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Yeah right.
She’s already gotten to me.
At this point, all I can hope is that I’m as noble as everyone believes me to be. Noble enough to keep my hands off my teenage stepsister and walk away without ruining her life.
“So, Vale…” Vanessa sips from a glass of white wine and sets it down. “I know you’ve only been back for less than one day. And your father made me promise I wouldn’t ask right away, but…some of my local friends have daughters your age. Some of them slightly younger. Career-minded girls who haven’t had time to date until recently.” She winks at me and my stomach turns. “I know they’d love to meet a certain celebrated war veteran.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that the fork suddenly becomes too heavy for Lula, her hand falling to rest beside her plate. She must be embarrassed by her mother’s inappropriate timing. Even my father, who is clearly enamored with Vanessa, seems irked. “Let the man have one day of peace before ringing the dinner bell, would you?”
Vanessa winces, but there’s no remorse in it. “Excuse me for wanting to present this heroic SEAL with a lineup of stunning women. They might be professionals, but every last one of them could pass for a pageant girl. I am very discerning.”
Lula is no longer eating and it takes every bit of my willpower not to march to the other side of the table, settle her on my lap and start feeding her bites of truffle mashed potatoes. “Thank you for thinking of me, ma’am,” I say politely as possible. “But I’m not interested.”
God help me, I can’t imagine a set of hands on me that don’t belong to my stepsister.
The thought of anyone else touching me turns my stomach.
A memory accosts me. Lula mewling around my tongue, her pussy shifting in my lap and I have to reach down and adjust myself roughly, barely able to keep from panting.
Vanessa isn’t ready to quit, unfortunately, and her next comment sets my teeth on edge. “I can see it now. Someone with captivating looks to match your own. A graceful disposition. Long legs like a ballerina...” She smiles into her glass of wine. “Are you convinced yet?”
“No,” I reply, sharply, the handle of the fork digging into my palm. “And trust me, the last thing I’d be interested in is someone exactly like me.”
I’m being too abrupt. Too disagreeable. This is not how the media darling is supposed to act. I’m meant to have a humble attitude and a funny rejoinder for every question. Everyone’s ideal Captain America. Even in front of my father. Especially in front of him.
Forcing myself to swallow a bite of chicken, I search for a way to soften my irritated response to Vanessa. “Two people exactly like me would be a lot of baggage for one relationship, Vanessa.”
“Baggage?” she asks.
An uncomfortable itch forms on the back of my neck. I’m suddenly restless, but when I find Lula’s eyes across the table, the beginnings of an earthquake inside me become manageable. “You don’t leave combat without it,” I murmur.
My stepmother starts to ask another question, but she’s cut off abruptly when my father slams a fist down on the table. “None of that complaining in my house.” Once upon a time, I would have jumped sky high at one of his outbursts, but I’m a man now. A SEAL. I’ve been in countless battles and even spent a few weeks being tortured in a POW camp. Nearly had my leg blown off. I don’t flinch in the face of his temper anymore. “We show gratitude only in representing this country. If you want to take that honor and turn it into something to cry about, do it somewhere else. At least you got to live when so many others didn’t.”
I might not flinch at his anger anymore, but this rhetoric was repeated so often to me growing up that I can’t prevent the stab of guilt. He’s right. I should be grateful to be home. I should be strong and unshakeable like I was taught. I definitely shouldn’t be brought to my knees in the shower by flashbacks. My father and I hold each other’s gaze for long moments, neither one of us willing to lose the staring contest.
Vanessa clears her throat. “Um…Lula. Are you all set for camping tomorrow?”
That question splits my focus right down the middle. “Camping?” I practically shout at my stepsister. “Where? With who?”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly thrown by my reaction. “I’m going with two of my girlfriends, Santana and Jess. We’re heading up to Prairie Creek for the night.”
I’m genuinely doing my best not to spiral into a panic attack at the table. Mainly because it wouldn’t be a good look in front of our parents if they knew I’m already protective as hell over the stepsister I only met this afternoon. Doesn’t she know how many accidents can happen in the wilderness? She could misstep and fall from a cliff. She could be attacked by wildlife. Hit her head and fall into a body of water. The list goes on and on. Are they out of their fucking minds letting this young girl take off alone like this?
