The Bastard Heir



I’m the heir to a secret family fortune, facing down brothers I hate, and trying to get back the one that got away….


Eight years ago, she broke me. 

Her secrets drove a wedge between me and my brother that can never be fixed. 

Now, with my life in shambles, I’m forced by the ludicrous demands of my dead father to face the one woman I ever loved, and the brother I can not stand. 

I need the money. But a year is a long sentence to serve in a house with people I hate, and in a town that hates me.

A year is a long time to dodge Harlow Jackson and the eyes and smile that made me fall harder than I’ve ever fallen before. 

But it only takes days to show me that what happened eight years ago was a mistake. Now I need every last second of the year ahead  to convince her to take a second chance on us. 


His footsteps clomped up the stairs. “Why? Got a hot date?”

“Yes, actually,” I lied.

“Well, you better tell him you keep fucking up and making out with the Winters boy,” he intoned. Electricity snapped between us. Of course, he’d gone there. Of course. The man probably believed it was illegal to go a day without reminding me of this sexual connection.

“It was once,” I corrected. “I made out with the Winters boy once, and I think my hot date will be fine,” I said, my heart racing. “I’d never fuck the Winters boy, which is the most important detail.”

Callum appeared unfazed, but of course, all I could see were his broad shoulders straining at the black fabric of his t-shirt. Every inch of my body begged to see the reaction on his face, to see the desire shining through his eyes.

“But oh, you used to fuck him,” he said, his voice grittier. “And you loved it, too. Particularly liked sitting on his face, if I recall.”

My neck went hot at his words. It had been stupid to come here, knowing this would be the outcome. But God, it felt so right, too. This was the forbidden fruit I was dying to taste.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” I cleared my throat. “Nor do I understand why you continue to dredge up ancient history every time we see each other.”

He reached the landing, hands stuffed in his pockets as he turned toward me. His face had hardened into a mask of indifference, at odds with the heat and grit in his voice. I could only imagine it was because he was fighting this losing battle alongside me. And we were both willing victims.

“What else is there to talk about besides ancient history?” The smirk that emerged on his lips was both sexy and infuriating.

“Clearly nothing else, since you can’t move on.”

“But have you moved on?” he asked.

The question rooted me to my spot. I had tried like hell to move on. But every second spent around him reminded me that I hadn’t. Not in the ways that counted.

“I offered to talk about it with you, but you didn’t want to,” I spat. “Does this mean you want to have the conversation now?”

Callum strode  down the wide hallway. He jerked his chin toward a smaller door tucked into the wall. “Let me show you something.”

I deflated slightly. Now he was deflecting. “What?”

“The perfect place to air our grievances.”

Well, that was slightly more promising, at least. “What is it? A padded room and a couple of baseball bats?”