Page 116 of Heartless Stepbrother
Riley stepped inside. Clean. Dressed. Entirely unfazed. The faint scent of his shampoo mixed with cologne drifted into the room, warm and sharp and maddening.
His eyes found me instantly.
A slow smile curved his mouth. The kind that knew exactly where my mind had gone. The kind that made my palms sweat.
“Well,” he said, voice soft but far too confident, “that was fast, princess.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
He let his gaze travel lazily from the wet ends of my hair down my denim-covered legs, lingering long enough to make heat crawl up my neck.
“You know,” he murmured, stepping farther into the room, “I would have much preferred carrying you out of that tub naked.”
The air left my lungs in a sharp, silent rush.
He smirked.
“Come on. Time to go.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LUNA
ThestreetlightsblurredpastRiley’s SUV in long, thin streaks of gold, like the night outside couldn’t decide whether to stay still or sprint. The world was dark and quiet, wrapped in a kind of hush that made every small sound inside the car feel louder than it should’ve been.
Especially my heartbeat.
Especially my breathing.
Especially the memory I absolutely, positively was not supposed to be thinking about.
But my traitorous brain kept dragging me back into the bathroom.
Back to the steam curling around his sweat dripping body.
Back to the sound of his fingers tapping on my phone.
Back to the way he’d stripped without hesitation, without embarrassment, without even…
No.
No, no, no.
I pressed my hands to my cheeks. They were still burning.
The car’s interior felt too warm. Too full of the echo of that moment. Too full of Riley.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, his gaze fixed lazily on the dark road ahead, like he had all the time in the world. Like he didn’t notice the way I kept sinking lower in the passenger seat, praying the leather would swallow me.
But of course he noticed.
His voice broke the silence, low and smooth. “You’re awfully quiet.”
The words rolled across my skin like he’d reached over and dragged a fingertip down my arm.
“I’m always quiet,” I muttered.
“No,” he said, amusement curling around the syllable. “You’re always pretending you’re not bothered.”
