Obsessed (Hostile Takeover #1) Read online

  Hostile Takeover 1- Obsessed - A Stepbrother Billionaire Romance

  By

  Tawny Taylor

  Books By Tamryn Ward

  Hopelessly Broken

  This Crazy Little Thing

  Malevolent (The Elect)

  Books by Tawny Taylor

  Wild Knights

  Wicked Knights

  Wanton Knights

  Wild, Wicked & Wanton

  Dark Master

  Decadent Master

  Dangerous Master

  Darkest Fire

  Darkest Desire

  Claim Me

  Wicked Beast

  Prince of Fire

  Girl Enslaved

  Dirty Little Lies

  Triple Stud

  Enslaved by Sin

  Double Take

  Behind the Mask

  Plays Well with Others

  Lust’s Temptation

  Wrath’s Embrace

  Burning Hunger

  Torrid Hunger

  Everlasting Hunger

  Slave of Duty

  Flesh to Flesh

  Compromising Positions

  Breathless

  Pleasing Him

  At His Mercy

  Ties That Bind

  Yes, Master

  Make You Mine

  BEARed to You

  Surrender

  Darkest Ecstasy

  What He Wants (My Alpha Billionaire, 1)

  What He Demands (My Alpha Billionaire, 2)

  What He Craves (My Alpha Billionaire, 3)

  What He Needs (My Alpha Billionaire, 4)

  What He Desires (My Alpha Billionaire, 5)

  RAW A Dark Romance

  My Bad Boys, My Stepbrothers

  Hostile Takeover 1

  Hostile Takeover 2

  Hostile Takeover 3

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Hostile Takeover - A Stepbrother Billionaire Romance

  For fans of Stepbrother Dearest and Stepbrother Billionaire

  I hate him and yet I want him. Desperately.

  I am so effing dead.

  Mom just got married, and now I have to live with my new billionaire stepbrother, Kent Payne. I should be happy, right? We aren’t surviving on noodles and rice anymore. And at first I am. But things change. Quickly. It’s him. Kent Payne. He is exactly what his name implies--a pain in the ass. Sure, he’s gorgeous, and rich, and built like a god. But he’s also a controlling, irritating, womanizing pain in the butt.

  Now, thanks to our parents, we’re members of one big, happy family. Whoo-to-the-fu**ing-hoo. He’s a jerk. And nothing can happen between us anyway.

  So I shouldn’t care about who he’s kissing in the kitchen...

  And I definitely shouldn’t be fantasizing about him being my first…

  Hostile Takeover is a THREE PART SERIAL. If you hate serials, you may want to wait until all three parts are available before buying.

  Genres: Romance, New Adult/College, Billionaire Stepbrother

  SAMPLE

  Our gazes tangled.

  The air squeezed out of my lungs. I couldn’t inhale.

  His gaze flicked to my mouth, and my heart did a somersault in my chest.

  Was he going to kiss me?

  He couldn’t!

  He Shouldn’t!

  Oh God.

  A breeze carried the smell of flowers and man to my nose. A lock of hair fluttered across my face. I reached up to capture it but he lifted a hand and smoothed it back, behind my ear. “You look like your mother,” he said, his voice very low.

  Was that meant to be a compliment?

  “You look like your father,” I told him with my heart in my throat. He was still staring at my mouth, this beautiful, mysterious man. It was wrong, so so wrong, but I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to find out what it would be like to be kissed by a man who knew how to kiss. I wanted to be touched by a man who knew how to touch a woman.

  He didn’t move, just remained fixed in place as if he was trying to decide whether he would kiss me or not.

  And so I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his.

  His lips were firm at first, unwelcoming. But I knew he wanted me. I didn’t back off. I arched my back so my breasts barely brushed against his chest and moved my mouth slowly, softly over his.

  The smoldering kiss continued for a million racing heartbeats, maybe more. I completely lost track of time, of space, of everything. Until there was a deep rumble, like thunder.

