in the White House.

I'm also supposed to meet my brand new stepbrother tomorrow. When dad tied the knot for the second time in his life last month, it turned my whole world upside down.

Well, technically it was still upending itself right now. I'd only spent two days in bizarro land back home since moving out of my dorm for summer.

Weird is an understatement. His new wife, Evie, looks exactly like the hot, prestigious trophy girl a high powered airline executive ought to have.

She's also a washed up Hollywood bombshell with three ex-husbands and at least two bankruptcies behind her. If the tabloids are to be believed, she's been struggling to get her career back on track, and hasn't had a major role since she played lead on a romantic comedy about ten years ago.

I'd barely been around her for a day total, and I still don't understand it. Maybe I don't want to.

It's not like dad to elope with a stranger. Much less an aggressive, high demand Hollywood babe with a lot of baggage. The looks are all she's got. It's hard to believe he's fallen so fast, so hard.

I don't want to believe dad is just another shallow, overworked rich guy with a hard-on for a beautiful younger woman, but...

My thoughts stop the instant I see the man standing on the rocks overlooking the ocean. He's only there for a second before he leaps, plunging into the dark Pacific.

Is he
crazy?
I'm ready to rush over and find out if he's been cut to pieces by rocks when I see him emerge, apparently in one piece.

His big arms rise above the waves, like black flames in the darkness, huge and powerful, pushing the water aside like Moses.

No, he can't be hurt. He wouldn't be swimming like a total pro if he were. Then I get a better look, and I realize he's not just some kid out for a swim.

This dude's serious.

He's wearing a full body wet suit, complete with a snorkel mask and oxygen tank. At first, I'm fascinated, wondering if he's just a diehard swim fanatic, or maybe a hobby diver who's gotten off course. His feet kick up sand as he comes ashore, heading for a rock further down the beach, where I notice there's more gear carefully stored, like a little campsite.

I frown. I'm not crazy over-protective of dad's private property, but he's definitely screwing around on our family beach. He must've somehow missed the bright red PRIVATE PROPERTY signs lining the cliffs every twenty or thirty feet.

Finishing my drink, I slide off the rock and start to approach him, getting a better look in the last summer sunlight fading red over the Pacific.

He's got his back turned to me, focused on his diving gear like it's the most important thing in the world. His mask and oxygen tank are off by the time I'm a few feet away, and he's working on the suit. He peels it off quickly, as effortlessly as shedding a second skin.