Page 85 of Heartless Stepbrother
“Who,” his eyes dropped to the screen and back to mine, “is texting you now?”
Panic spiked through me, sharp, electric, instinctive.
I lunged for the phone.
Too fast.
Too thoughtless.
My fingers collided with his.
Then slid past.
And landed on his thigh.
Not low.
Not safe.
High.
Too high.
The heat of him burned through denim, straight into my palm.
Time fractured.
For a second, maybe two, neither of us breathed.
Riley didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even pretend the touch meant nothing.
His gaze dropped to where my hand rested, small, tense, shaking, against the inside of his leg.
Then he looked at me.
Slowly.
Darkly.
Like I had just given him a gift wrapped in silk and stupidity.
“Luna,” he said softly, “if you wanted to touch me, you could’ve asked.”
Blood detonated beneath my skin.
“I—I wasn’t—“
His palm closed over my wrist.
Not harsh.
Not cruel.
Just decisive.