  And then lightning struck. Somewhere out there. In the distance.

  And also between Kent and me.

  Kent grabbed my shoulders, pulled until my torso was flush with his. His mouth claimed mine. It was the kiss I’d been waiting for my entire life. It was soft and rough, thrilling and scary. It was a question and an answer.

  It was a conquering.

  And I surrendered.

  I was his. His to claim. His to touch. His to take.

  My body molded to his. My mouth opened. His tongue swept inside, and I savored his intoxicating, sweet flavor.

  Heavy need pounded between my legs. I writhed. I whimpered. I welcomed his invasion.

  I felt him shifting beside me and then he was above me, and I was angling back, my shoulders supported by a strong, thick arm. My head rested on the seat and he climbed over me, breaking the kiss.

  I pulled in a gasp. My head was spinning. All I saw was Kent, his face…and the desire burning in his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered as he kissed me again. His kiss was tender. It was thorough. It was oh, so, good and yet not enough. The burning between my legs was becoming unbearable.

  “Please,” I begged, arching my back so my breasts brushed against his chest. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the delicious pleasure pulsing through me. He couldn’t stop now.

  “Shayne,” he murmured, cupping my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip and I quivered from head to toe. Did he know what his touches did to me? What his kisses did? I was so hot I felt like I would combust. And the burning was the worst down there, between my legs. I wanted it to stop...and I didn’t.

  My hips rocked back and forth, back and forth. The friction against my center felt so good but even that wasn’t enough. I wanted to tear my clothes away, to feel his skin gliding over mine. To feel his wet, warm mouth on my nipple.

  “Your mother is trusting me to protect you,” he said, voice husky. Even as he said those words, his hand slid down, fingertip tracing a line along the pounding pulse in my throat. The gentle touch made me whimper.

  More, I needed more.

  As if he could read my thoughts, his fingertip ventured lower, along my collarbone, lower, angling toward my ample cleavage.

  Yes, oh yes. Keep going. He had to keep going.

  “But you’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t stop wanting you.”

  Chapter 1

  Holy shit. What was this?

  The devil was building a snowman. In hell. Right now.

  Why would I think that? Because I was standing in the entry of a freaking palace, a suitcase in one hand, a letter in the other. A letter from my mother.

  Mom believes in old-fashioned ways of communicating. She loves writing letters. She says they’re more personal than texting or emailing.

  Whatever.

  This one…this message…should have been delivered in person.

  She was getting married. My mom. The woman who told me time and time again that men weren’t worth their weight in worm poop.

  She was getting married. The woman who swore she’d never be “owned by a man.”

  She was getting married. The woman who’d raised me on her own and was proud of it.

  That woman was on her way to some tropical island to exchange vows with her soon-to-be husband, Dirk Payne.

  I should have known something was up when she sent a letter last week, telling me to come to this address for Spring Break, instead of going to her apartment in Ferndale. When I’d pulled up to the massive house, I thought for sure I’d gone to the wrong place. I mean, this place was insane.

  Mom and I used to love to go to Sunday open houses in the rich neighborhoods—Grosse Point Shores, Franklin, Bloomfield Hills. We’d dress up in our Sunday best and pretend like we were house hunting. It was innocent fun. I loved seeing what those beautiful houses looked like on the inside, dreaming about living in them.

  But some of those houses were shacks compared to this place.

  I looked up. The entry ceiling was at least twenty feet high. And a ginormous chandelier dripped crystals from the soaring height. The floor was a smooth marble tile, the walls snow white. A stone waterfall hung on one wall, dripping water to the reservoir at the bottom, making the air smell wet.

  Feeling totally out of place, I kicked off my shoes and hooked my fingers in the backs to carry them. “Hello?” I called. Somebody had let me in when I’d knocked on the front door. I’d heard the lock disengage. So where was the he or she who let me in?

