Page 11 of Jealous Stepbrother
“Today,” I remind her.
Her gaze flicks to the side. “I have things to pack.”
“I’ll send someone to take care of it. Your landlord is already on notice. Your things will be home by the time we get there.”
That gets me another glare, which I take as a victory. Every glare is proof she’s still here, still reacting, still mine to wind tighter.
I let the moment stretch, then tilt my head slightly, as if something just occurred to me. “One last thing.”
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
“Get over here and kiss me.”
Her breath emerges shakily. “Why would I?—?”
“It’s been four years since we’ve seen each other, sweetheart. As a kink, a slap is a great start, but I’d like something less…” I let my gaze drop to her delicious mouth, “…violent.”
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “No… this is insane. You can’t…”
I smile, slow and deliberate. “We already have. Remember?”
I watch the bright blush race across her cheeks. Watch her flick the tip of that tongue I want to suck on for an hour straight, over her bottom lip. “I… I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Fuck the talking then, baby. How about a proper kiss hello for your brother, hmm?”
CHAPTER 3
A KISS HELLO
Scarlett
For a long, brittle moment, I just stand there.
The smart thing would be to laugh, tell him he’s lost his mind, and walk right back out the door.
But the problem is I’ve already agreed to move in. Which means, no matter what I say now, he knows he’s winning.
“Scarlett,” he says softly with just the right tinge of warning, and somehow it’s worse than when he says it sharp. “I’m waiting.”
Every cell in my body is telling me to keep my distance. But the way he’s looking at me, steady and unblinking and oh so certain, makes it feel like gravity’s got me by the collar.
My eyes betray me, dropping to his mouth. God, his lips. Fuller than I remember, with the faintest curve at the edges like he’s perpetually half a step from saying something wicked.
He’s grown hotter in the last four years.
Sharper and dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with knives or guns and everything to do with the way my body remembers him.
And there it is. My stupid body can’t dismiss how much I’ve missed him. The thought bursts, raw and treacherous, before I slam the door on it.
“You standing over there staring at my mouth doesn’t constitute kissing,” he says lazily, eyes glinting. “You actually need to put your mouth on mine. Maybe give me some tongue while you’re at it.”
God, he’s so crude.And so fucking hot.
“I’m not kissing you.” My voice is breathless, which ruins the effect.
“You fucking are,” he says, like it’s already decided. “You’re just making me wait for it.”
And I hate how right he is.
