Page 27 of Jealous Stepbrother (Jealous & Possessive #4)

SHADOW GAMES

Asher

I am here. Where she is.

I’ve been here since dawn, a shadow moving through Florence like a man possessed.

My flight was a blur, the hours between her leaving and my arrival stretched into a living nightmare.

And now I stand across the street, watching her emerge from Casa Bellandi .

My lips curl at the thought of all those people surrounding my girl, breathing her air, soaking her talent.

She’s too good for this mediocre place.

They’ll never be able to harness her gifts, stretch her the way I can.

I inhale shakily, fully, for the first time in days as my eyes devour her.

She’s glowing, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with something I haven’t seen in weeks.

Hope. Independence. The kind of light I’ve always wanted for her—and the kind I can’t fucking bear if it doesn’t burn for me.

Jealousy writhes like a living thing inside my chest. Not of a guy this time or even those gifted with her precious presence and time. But of a city, of a dream, of a life that doesn’t include me.

I press my fists into my pockets, nails carving into my palms.

My jaw aches from grinding my teeth. I’ve fucked up, hurt her, stolen things from her I should never have touched.

But God help me, I can’t let her slip away.

She pauses at a café window and peers in, sunlight spilling over her hair like liquid gold. She smiles faintly at her reflection, then tucks a strand behind her ear, the way she does when she’s nervous.

I want to storm across the street.

Drag her into my arms. Beg. Demand. Fall to my knees. But instead, I stay rooted, chest heaving, watching.

Because I need to see how much I’ve broken her.

I need to see what I’ve done.

So I can put the pieces back together better this time, even if it’s the last thing I do.

Scarlett

I’ve just stepped back from the café window, debating whether to go in, when the man about my age waves me in from the inside.

I smile and start to shake my head.

He gestures, a very Latin, very exaggerated romcom–pleading style that almost makes me laugh.

I shake my head again, and I’m about to step back when I hear it.

It’s thunder cracking open the Tuscan sky.

“Scarlett!”

My spine goes rigid. My stomach bottoms out.

No. It can’t be.

It is . Because of course.

He’s striding across the cobblestones, weaving between Vespas and pedestrians who scowl at his audacity.

Asher doesn’t notice or care.

His eyes are locked on me, ice–blue fire that makes my blood race, my throat dry, and my heart leap with the kind of elation that belongs in Jane Austen books.

“Asher—”

“You think you can disappear on me? You think you can run halfway across the world, flirt with fucking Italian waiters, and I won’t find you?” His voice booms, echoing off the stone walls, drawing curious stares and whispered Italian around us. “Not a fucking chance, Scarlett.”

I freeze, heat rising to my cheeks as people pause, phones half-raised, a spectacle in the making. “Lower your voice?—”

“Don’t tell me to lower my voice!” He’s in front of me now, so close I can smell the jet lag and desperation and glorious sexiness on his skin.

His hands twitch at his sides like it’s killing him not to grab me.

“You don’t vanish. You don’t board a plane and shut me out.

You don’t delete me from your life like I’m nothing. ”

I’m trembling, torn between outrage and the ache in my chest at seeing him here, furious and unhinged. “I needed space?—”

“Fuck space.” His laugh is ragged, dangerous, almost unhinged. “I told myself I would bide my time, be the contrite lover.” He inhales noisily through his nose. “Then I see you fucking smiling at another guy?”

He leans in closer. “Tell me what you think that does to me, Scarlett?” he breathes, his whole body vibrating, his fists clenched tight next to his thighs.

I shake my head. Overwhelmed and overawed and over- everything that he’s here. In front of me.

Throwing his weight and his jealousy and his ferocity about like only my stepbrother, my lover, my Asher can.

Making a mockery of every feminist, taking-back-my-power speech I’ve driven into myself the last forty-eight hours.

“No? Let me tell you then. It confirms that I don’t do fucking space. I don’t do half-measures. And you—” he jabs his finger against his chest, voice raw “—you happened to me. And now you’re mine, and I’m never letting you walk away. Not from me. Not from us.”

The café door creaks as someone slips out, murmuring, eyes wide. My heart thunders. He’s laid us bare in front of strangers, tearing the lid off everything society claims we should leave buried.

“Asher…” My voice splinters, because half of me wants to scream at him to leave, and the other half wants to collapse into his arms right here in the middle of the cobblestoned piazza .

