My Billionaire Stepbrother by Jillian Sterling Page A

prepare me for the realities of the so-called gilded
cage.
    Not that I’m complaining – it’s
great to be a Wilde, basically royalty walking the face of the earth in a
luxurious mist of money and mansions and power. Listen, I’ll be the first one
to tell you it’s great. Like, for my tenth birthday my mother gave me my own
private island in the Mediterranean.
    An island.
    In the Mediterranean.
    I know I’m your standard
billionaire living in a different world than most people, but I also live in
Africa; it’s impossible not to know how unusual that is. It’s impossible for me
not to be aware of the differences between my life and the rest of the world.
    It’s impossible not to feel a
little bit alone.
    For my twelfth birthday, my father
took me on an actual Antarctic expedition.
    In Antarctica.
    At my sixteenth birthday party the
guests included princes and princesses of Saudi Arabia, England, Monaco, Sweden,
Morocco, Nigeria, Swaziland, Ghana.
    Who has the royal United Nations at
their birthday parties?
    And though it strictly traditional
and non-political, my mother’s family is indigenous royalty, ancestral kings
and queens of Africa. My father’s family – from England – were Barons. Power
and prestige flow through my veins on both sides.
    All hail the Wildes.
    More like, all harass the Wildes.
    At the same time though, I do
believe money can buy happiness – never believe people who say otherwise. In
spite of the loneliness and the pressure, I’ll be the first one to admit that
my life is phenomenally awesome, spectacularly glamorous, dangerously and
deliriously rare and powerful and all of those things you’d guess – but it does
have its down side. Really.
    Anyone else close to my position –
royals, billionaires, presidents, CEOs – can tell you the same thing: it’s
lonely at the top, because there’s only room for one.
    As far back as I can remember, it’s
been drilled into me to keep my head level and my eyes on the long-term big
picture; I am a Wilde, and a Wilde’s life is different than others. My mother
and father always made sure I understood that while they loved me, very few
others would ever be able to see past the fame and fortune. Be discerning ,
they taught me: be skeptical, vigilant, and guarded with your heart. Be
smarter and faster than the users. Be prepared to be let down and hurt by the
motivations of others. Don’t let that affect your own health and success.
    My personal life is just like
business. And I am very, very good at business.
    Sex, I’ve found, is basically the
same thing.
    It doesn’t really matter the
situation; I am good at getting what I want, when I want it, how I want it – at
the price I’m willing to pay. I made the Wilde Hospitality Corp richer. I made
myself even more in demand, using my personality to drive up press and wealth
and prestige for myself and my family, building a legacy. I’m always one step
ahead. I’m always in control.
    Except with Veronique.
    Damn Veronique.
    Who is she? What is her deal?
    Now, even with my cock still inside
her, I can tell the pattern of my self-control is breaking down. I just
finished fucking her and I want to do it again, right now, this second. I can
already feel myself hardening again.
    This is unusual.
    This is unlikely.
    This is inconvenient.
    I really didn’t need this right
now. I have enough going on, enough to deal with already. The last thing I need
is an ill-advised dalliance, a sexual fantasy fling with my new step-sister.
    Oh god. What have I done?
    This isn’t helping.
    I’m only adding to my own problems.
    Veronique is a problem.
    So many problems.
    My mother’s imbecilic second
marriage to this hustler needs to be resolved – speedily, and to my taste. It’s
not right to go from my father, a true gentleman, scholar, and member of the
British Peerage to this…this…low-life gambler LaRoux, this…stranger with his
money problems and his penniless daughter.
    But I have to admit, that