  The entryway opened at the rear to a glorious open-concept kitchen-slash-dining-slash-living area. The kitchen boasted polished stone counters, more cupboards than anyone would need in a lifetime, and gleaming stainless steel appliances.

  Oh, and a guy dressed in a pair of shorts and nothing else.

  A really good looking guy dressed in a pair of shorts and nothing else…with abs that looked like they’d been cut with a blade, they were so defined.
r />   I swallowed a mouthful of drool and smiled at Mr. Perfect Abs, heading his way. “Hi. I’m Shayne. Terry’s daughter. I guess I’m supposed to stay here for the week.”

  Mr. Perfect Abs met me in the middle, arm extended. Up close, I could see he was older than me by at least a handful of years, maybe more. I could also see his shoulder and arm muscles were just as defined as his abs.

  And his face was beau-ti-ful.

  I tucked my shoes under my arm to free up my hand. You bet I was going to shake Mr. Perfect’s hand.

  “Kent,” Mr. Perfect introduced. His clasp was firm. His eyes were sharp as they met mine. “Welcome.” After shaking my hand he held it a little longer than necessary. I took that as a good sign. I was feeling welcome. Most definitely. “I’m Dirk’s son. I guess that makes me your big brother.”

  I scowled. A big brother? At my age? No, thank you. Especially this Adonis with the scrumptious abs and broad shoulders. “How about if I just call you Kent instead?”

  “Fair enough.” Kent motioned toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to eat? Drink?”

  As if I could eat or drink anything right now. My throat was so tight, from standing this close to a guy who could do underwear ads, I couldn’t swallow a thing, not even a sip of water. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, dribbling cola down my chin.

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “All right. I’ll show you to your room then.” Kent escorted me through one lavish space after another. Even the hallway leading to the bedrooms was gorgeous. It was ridiculous. And I could hardly believe I would be staying here. I couldn’t imagine my mother living in this place, either.

  What had been our home for most of my childhood was small, cramped, yes, but also homey. Everywhere you looked you would see something personal, meaningful. The walls were decorated with framed masterpieces—all crafted by one under-appreciated artist, moi. As child-art tended to be, the paintings and drawings all boasted brilliant colors. Red, blue, purple, green. Subjects ranged from abstracts to trees with oversized birds nesting in the branches, and poorly-proportioned people.

  But this place had real art, art that probably cost thousands, if not more. The furniture had no ding marks that I could see, unlike ours. It was all pristine, as if no one had ever touched it.

  I wasn’t sure I’d like to live in a house like this. It was more like a museum. I was afraid to touch anything.

  “Your room,” Kent said.

  I sucked in a shallow breath. My room was a freaking showplace.

  I stepped inside, dropping my shoes and suitcase on the floor. My feet sank into plush carpet with padding that had to be a foot thick. My gaze meandered around the space, taking in the massive bed piled high with pillows, to the door open to a massive walk-in closet, to the sitting area positioned in front of a wide window. “Thanks,” I said, as I made my way to the window. Outside I saw tree limbs, bare except for buds that were bulging in preparation for spring. A knot of twigs sat in the crook of two branches, a bird’s nest. I wondered if a bird would be laying eggs in it this summer. I wondered if I would be here to see it after I graduated.

  I turned to thank Kent again but learned he’d left me.

  Ah, well that was probably for the better. I stashed my suitcase in the closet and texted my best friend, Ransom.

  This place is insane. Come over and stay with me. It’ll be great.

  I gave her the address, told her to get over here ASAP and tucked my phone back in my pocket. During school breaks, I would usually go home and let Mom fuss over me. She’d cook enough food to feed at least eight people and we’d sit in the kitchen and gorge ourselves for hours, filling each other in on the highlights of our lives while we’d been apart. Then, being wiped out from the trip home and the stress of school, I would sleep almost twenty-four hours before getting up and meeting Ransom at one of our fave hangouts.