His jaw flexes, and then his hands snap around my face, yanking me to my tiptoes, pulling me into a kiss that steals the ground from beneath my feet.

Applause breaks out somewhere behind us, whistles and laughter mixing with gasps.

I shove at his chest, humiliated, shaken, desperately needy, but he only grips me tighter, mouth moving fiercely against mine like he can brand his claim onto my soul in front of all of Florence.

When he finally rears back, his forehead rests against mine, his breathing ragged. “You can hate me. You can fight me. But you’re not leaving me, Scarlett. Not in Florence. Not in this fucking universe. Not ever.”

His charged words only intensify the excited chatter around us.

More phone cameras angle toward us.

“Asher, stop!” I wrench out of his grip just enough to push the café door open, darting inside before the weight of the entire piazza crushes me. The tiny bell above the door jingles like mockery to my roller coaster emotions.

It’s quieter inside, but not by much.

Necks crane over cappuccinos and laptops, eyes tracking me, then him as he storms in after me, too big, too commanding for the cozy little space.

Asher doesn’t hesitate.

He follows me, his monster strides eating up the floor until he’s looming over me again, all fury and raw desperation.

“Scarlett,” he growls, low enough for only me but still sharp enough that the barista freezes mid–espresso pull. “You can run into a hole in the ground and I’ll still find you. Don’t ever fucking doubt that.”

My chest heaves. I clutch my bag to me like a shield. “You’ve lost your mind. Do you hear yourself? Do you see the scene you’re making?”

His laugh is jagged. “Oh, I see it. Let them watch. Let them whisper. They should know exactly who you belong to.”

The barista clears his throat nervously. “ Signore, prego —maybe sit?—”

“No, we’re not staying,” I snap, then flash him an apologetic look before turning back to Asher, cheeks burning. “You don’t own me. You don’t get to track me across the world like some—some tyrant.”

His hand clamps around the edge of my table, knuckles whitening.

“Don’t I? I tracked you because I love you, Scarlett.

Because you’re the only thing in my life that isn’t negotiable.

And you know what terrifies me? That you’d rather believe I’m some monster than accept that truth.

Lie to my face and tell me you’ve been happy with your fucking space these past two days? ”

My throat closes because I can’t.

Half the café is pretending to scroll phones, the other half is openly staring, greedy for more. My stomach churns with humiliation, but under it, treacherously, is the molten ache I can never quite erase when he says love.

“You’re smothering me,” I whisper, half-hearted, because it’s all I can get out. But even my heart mocks my poor excuse. Because the truth is, I want Asher to smother me. I want… need every heavy, overwhelming, feral, and unhinged emotion he chooses to shower me with.

It’s the only thing that makes me feel seen. Cherished.

Loved.

My breath catches as what he said finally pings harder into my brain.

Wait. Did he say ? —?

He crouches, suddenly on eye level, his face so close it’s dizzying. “I’m sorry, but no, baby girl. I’m not going to stop. I’m keeping you. Because I can’t breathe without you. And maybe that makes me insane, but I’d rather be insane with you than sane without you.”

A chair scrapes and a woman in sunglasses mutters Dio mio as she stands, exiting.

The whole place is vibrating with the weight of his words, my silence, and our combustible collision.

I want to scream and to cry and kiss him until neither of us remembers how to exist. “Asher…” My voice breaks.

His hand brushes mine, the briefest touch. “Come home with me. Now. Or I swear to God, Scarlett, I’ll tear this city apart until you do. You can punish me whichever way you choose, except with distance. That… baby, that would kill me. Please.”

Everything inside me trembles.

But it also shakes loose the last crumb of common sense. Or maybe it’s the ingrained edict to be proper, to bow to what society wants from us. But… should I really risk my happiness for their rules? Haven’t we already crossed every line that purportedly matters?

“You don’t get it.” My voice cracks as I shove at his chest. “This isn’t only about what you want. What about what I want?”

His jaw flexes, eyes glittering dark and wild, but then he exhales, something raw breaking loose inside him. “Is that so bad,” he rasps, voice shaking for the first time, “when all I want is to love you, Scarlett? Every second of every day for the rest of my life?”

The café goes still, like the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Cups hang midway to mouths. The barista’s hand freezes over the steam wand.

Everyone is listening, and he doesn’t care.