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“Because you’re…you’rehere,” I grunt out. “You’re in my face and in my space and I hate it.”

“Good.” Her glare ramps up a notch. Any peek of a smile she once offered when commenting on the scenery is obliterated. Her eyes are dark, like two black periods in the middle of a white page. “I’m glad you hate me because the feeling is mutual.”

We’re close to an edge, one we’ve danced around since her arrival, and I have two choices: to retreat or to dive in feet first.

I’ve always been the type to dive in.

“You have to feel something for someone in order to hate them. Which is why I hate your mother.” I step closer, right in her personal space. Her chest rises and falls, practically brushing against mine. “With you? There’s nothing. I said I hate you but I was wrong.”

This time, Gilli swings at me. I catch her fist in mine, my fingers wrapping around her much smaller fist. She grits her teeth, sneering, before she letsthe other arm fly.

I swallow over a grin and turn her around, using her momentum to my advantage, and pull her toward me.

Wrapping my arms around her torso, I squeeze gently. A reminder to her that I’ve got her in a compromising position. Shame washes over me, practically knocking the wind out of me.

What the fuck am I doing?

I should let her go.

My reaction time is slow, though. Especially when she grinds her heel down on the top of my foot. The soft sneakers I’m wearing donothingto protect me, and a flash of pain zips up my leg

I release her with a yelp, and she shifts to face me again. Lifting her leg like she’s going to kick me in the fucking nuts. I manage to catch her foot between my knees at the last instant.

“It shouldn’t bother you so much,” she seethes, bouncing on her other foot to keep her balance. “Whydo I bother you?”

“It’s not really you,” I admit. Surprising myself.

She looks up at me and blinks, her eyes so big behind her glasses. She’s like me, I realize. She wants a home. She wants a place where she can relax the tension in her muscles and enjoy every single moment.

I release her foot and anticipate her next hit. My body warms. I can already see how she’ll move, stepping forward into me and lifting her hand to rake those nails across my face.

A glance down shows her fingers already curling.

“You shithead!”

I duck to avoid her attack and twist on the way back up. Unfortunately, Gilli moves at the exact same time. We’re reaching for each other, grabbing, but rather than go for her hands I grip her face. The softness of her skin against my rough palms makes me want to slide my fingers higherand thread them through her hair. To tighten my hold and keep her there.

Her chest meets mine and Gilli goes still.

“It’s not you,” I repeat, my voice husky.

She shuts her eyes, her back arching slightly and her breath catching. When she opens them again, I’m the one who isn’t breathing.

Her chest is hardly moving. “Then what is it?” she whispers. “Whois it? Her?”

I skim my hands over her cheeks, her jaw, along her temples. Unable to stop myself. I’m crowding her and I know it, even as I can’t stop drawing in the scent of her. Heat melds us together and the rest of me comes alive.

“I don’t know…”

Neither of us makes a move. We only stare at each other, with me touching her like I’m going to do something.

Iwantto do something.

I want to kiss her. I want to taste her lips and absorb every molecule of heat from her loaded stare.

Shit, I want her.

My stepsister. I’m not supposed to want those things.