  But this time Mom wasn’t around to cook. Or to listen to my stories about frat parties and exams. The clubs and restaurants where my friends hung out were over an hour away.

  Ugh. What was I going to do all week?

  I checked my phone. No response from Ransom yet. She had to stay with me. Or I would go crazy with boredom. Absolutely crazy.

  Heck, I was going crazy already.

  Now what?

  I snooped around my new room, checking out the walk-in closet, with its many empty drawers and hanging bars and nooks for shoes. I made use of the luxurious attached four-piece bathroom with walk-in glass shower stall and oversized bathtub. There were all kinds of toiletries in the bathroom. Towels and washcloths, sheets and blankets and extra pillows for the bed. But nowhere did I find a single thing that belonged to me.

  This was not my room; it was a room. A very nice room. On loan to me.

  After fixing my hair and makeup, changing my clothes into something cute, I ventured out of my borrowed room. By now my stomach was grumbly. I was over the shock of having a beautiful stepbrother. I needed food.

  The kitchen, I discovered, was not empty.

  I saw her first, the woman. She was barefoot with long, slender legs, and a short, short skirt. She was leaning into Kent, a stemmed glass hanging from one perfectly-groomed hand. Kent’s hands, in contrast, were cupped over her tits. His nose was nestled in the crook of her neck.

  Well, hello. Don’t let me interrupt.

  I couldn’t help staring at the scene of seduction playing out before me. The woman’s eyes were slitted, her lips curled into a ghost of a smile. Through the heavy silence I heard the sounds of labored breathing, the woman’s soft moans of pleasure.

  How far would this go if I didn’t say anything to interrupt?

  My heart started pounding as Kent shoved the woman’s top out of the way and uncovered her round breasts. He bent lower, flicking his tongue over one nipple, and little spikes of heat pierced me between my legs. It was like watching a live porno. But better.

  No, not better! What was I thinking? If my new step brother caught me standing here, watching, I would die from humiliation. I needed to get out of here. Now.

  I turned a one-eighty and rushed from the room. I swear I didn’t take a breath until I was safe in my bedroom, the door shut.

  Wow, wasn’t expecting that.

  My phone chimed. Finally, Ransom had responded.

  Can’t get out there until tomorrow. Sorry.

  Sorry. Ransom was sorry.

  But I was sorrier.

  My stomach reminded me it wanted food.

  Food.

  I was so not going into that kitchen again.

  But if I didn’t get something from the kitchen, that meant I needed money to go buy something to eat. Ugh. I checked my wallet. I found a five and a couple of ones. Not enough to buy much, unless I wanted to visit the golden arches.

  Well, that was better than nothing.

  I skittered through the house and out the front door. If Ransom couldn’t come until tomorrow, I’d have to find something to keep me busy for the rest of the day. I didn’t want to be alone in this place with that going on.

  Talk about being the third wheel.

  Chapter 2

  Ahhhhh, life was good.

  So fucking good.

  I liked this town. Turned out all the restaurants were full of good-looking men with big, fat wallets. Rich men who liked to buy single girls drinks.

  I was so warm and happy, happy, happy! My purse was full of business cards with cell phone numbers scrawled on the back. I’d been treated like a princess.

  What a night. Free dinner. Lots (and lots and lots) of free drinks. Ransom had missed out. Big time. Neither of us were used to this kind of treatment. My bestie lived in our hometown, a distinctly working-class town where guys were far less generous and their wallets far less ample. And September through May I lived on campus, with a bunch of horny, broke college guys who might buy you a pizza before they tried to get into your pants. Might. Most of them didn’t bother.

  But not here.

  I liked it here. This was my kind of town.

  Propping myself against the exterior wall, I tried Kent’s ginormous mansion’s front door. It was unlocked. I stumbled inside. It was dark and late, or rather, dark and early (morning), but the glowing lights on the fancy waterfall illuminated the entry enough for me to see. I kicked off my shoes and wobbled inside. Was it just me or was the floor a little slanted?