Dirk: A Stepbrother Romance(2)

“You haven't seen the half of it!” her mother said, suddenly excited. She pulled Katherine by the arm. “I'm going to show her the fountain!”

Katherine followed her mother's enthusiastic pulls until they were away from the tent where the rehearsal dinner was being held. Soon, they were standing in front of a giant fountain illuminated with blue and golden lights. It looked like an image out of a fairy tale.

“Isn't this lovely?” her mother asked. Katherine cringed at the use of another pretentious word she had never heard in her mother's voice.

“It's definitely something,” she agreed.

“Can you imagine? Me, married to a millionaire!” her mother exclaimed.

“Yeah. And here I thought the best you could do was that mechanic. I think he was the only one you brought around who had a job.”

“He wasn't so bad,” her mother said.

“He was a complete *! And let’s not even talk about how he was constantly checking me out! He gave me the creeps!” Katherine cried.

“Your just making stuff up now,” her mother said dismissively.

“No I am not…he would virtually lick his lips when he looked at me! Why do you think I never wanted to be alone around the guy? You always believe your boyfriends over me!” she exclaimed. “You have the worst taste in men. Makes me wonder what's wrong with the rich guy you snagged. Is he a murderer? Or maybe he's a mobster! That sounds about right.”

“You were always such a jealous child, and it seems like you're jealous now, too. You just can't stand to see me happy, can you?” Her mother's eyes filled with large, wine-induced tears, and she stormed back into the tent.

Katherine groaned. There was no way she would be able to handle a rehearsal dinner now, not with that woman. She heaved a heavy sigh and turned toward the collection of large buildings, wondering where on the island she could get a drink.





Chapter 3




Dirk stripped off his tie and dress shirt, revealing the tight tank top barely concealing his broad, muscular chest. Whether he was a billionaire or not, he didn't need to dress like one. It wasn't his style. Why would he want to look like a goody-two-shoes little prick like his father? Dirk was a self-made man. That was something his father would never be able to say about himself. Dirk's billions had come from years of hard work. His dad was just an inheritance kid who got handed a few million dollars and had no desire to work for more. He was used to all the work being done for him.

In Dirk's opinion, that wasn't honest. He would rather get his hands dirty like anybody else. And he wasn't afraid of being disinherited like the other idiots he had grown up with. Why would he, when he seemed to have a natural gift for making money? He had all the freedom he could ever want, and nobody, especially not his weaselly little father, could tell Dirk how to dress or behave. He had always been a willful and spunky child, and he had grown into a willful and stubborn man. The difference between him and his dad was that Dirk's attitude was the result of knowing who he was and exactly what he wanted. When it came right down to it, though, his own father was just spoiled.

The estate was set up like a country club. There was an open bar where some of the wedding guests were mingling, and he decided to head that way. As he emerged from the woods, he nearly collided with a woman whose eyes were downcast. When she saw him, she looked up and brightened.

“You look like you might know where I can get a drink,” she said, examining him up and down.

He laughed despite himself. He nodded, taking the stunning blonde woman by the arm. “Right this way.”



Katherine had been pleasantly surprised by the wall of raw masculinity that she had nearly collided with. He was the last kind of person she had expected to see somewhere like this. He had given her a cocky grin before taking her arm in his, nearly pinching it when his muscles flexed against her. Feeling the warmth of his strong arm against hers had sent a small thrill through her body, and he seemed neither surprised nor bothered when her gaze lingered on his chiseled face a little longer than it should have.

He led her to the huge mansion. They walked through a glass door and into a room that had the classiest bar she had ever seen. There were some fancy tables with a few people scattered at them, drinking and speaking softly to one another. He led her to a table in the corner, the farthest away from everybody else. She sat down, and he strutted to the bar. He was just as muscular from behind as he was from the front. She was embarrassed to discover that she couldn't take her eyes off him. As he passed each table, people nodded their respects to him. He strode by quickly, ignoring all of them, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar. Nobody said anything about it, and he returned to their table.


“You do straight whiskey?” he asked her, setting a heavy glass down in front of her.

“Is there any other way to do whiskey?” she asked, rubbing her temples. “That might not even be strong enough.”

“I know what you mean,” he said with a grin, pouring her a shot. He took a deep gulp from the bottle and sank into the seat across from her. “So what's your name?”

“Katherine,” she said, downing the shot. She squinted at its strength, and he laughed heartily, pouring her another.

“Nice to meet you, Kate,” he said pleasantly. “Where are you from? A small tribe of *s lives on this island, and I don't think you fit in.”