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Even if he was too scared to admit it now, he felt the same. Nobody had been so eager to kiss me and feel me before. I’d had my fair share of action to keep myself distracted from my little stepbrother, but the few moments I had spent with him obliterated every joy I had ever felt with other people. Nothing could compare to the electric current that coursed between us.
He had to see that.
He had to understand.
And I would protect him from all harm. I would swear to him.
As I walked across my room and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air on the balcony, my resolve strengthened. Yes, our parents were married. Yes, he was my stepbrother on paper. And no, we would never be able to hide it. Not for the rest of our lives, at least. But nothing was going to stop me from trying.
The little joys we had shared in these few short days of privacy had been the sweetest prelude to a passionate moment — one that ended too soon.
I leaned against the balcony balustrade and closed my eyes. Asher’s little pout emerged from the darkness. I wanted to kiss it away like I had the other night. And when I opened my eyes, I looked at the very patch of grass where I’d had him pinned down, gloriously topless, devastatingly hot.
I clenched my teeth and balled my fists.
It wasn’t going to end like this.
Since the very first time I felt the pulse of attraction for him, I had done everything in my power to kill those feelings. I had given him up. I had settled for looking at him when he couldn’t see me.
But that was all gone now. What we had done was impossible to change. And I couldn’t accept any less. My heart wanted to tear into shreds, to pound out of my chest, to sink into my stomach.
I slept, although he was in my thoughts when I woke up. It was like he hadn’t left. Another thing that hadn’t gone anywhere was my resolve. If anything, it had hardened overnight.
I tossed on my loose, billowy T-shirt without sleeves, a pair of cargo shorts, and my brown sandals. It was a casual enough combo, but I must have known, deep down, that there was more to it. When I joined Dad, Eileen, and my little stepbrother out on the porch for breakfast, he managed to greet me in a strangled voice. His gaze dragged over me and it pulled back the memories of countless encounters throughout the years I had spent near him. You’ve been feasting your eyes on me since we met, I realized. You’ve always had this glassy look in your eyes when you saw my flesh. The amusement that zinged through me affirmed my suspicion that I had been subconsciously aware of my own provocativeness.
I felt sexy. Oh, that I did.
I sat across from Asher while Eileen and Dad sat on opposite ends of the table. Our breakfasts were rich and delicious, taking me back to my earlier days. Scrambled eggs with fried bacon, sausages on the side, and homemade hash browns. And then, fluffy pancakes soaked in maple syrup, a pitcher of cold orange juice, and a bowl of strawberries with whipped cream. We feasted even if my athlete’s mind reminded me that these were not good choices.
Perhaps today was the day for bad choices. Perhaps I didn’t have to always be the one playing by the rules, sticking to what was right, and giving up the little pleasures in life. A nice breakfast wouldn’t ruin my health. A flurry of lust for Asher wouldn’t ruin my life.
My stepbrother didn’t look at me. He ate in complete silence, his eyebrows knitted into a frown. He looked at his plate and sliced through the stack of pancakes with his fork. When he brought the bite to his mouth, I paused to watch him. Maple syrup specked the corners of his lips because he bit off more than he could chew.
My heart lurched in my chest. I wanted to lick the syrup off his lips. I wanted to throw him on this table, not even minding the food, and eat him up. There wasn’t an inch of him I wouldn’t want a taste of.
“…you speak to him?” Dad’s voice reached me and I realized that my ears had been ringing.
“Huh?” I looked at him and blinked.
“Beckett? How is he doing?” Dad repeated. He wore a small smile of amusement. “Or do you need a cup of coffee first?” He chuckled.
“He’s fine,” I replied, my voice dry. I washed down my food with a long sip of orange juice, but the mention of coffee made me crave it. “We spoke last night. Nate’s back in his apartment. They hired a nurse to live with him for the next three weeks.” I gritted my teeth.
“What a shame, that accident,” Dad said.
Eileen shook her head sadly. “He was retiring, wasn’t he?”
“Not officially.” These were the first words from Asher’s lips since the greeting. “That was speculation.”
“Isn’t he forty? How much longer could he have played?” Eileen asked, genuinely bewildered.
“Thirty-seven, I think,” I said. “And he wouldn’t have been the first NHL player to play at forty.”
Eileen seemed to dismiss Nate Partridge from her thoughts. “He’s rich and famous. I’m not worried about his future.”
I said nothing. It wouldn’t be fair to expect her to understand what impact this had on the guy’s life. But Asher frowned. “Nobody wants this to be their legacy.”
His mother laughed softly. “Darling, there comes a time in life when your legacy is not something that keeps you awake at night. The man is rich beyond any need. He is still young, even if he’s not young enough to keep playing.”
