Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)
Read Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) Online
Authors: Celia Loren
A Stepbrother Warriors Novel
Book Two
By Celia Loren
Copyright © 2016 Hearts Collective
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced
in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas,
characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any
unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely
coincidental.
Also From
Celia Loren:
HARD
TACKLE (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)
by Celia Loren
Quarterback BAIT (A Stepbrother Romance)
by Celia Loren
Naked Choke (A Stepbrother MMA Romance)
by Celia Loren
The Vegas
Titans Series
Devil’s Kiss (Widowmakers Motorcycle
Club)
by Celia Loren
Crushing Beauty (Harbingers of Sorrow
MC)
by Celia Loren
Breaking Beauty (Devils Aces MC)
by Celia Loren
Wrecking Beauty (Devils Reapers MC)
by Celia Loren
Destroying Beauty (Hell Hounds MC)
by Celia Loren
Betraying Beauty (Sons of Lucifer MC)
by Celia Loren
The
Satan’s Sons Series
Satan’s Property (Satan’s Sons MC)
by Celia Loren
Satan’s Revenge (Satan’s Sons MC)
by Celia Loren
Join thousands of
our readers
on the
mailing list
to receive FREE copies of our new books!
We will never spam you—Feel free to unsubscribe anytime!
Connect with Celia Loren and other Hearts Collective
authors online at:
http://www.Hearts-Collective.com
,
Facebook
,
Twitter
.
To keep in touch and for information on new releases!
HARD FOUGHT
A Stepbrother Warriors Novel
Book Two
By Celia Loren
Paris, France
"Ms. Stratton? We're boarding now," the first
class lounge attendant murmurs sweetly above me. Like all the Air France
employees, she speaks perfect English.
"Mmph, thanks," I manage to say around the cotton
ball feeling in my mouth. I push my sunglasses back up on the bridge of my
nose. I'm nursing a wicked hangover and just want to get on the airplane with a
sleep mask over my eyes.
I grab my carry-on bag and walk out of the lounge toward the
gate, wondering when they started making airports so fucking
bright.
It's
like a lab in here, all glaring white surfaces made specifically to reflect the
sun back into my face. I rub my temples with my free hand as I walk up to the
short line of first class passengers already gathering with their tickets in
hand. I rummage through my bag for mine as raised voices from the airline
counter float over.
"I specifically went online early to reserve the
emergency exit aisle seat.
Specifically
, do you understand that
word?" a middle-aged American man spits out at the young woman behind the
counter.
"Yes, sir," she replies, her voice quavering a
bit. "I was just asking if you would be willing to switch to the window
because there is an injured American veteran on the flight, and I thought it
might help his leg if he could stretch—"
"I just don't understand for the life of me how that
became my fucking problem, OK? Maybe you should—"
"Excuse me?" I loudly interrupt him as I walk up
behind him to the counter. He turns around to see who would dare do such a
thing, and I get a glimpse of his flushed, angry cheeks, and spittle caught in
the corners of his mouth. "Are there any first class seats left?" I
ask the attendant with a sweet smile.
"Ah, yes—"
"We're in the middle of something!" the man
sputters at me. I ignore him.
"Great. This injured veteran you mentioned, I'd like to
buy him an upgrade please," I say, whipping my Black Amex card out of my
wallet and handing it across the counter.
"Really?" the attendant asks, looking delighted
and relieved.
"Really," I say, then turn to the man. "To
thank
him for his
service
." The man turns away in a huff, but at
least he doesn't make any more of a scene. "There's not any way to pay for
a downgrade for his seat, is there?" I ask with a wry smile.
She laughs. "I wish you could, believe me. Alexa Stratton,
what a pretty name," she adds with a grin. "Thank you for doing that.
I was just warned about giving away too many free upgrades, and I thought maybe
another American would help the man. I felt sorry for him…he's got a big cast
on and everything. And…" she starts to blush.
"What?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. She nods
toward the waiting area. I let my eyes skim over the crowd, looking for what
could have caused this reaction in her.
My gaze lands on a tall, broad-shouldered man with his leg, in
a cast, stuck out at an awkward angle. Even with a full beard, his dark eyes
and high cheekbones are apparent from thirty feet away.
