Page 18 of Heartless Stepbrother
I watched them go.
His arm draped over her waist, hers limp at her side, as if the thrill of it all had already faded. Their silhouettes slipped into the shadows, swallowed by the palms and crooked pathways of the resort, as if the whole thing had been nothing buta hallucination brought on by too much moonlight and not enough sleep.
But my heart didn’t get the memo.
It still thundered, wild and uneven, like it didn’t know whether to race from fear or fascination. My breath, shallow and tight, scraped against my ribs. My mind spun, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Five minutes. Ten, maybe. That’s all it had been.
And yet it felt like I’d been caught in some kind of emotional undertow. Dragged down. Drowned. Disoriented.
His voice still clung to me like ocean salt on skin. Low, smooth. That mocking American accent, lazy and sharp all at once. The kind that sounded like he didn’t care whether he was flirting or threatening. As if both were the same thing to him.
“If you stare that hard, I’ll start thinking you want a turn.”
“Curiosity’s addictive. First you watch. Then you wonder what it feels like.”
“Why are you still standing there, staring at me like you wish it was you instead of her?”
Each word replayed itself. I hated how they had burned themselves into my thoughts. My name… he way he’d said it, slow and almost reverent, like he’d peeled it from me without permission and now carried it in his pocket.
I turned away from the sea, dragging in a breath that stuck in my throat.
The beach that had felt tranquil now buzzed with an energy I couldn’t shake. The crash of waves, once soothing, now echoed like a cruel reminder of how unbalanced I suddenly felt. My feet sank into the warm, grainy sand as I retraced my steps. But the peace I’d come looking for was gone.
Replaced by him.
By the weight of his gaze. The deliberate smirk. The way he’d moved, so unapologetic, so effortless, like he owned the night and everything that dared move within it.
I didn’t even know his name.
But I knew his hands had just been on someone else. I’d seen the aftermath, the wrinkled dress, the tension in the girl’s spine, the quick flick of her eyes.
And yet… I couldn’t stop thinking abouthim.
I walked the winding path through the gardens, lit in soft amber glows from the torches half-buried in the ground. Thick foliage hemmed me in, hibiscus, frangipani, lush green leaves heavy with dew. The night was warm, but the humidity clung to me like guilt, like shame. Like memory.
Each footstep brought his image back to me in sharper, crueler clarity.
The way he’d looked at me, like I wasn’t real. Or maybe like I wastooreal. The only thing in focus while the rest of the world blurred behind me.
He hadn’t flinched.
He hadn’t apologized.
He’d just… watched.
Mocked.
Played.
I reached my door without remembering the steps it had taken to get there. My fingers fumbled with the keycard, slippery against my palm. It took three tries before the lock clicked and the door sighed open.
I slipped inside, shut it fast, and leaned against it, like the wood could hold me up better than my own legs could.
The air conditioning slapped against my overheated skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. The room was cool, crisp, a perfect contrast to the sticky, suffocating night. It smelled faintly of lavender and ocean linen, a natural kind of comfort.
But there was no comfort in me.
I slid down until I was crouched on the floor, back against the door, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around myself. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t sad.
