IT HURT TO LOOK at him.
He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. And the most infuriating. And he’d fixed my car like it was nothing, even after I’d yelled at him.
I’d worked my ass off since high school to not end up like Phoebe or my mother. I never wanted to need a man. Men left. Maybe Ted was different. He’d stuck around for a few years now, but he clearly didn’t stick around for his own kids. I swore I would never end up like my mother, a single mom desperately trying to make ends meet. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to be like Phoebe, clinging to any man who had money.
Adding to the string of stupid questions I seemed unable to stop asking him, I threw out another. “What do you want from me?”
His blue eyes holding me captive in his stare, he answered simply. “Time.”
He wanted more. His comment in the diner said as much. The cruel irony was not lost on me. The only man who’d ever looked at me like other men look at my sister was the one man I couldn’t have. I didn’t care what he’d said. He was technically right. We were of no relation. But he was still my stepbrother, and I’d seen the looks on Mom’s and Ted’s faces when Phoebe had called him my boyfriend. How would I ever explain to Mom or Ted that we were attracted to each other? Or to anyone else? Phoebe would have a field day with this, but everyone else would judge us.
I pulled away from his grasp and glanced in the back seat where Ethan had fallen asleep. “I need to get him home.” I gestured toward my piece of shit car. “Are you all done?”
“Almost.”
It was all the warning I got.
His lips landed on mine, and I gasped in shock.
His tongue sank into my mouth.
A whoosh of heat and need and blinding desire rushed through my body so fast and so hard, I lost my balance.
Huge arms caught me, wrapping around my back.
Dominant like his every move, his tongue swept through my mouth as his hand grasped at my hair. It wasn’t like he was just kissing me, it was as if he were claiming ownership.
I’d never been kissed like this.
I’d never been held like this.
And I’d never, ever, felt the heat in my veins, or the aching, consuming, painful tightening between my legs that had me one breath away from begging for more. But just as fast as the lust consumed me, reality hit equally as hard.
This was my stepbrother. This was a man who lived in the woods alone. This was a man who thought women were possessions. And he was kissing me in public like it wasn’t the scandal of all scandals.
I shoved at his chest, hard.
His hand still wrapped tight in my hair, he pulled his lips back, but not because me pushing him away had any impact on the solid wall of muscle that was his chest. Fighting temptation, I also fought for composure, but stupid words came out of my mouth anyway.
“It’s broad daylight.” I’d intended to be accusing, but breathless, my tone had no bite.
His huge hand cupped the back of my head with dominance, but his brow creased in confusion. “You are ashamed?”
“Yes…. No. I don’t know,” I stammered, my traitorous heart at war with my conscience. “I should be. And you should be too.” But all I could think about was his kiss, and his arms around me, and the rich, clean scent of him that was so much stronger as he held me. Every second longer I stood in his embrace, I never wanted him to let me go.
His lips wet from our kiss, he looked down at me with all the dominance of a man so alpha, he answered to no one. “I feel no such thing.”
“You act as if this is…” Desperately trying to hold on to all the reasons why this was wrong, I struggled for the right word for having your stepbrother give you the best kiss of your life, but came up empty. “As if this isn’t wrong.” He had to know how this would look to anyone other than us.
“It is not wrong.” His intense gaze penetrating to my soul, he lowered his voice. “And you are beautiful.”
Oh God. “Just please, stop.” I pulled away, and he let me go.
“I cannot tell you that you are beautiful?”
Hearing him say that word, calling me it, it did things to me. But I was under no illusion what I was. “Phoebe, my sister, she’s beautiful. I’m….” I waved my hand awkwardly past my hips. “I’m not.” An uncomfortable laugh that was more snort than anything else escaped. “You picked the wrong sister.”
His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched. “No, I did not.”
“Right, okay.” Heat hitting my cheeks, I reached for my door. “I have to go. Thank you for fixing my car.” And for giving me the best kiss in the history of kisses and for ruining me for any other man, ever. My stupid knees still knocking from his touch, I stumbled as I turned to get behind the wheel.
Lightning fast, his hand shot out and caught my upper arm. “You are upset. You should not be driving.”
My mouth got the best of me. “You shouldn’t be kissing your stepsister.”
Glacier blue eyes stared at me, then he dropped his hand, but he didn’t say anything.
Swallowing hard, I felt even worse. Guilty for saying it, guilty for making him feel bad, and just plain shitty for ruining what was the single best moment of my life. “Okay.” Already fighting tears, I turned the key, and when the engine immediately caught, I wanted to break down. “Thanks again. See you around.” I tried to pull my door closed.
He caught it midswing and squatted at my open door. “You look like you are about to cry.”
“I’m not.” I was.
He reached out and his huge hand grasped the side of my face. “I did not mean to make you upset.”
Oh God, I was a terrible person. “I know.”
His thumb stroked my cheek. “I want to show you something.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “Is this the part where I say, I bet you do?”
“You are curious,” he stated, ignoring my bad attempt at a joke.
I was curious about a lot of things, like what he looked like shirtless. But that didn’t mean I was going to rip his clothes off in the middle of a diner parking lot during morning rush hour. “Most people are curious.” About a lot of things.
“You are not most people.”
Still embarrassed about ruining the kiss, about saying what I did to him, about everything, my mouth went for a walk. “Do men get issued a manual of compliments? Here, throw these key phrases at women and they’ll be lying at your feet.” I pulled away from his grasp.
He frowned. “I do not want you lying at my feet.”
Jesus, he was even sexy when he was frowning. “Lying at your feet, putty in your hands, melting at your touch, desperate for your attention—it’s all the same sentiment. I’m not beautiful, and I am like millions of other women.” Except millions of women hadn’t just kissed a gorgeous muscled god of a man who was their stepbrother. “Now I have to go. I still have a job, at least for today, and this little boy needs a proper nap.”
“Do not ever say you are not beautiful,” he retorted sharply.
I gripped the top of the steering wheel. “Callan—”
“I have no desire to compare you to other women.”
My forehead hit my hands. “Do you ever say the wrong thing?” Besides telling me he wanted to take care of me, which wasn’t even wrong, it was just him being honest.
“You did not undress me with your eyes,” he abruptly stated.
My head popped up and I looked at him in surprise. “What?”
“When you first met me,” he clarified. “You did not look at me as a potential mate.”
Was he serious? “Um, I hate to break it to you, but every woman looks at a man like you as potential husband material.”
“You object to me saying I want to care for you, yet you say every woman wants a mate?”
Jeez. “I said potential mate, or husband material, but I was merely referring to the way you look.” He had to know how handsome he was.
He let the comment slide about his looks. “You were curious. You still are. I see it in your eyes.”
Of course I was curious about what he wanted to show me. He’d kissed me so completely, so sensuously, I’d felt it in my entire body. He was intriguing and incredibly smart in a way I’d never met in another person, and the look in his eyes alone told me he was holding back a world of shit. And he’d fixed my car. And made Ethan stop crying. And oh my God, why did I want to see what he’d look like holding Ethan so badly?
“Is that a question? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.” Besides admit that my lips were still tingling?
He softened his tone. “What time are you done with the child?”
His strange manner of speech no longer sounded strange coming from him. It somehow fit, like all of those hard muscles covering his entire body. “Why?”
He stood, straightening his long, muscled legs. “I am picking you up.”
I should’ve said no. I should’ve driven away. I should’ve done a lot of things, like not let him kiss me in the first place, but I did none of it. Instead, with utter lack of self-preservation, I dug myself deeper. “I get off at six.”
He nodded once. “I will be at your apartment.” He shut my door and, without a backward glance, strode to his truck with his tools.