Page 13 of Jealous Stepbrother
So this should feel like a prize.
Instead, it feels like a chessboard where I’m the only piece my stepbrother is interested in playing with.
I unpack just enough to feel like I’ve claimed something. Then there’s a knock at the shared balcony door.
Asher’s there, minus his jacket but with his sleeves rolled up, leaning against the frame. “Dinner,” he says, and it’s not a suggestion.
I follow him onto his balcony.
Manhattan glitters below us, the air warm with late summer. The table is already set with two plates and silverware and intimate candles flickering in the breeze.
Over steak and a glass of red I didn’t ask for but gratefully sip to bolster me because—Jesus, what the hell am I doing here and OMG why does my stepbrother look so goddamn hot in candlelight?—we talk.
Or rather, he talks and watches me with hooded eyes, and I try to keep my guard up.
“What have you been doing all this time?” I ask.
He gives me that slow, deliberate smile. “Building an empire. Making fuck loads of money. Watching you.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “You weren’t really serious about that. Were you?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Four years, Scarlett. You think I’d let you drift without keeping track?”
I can’t stop the flush creeping up my throat. Hate and love the way my body responds to that unhinged possessiveness in his voice in equal measure. “Why?”
“Because you matter.”
My chest tightens. I take a sip of wine to hide it. “If I matter so much, then why didn’t you ever come home? Holidays, birthdays?—”
One eyebrow lifts, sharp and amused. “Did you forget what happened last time I came for your birthday?”
The memory hits like a jolt of wild electricity. I look away. “That was a mistake. It was?—”
“You ignoring a warning.”
The air between us thickens until it’s hard to breathe. Somewhere between my next sip of wine and my third failed attempt to steer the conversation away, he reaches for me.
One moment I’m in my chair, the next I’m in his lap, his hands anchored at my waist.
“Asher…we can’t do this. You weren’t really serious, were you? About wanting… wanting?—”
“Wanting you?” His voice is silk over steel, his knuckles trailing softly down one hot cheek. “Oh, I was deadly serious, baby. You’ve been in my blood. Time to root you out.”
A shudder shakes through me. “By force?”
He shakes his head. “No, baby sis. I’m not into force. You’ll come to me because you’re just as—” His mouth curves, sinful and sure “—hungry as I am. But this time I won’t tell you to leave.”
“In your dreams.”
His smile deepens, lethal. “If you’d stayed safe in your bed, dreaming four years ago, we wouldn’t be here. You cracked this addiction wide open, darling. Don’t blame me if I’m hooked now.”
I try to push off his lap, but his hand closes around my wrist before I can stand. His thumb strokes the inside, where my pulse is hammering, while his other hand anchors on my hip, keeping me pinned in his lap.
“Let me go, Asher.” I hate the thread of neediness undermining me. The spark of fire lit entirely by how terrible and decadent and filthy this forbidden path we’re treading feels.
He ignores me, leans in, so close his next words graze my mouth. “How about another kiss for your big brother? The lastone wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy even an ounce of what I’ve had to endure for the last four years.”
I shake my head. “No…”
