FIERCED 3: Finale of the Stepbrother Raider Romance Series by Stephanie Brother Page A
Authors: Stephanie Brother
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please?”
Not in a million years, dude. I have to cloak my mind like an alien spaceship and not let him discover my true feelings for Rocco.
“He took me out for an adventure, thinking it would be beneficial for my artwork,” I say as non-committal as possible.
“I see. But the description of events doesn't pertain directly to your relationship. How would you describe your emotional state in his presence?”
On and on he drones out the same question in different words, going round in circles hoping to catch me out in discrepancies.
“Would you say that your feelings for your stepbrother are love in a familial sense or a, er, feminine sense?”
Ha, so my father told him how I'd blurted out my deepest emotion for Rocco. Fuck, it came out before I could stop it, before I was actually aware of feeling it.
If I thought having Stockholm Syndrome would get me out of this bogus trip to Venice, I'd go for it. But I know my father will shut me up in some swanky institution from which I may never emerge until the streaks highlighting my hair are dull gray.
“You understand how concerned the ambassador, your father, is for you.”
“Yes.” Behind the doctor's bulky form, I catch a glimpse of myself in the huge gilt mirror – a picture of humility and contrition.
“And you know how important the support of loving parents is?”
“Yes, doctor.”
Because any rebellion will lead to internment.
“So no more running off to Africa and be the good girl your father expects you to be?”
“Yes doctor, I promise.”
He seems content with my act and the two bogus medics for hire leave me in peace. I stay in my room feigning a headache to avoid going down to dinner but no one notices. My father and Monica go out on the town, forgetting all about me.
Rocco
If I never step foot in that hellish embassy building again it will be too soon. Men like Lisa's father are the root cause of all the miserable lives in the world, using people to advance their own power.
After sleeping like a vampire in his coffin and waking refreshed I got that twitch inside. The one that always comes over me when it seems I'm about to be trapped in routine. Waking every day to the same boring tasks, the same monotonous life, even the same woman day after day, brings me out in hives.
Yeah, Lisa and I had fun. She got to experience real life, outside her small wooden box and we shared something incredible that night in the desert. Never in my varied experience had I entered that completely into the body and soul of a woman. But it's not in my DNA to keep going at it day after day. I need freedom. I need spontaneity. It's a vital part of living that I can escape the tedious security of knowing what's ahead on the road.
I almost stifled inside that rigid house with my imposed new family. Once I closed the door on them I could breathe again. There was only a small twinge of regret about dumping her back home. I rode the bike non-stop back to the port and straight onto the waiting ferry. I couldn’t get far enough away fast enough. It wasn't until we departed from Sicily, on the second leg of the journey that guilt crept into my mind.
What the fuck was that?
I never let regret take over my life. What's done is done and there's no point pining and whining over it. All's you can do is keep moving forward and trying to live a better life, not waste it mulling over useless guilt.
But there she was. In my fucking head the entire voyage. I was stifled, dragging for breath while sitting at the bar. I went up on the deck for the wide expanse of air and ocean. And there she fucking was again. Her soft hair blowing about in the breeze, laughing as the waves rocker her off balance and she caught at my arm for support. There she was, those wide enthralled eyes looking up into mine as she continued to curl her small fingers around my thick forearm. Unwilling to let go.
Never let me go.
I shouldn't have left her back there.
We had an unwritten but
Not in a million years, dude. I have to cloak my mind like an alien spaceship and not let him discover my true feelings for Rocco.
“He took me out for an adventure, thinking it would be beneficial for my artwork,” I say as non-committal as possible.
“I see. But the description of events doesn't pertain directly to your relationship. How would you describe your emotional state in his presence?”
On and on he drones out the same question in different words, going round in circles hoping to catch me out in discrepancies.
“Would you say that your feelings for your stepbrother are love in a familial sense or a, er, feminine sense?”
Ha, so my father told him how I'd blurted out my deepest emotion for Rocco. Fuck, it came out before I could stop it, before I was actually aware of feeling it.
If I thought having Stockholm Syndrome would get me out of this bogus trip to Venice, I'd go for it. But I know my father will shut me up in some swanky institution from which I may never emerge until the streaks highlighting my hair are dull gray.
“You understand how concerned the ambassador, your father, is for you.”
“Yes.” Behind the doctor's bulky form, I catch a glimpse of myself in the huge gilt mirror – a picture of humility and contrition.
“And you know how important the support of loving parents is?”
“Yes, doctor.”
Because any rebellion will lead to internment.
“So no more running off to Africa and be the good girl your father expects you to be?”
“Yes doctor, I promise.”
He seems content with my act and the two bogus medics for hire leave me in peace. I stay in my room feigning a headache to avoid going down to dinner but no one notices. My father and Monica go out on the town, forgetting all about me.
Rocco
If I never step foot in that hellish embassy building again it will be too soon. Men like Lisa's father are the root cause of all the miserable lives in the world, using people to advance their own power.
After sleeping like a vampire in his coffin and waking refreshed I got that twitch inside. The one that always comes over me when it seems I'm about to be trapped in routine. Waking every day to the same boring tasks, the same monotonous life, even the same woman day after day, brings me out in hives.
Yeah, Lisa and I had fun. She got to experience real life, outside her small wooden box and we shared something incredible that night in the desert. Never in my varied experience had I entered that completely into the body and soul of a woman. But it's not in my DNA to keep going at it day after day. I need freedom. I need spontaneity. It's a vital part of living that I can escape the tedious security of knowing what's ahead on the road.
I almost stifled inside that rigid house with my imposed new family. Once I closed the door on them I could breathe again. There was only a small twinge of regret about dumping her back home. I rode the bike non-stop back to the port and straight onto the waiting ferry. I couldn’t get far enough away fast enough. It wasn't until we departed from Sicily, on the second leg of the journey that guilt crept into my mind.
What the fuck was that?
I never let regret take over my life. What's done is done and there's no point pining and whining over it. All's you can do is keep moving forward and trying to live a better life, not waste it mulling over useless guilt.
But there she was. In my fucking head the entire voyage. I was stifled, dragging for breath while sitting at the bar. I went up on the deck for the wide expanse of air and ocean. And there she fucking was again. Her soft hair blowing about in the breeze, laughing as the waves rocker her off balance and she caught at my arm for support. There she was, those wide enthralled eyes looking up into mine as she continued to curl her small fingers around my thick forearm. Unwilling to let go.
Never let me go.
I shouldn't have left her back there.
We had an unwritten but
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