Page 24 of Jealous Stepbrother
The second we stop in traffic I reach for the door handle.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice is a volcanic rumble.
“This traffic is insane,” I snap, reaching for the nearest excuse—anything but admitting how badly I want to crawl into his lap. Not even for sex. Just for the warmth of his embrace, the way he tucked me close in the bathroom this afternoon. And maybe… maybe… if that led to other things?—
No. Jesus, Scarlett. He’s your stepbrother!
“And you’re going to do what, exactly?” His tone is slow and lethal.
“Walk. We’re only a few blocks away and I… I can’t stay here.”
One eyebrow lifts in lazy mockery. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve had it with the Neanderthal control-freak act, Asher.”
The phone vanishes from his hand. “Neanderthal?” he echoes softly.
“Caveman. Dictator. Tyrant. Take your pick?—”
I don’t get to finish.
One second I’m on my side of the car. The next, his hand has closed around my wrist and I’m yanked into his lap, my back to his chest, his arm banded across my middle like steel.
“You want to talk about my behavior?” His mouth is at my ear, voice low enough to scrape along my spine. “You keep pushing me in public, princess. Smiling at other guys. Lettingthem pour fucking wine for you. Flirt with you? You think shit like that won’t go unanswered?”
My pulse is a jackhammer, my body strung tight between outrage and something far more dangerous. “I wasn’t flirting,” I say, the words rushing out before I can temper them. “I was just… being polite. If I knew every interaction was going to be put on your microscope, maybe I’d—” I clamp my mouth shut, realizing how defensive I sound.
The car glides to another traffic light. I reach for the door again.
His grip only tightens.
“Stay.” One word, edged with command.
I stay.
“Try again,” he says, not moving an inch. “Give me an answer that won’t make me want to put you over my knee.”
I swallow hard. “I can’t control what other guys do… the same way I can’t seem to control you.”
“Sure you can,” he says smoothly. “You simply don’t do what will get you and everyone around me in deep fucking trouble. That’s all.”
I scoff. “That’s all? You might as well ask for the moon to rise in the west and the ocean to run dry.”
His mouth curves in a slow, predatory smirk. “Atta girl. You’re learning.”
The rest of the ride is a blur of pounding heartbeat and his thigh muscles shifting under me. I’m so wound up I practically trip over my own feet when we glide into the underground parking garage.
He steps out still holding onto my wrist, his thumb sweeping back and forth over my pulse like he wants to gauge the level of my angst.
We enter the private elevator in silence, the air between us thick enough to choke on.
The moment the doors seal shut, he backs me against the mirrored wall, caging me in, his hands braced on either side of my head. Eyes dark and dangerous drill into me, his nose one inch from mine.
“You’ve been staring at anything and everything but me all fucking night,” he growls. “That stops now.”
“I wasn’t?—”
His mouth cuts me off—hot, punishing, claiming. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, a dark drag of possession that wipes every coherent thought from my brain. His hands are already in my hair and sliding down to my throat then lower still, gripping my hips and pinning me harder against the wall until my back arches and my nails bite into his shoulders.