"So this extra first class seat," I murmur,
turning back to the counter with a grin, "any possibility you could make
it next to mine?"
"I think I could arrange that," she says, typing
on her keyboard. "There we go. You have an enjoyable flight, Ms.
Stratton," she adds, her eyes glittering wickedly.
"I'll do my very best," I promise her with a
smile. At the gate, the ticketing agent switches his mic on.
"First class passengers, passengers with disabilities,
and those with young children, you may now board Flight 131, direct to Tampa
International." I line up and see the injured vet slowly stand up out of
the corner of my eye, no doubt answering the announcement for passengers with
disabilities. Well, he'll find out soon that his seat has been changed.
I walk briskly down the jetway and onto the plane, then turn
left into the first class seating, kept completely separate from economy on
these huge 777s. Dropping into my seat, I pull off my sunglasses and fish my
emergency concealer out of my purse. I swipe some under my eyes, doing my best
to hide my tired bags, and then run my fingers through my hair. A flute of
champagne appears on a silver tray next to me and I look up to the flight
attendant.
"Oh, merci, but could I actually have a glass of orange
juice...Luc?" I ask, spotting his name tag. He nods and smiles, then
turning away and delivering the champagne to a businesswoman two rows in front
of me.
I stare out the window, watching our bags being loaded into
the plane. I promised myself that starting today, I'd swear off two things: men
and drinking. So far, not doing great on the men aspect, but I did pass on the
champagne. I think the problem is that while I went out last night with my
Parisian friends for one final night of sin and really tied one on, I did not
manage to meet a man to take home. Probably because my friends kept choosing
gay clubs. So while I have drinking out of my system, I'm still feeling that
itch that only a man can scratch. Just one more fling, that would do it,
really!
"Right here, monsieur," Luc says, indicating the
seat next to me. Well, not really
next
to me. It's actually across a
foot-wide console area that separates the pairs of roomy seats.
"There aren't any more normal seats?" a deep,
gravelly voice asks.
"Well, you could have your old seat in economy, but
perhaps you...and your leg...would feel more comfortable here," Luc
suggests.
The man grunts. "Thank you. You're probably
right."
"Don't thank me, thank your compatriot here," Luc
says, turning to smile at me. I blush. I was hoping to remain anonymous.
"I can put your crutches out of the way until we land. And I'll be right
back with your complimentary champagne, monsieur."
"I didn't order any—" the man begins, but Luc is
already off. "Thank you," the man says to me quietly. I look up and
into his unsettlingly bright green eyes for the first time as he towers over
me. His thick beard crawls up to just under his cheekbones, and his gaze bores
right through me. His hair is dark brown, shaggy, and seriously in need of a
cut. His lips are thick and set firmly in his strongly set jaw. His face would
almost be too perfect if it weren't for the jagged scar that reaches across his
right temple almost to his eye, and extends under his hair in the other
direction. I remind myself to breathe. "You didn't have to do that,"
he says, turning to sit down. He lowers himself carefully and arranges his right
leg straight out in front of him. I feel gratified to see that he has enough
space to stretch it out completely.
"I...it was no problem."
"I don't like charity."
"Alright, I'll send you a bill," I reply lightly,
a bit surprised but understanding where he's coming from. No one likes to be
seen as a charity case.
He glances at me sharply, and I think I can see the crease
of a smile line by his eyes. "You order me that champagne, too?"
"No, that's complimentary. Comes with your first class
ticket."
"Then how come you're not drinking it?" he asks,
nodding at the orange juice in my right hand.
"How observant. I don't drink. Or I won't. From today
on. Not including the wee hours of this morning, I guess. I'm counting that as
last night."
"Sounds like you've really turned over a new
leaf."
I cock my head at him, trying to ascertain if he's joking or
not. His voice is so low, his delivery so dry, that it's tough to tell.
"You'd really clean up at the poker table, you know that?"
"I've been told that, yes," he replies.
"Your champagne," Luc says, presenting him with a
glass.
"I actually can't...this medication I'm on..." the
stranger says quietly.
"Ah, of course. My mistake. What would the gentleman
like?"
"What do you have?"
"Everything," I answer for Luc. "Trust me,
you're going to like first class."