Cannon (A Step Brother Romance #3) Read online

  You might think you've heard every story of forbidden love. But you haven't heard ours.

  Hendrix "Cannon" Cole is a damaged, sexy-as-hell ex-Marine. He's also my stepbrother.

  I'm a country singer in the spotlight.

  Our history is complicated. I used to hate him. Then I loved him. Then I hated him again.

  When he joined the Marines five years ago, I thought he was gone forever.

  Now he's back.

  I have everything to lose. He has nothing left.

  The heat between us is explosive.

  And both of us may wind up getting burned.

  Copyright © 2015 by Sabrina Paige

  Cover Model Stephen Hughes-Landers

  Photograph by Shauna Kruse, Kruse Images and Photography

  Cover Design by Cormar Covers

  Interior graphics by tatiananna/depositphotos

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review. If you have not purchased this book from Amazon or received a copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  NOTE: All characters in the book are 18+ years of age, non-blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.

  To check out the rest of Sabrina Paige's catalog on Amazon, CLICK HERE!

  For my husband and my daughter, who put up with me writing all the time, and only complain about it part of the time.

  For the other writers and so many readers who have supported me so much and spread word along the way about my work. There are too many of you to thank, and I owe you a debt of gratitude.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

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  Excerpts

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  About the Author

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  When I wrote this book, I intended for it to be just like Prick and Tool -- a funny, lighthearted romp with silly pranks and lots of sex.

  The characters had something else in mind, though, and it turned out to be different from what I expected. This book is more emotional, and I hope you end up loving Addy and Hendrix as much as I do.

  "What is this, an intervention?" I look back and forth between their faces, the four of them lined up on the opposite side of the conference table like jury members about to render their verdict. I'm kidding about the intervention part, but the joke falls flat and for a brief second, I think it might actually be true. But it can't be. I rarely drink, and I've never even tried drugs – I mean, sure, a couple of drags on a joint years ago, but that hardly counts -- so there's no way this can be an actual intervention, right? "I don't understand."

  My mother looks at me through narrowed eyes, her palm on my stepfather's arm. "There's a morality clause in your contract, Addison," she says, her jaw clenched and her voice tight.

  The morality clause. Of course. I hadn't forgotten about that – how could I? Everything in my life is about public perception, after all. That's how things work when you're America's country music sweetheart. "So you're ambushing me?"

  A man in a suit clears his throat before sliding a sheaf of paper across the table at me. He's obviously someone from the record label, but I don't recognize him, which doesn't make me feel any better about this meeting. He was clearly sent to do the dirty work of making sure I fall in line with what the label wants. "I'm afraid you're bound by the terms of your contract," he says. "And that includes your public behavior. We signed a wholesome country singer, a role model for young girls. One who represents family values. Not someone who twerks in a club at two in the morning."

  "But I haven't been twerking – "

  "Drinking and partying," he says. "Do those behaviors ring any bells?"

  "Those are hardly illegal." I leave out the glaring fact that I wasn't actually drinking or doing drugs or anything scandalous at all. I was with people in a club who were doing those things and that's apparently all that matters. God forbid I have a little bit of fun at the ripe old age of twenty-two.

  "Legal behavior is one thing, illegal drugs are another thing entirely," my mother says. "You should know better. Once any of your so-called friends is high, you're guilty by association."

  "And then there's this." My stepfather slides a copy of the newspaper across the table, giving me a look that positively reeks of disapproval. My stepfather is the most buttoned-down person I've ever met, the kind of man who can convey more with a raised eyebrow than most parents can communicate in an entire lecture. He's a retired Army Colonel who runs a private security firm for celebrities, and I'm one of his clients. My mother met him seven years ago on one of my tours -- and the rest, as they say, was history.

  I glance down at the page, expecting the headline to have something to do with my boyfriend – my ex-boyfriend, after last night's debacle – and his friends' antics in the club last night. But it doesn't. Instead, it reads Music Star Caught In Compromising Position With Older Married Man: Relationship with Boyfriend on the Rocks!

  At least they got the relationship with the boyfriend part right. That's definitely on the rocks; hell, it's already shipwrecked. This headline concerns a completely different scandal. Of course, it doesn't tell you the rest of the story, which is that I had to shove the guy away from me at the party three nights ago. The article really should read Hollywood Mogul Photographed While Attempting to Grope Music Star. Cameras didn't capture that part of the evening.

  I don't even try to explain, because my parents would never believe me. My mother thinks I'm a brat, spoiled by money and fame. I may be a bit of a brat, but I'm not spoiled by this life. It's exactly the opposite, actually. I'm exhausted by it. I should be on-top-of-the-world happy, with three platinum records and a Grammy award under my belt. But at twenty-two, I shouldn't feel this damn old -- this damn tired. I should have some fire in my belly.

  So I guess fatigue is the reason I don't say anything. Instead, I sit there glaring at them, waiting for their verdict. I tick off the options in my head. Rehab? A trip somewhere? I'll issue a mea culpa for my terrible behavior and promise the record label they won't have to worry about their lily-white singer being tarnished by her no-good friends.

  My stepfather finally breaks the silence. "The label has agreed to a solution we think will be amenable to everyone," he says. "With all that's happened, we believe yo