Page 3 of Jealous Stepbrother (Jealous & Possessive #4)

MINE BEFORE SHE KNEW IT

Asher

I warned her.

Four years ago, I told her to stop pushing me.

She didn’t listen.

And now here we are, exactly where I knew we’d end up.

Back then, I thought I was giving her a choice. I realize now there was never a choice for either of us.

She’s standing in my office again, chin lifted, eyes stubborn, that scarlet mouth that still makes me want to destroy something—starting with the guy who spent a good ten fucking minutes staring at my girl at the coffee shop, while she remained entirely oblivious.

She thinks she’s here on her own terms. She isn’t.

I made sure of that.

I suck in another slow breath, tongue the inside of my cheek where the tiniest sting remains after that slap that sent electricity straight to my balls.

Jesus. It’s fucking good to have her back within touching distance.

Breathing distance.

The last four years have been a study in restraint. And failure.

I told myself I could forget her if I kept busy. Build the brand. Expand into Europe. Focus on the work. Tried—and failed—to fuck women who weren’t her.

That lasted about a month, with my sexual appetite shriveling to nothing every time I tried a hook-up, until I was forced to give up before I humiliated myself with a limp dick that only seemed to work at the smallest thought of my sexy stepsister.

Then I saw her a year later. Not in person—at first—but in some grainy student profile photo attached to an article about an emerging design competition. Scarlett Rockwell, sophomore. Not in the business program anymore.

Design.

I remember the jolt in my chest. At first, I was pissed, because… yeah, what was new, right? She was supposed to stay in her safe little lane. Business school would have kept her at arm’s length from me, from my world, and firmly in my father’s clutches as he’d hoped after my disappointing him.

But then…

Then I saw her sketches. Raw, unpolished, but there was something undeniably magic there. A style I recognized and a voice that was entirely her own. It was like looking at a reflection that took a moment to click that it belonged to me.

And I knew.

She’d changed her life. And some part of that—no, all of that—was because of me.

I’ve never admitted it to anyone, but that was the moment I decided she was mine. Not just in the way I’d wanted her at nineteen when she was forbidden skin, lips, and heat. Now I was obsessed. I wanted her talent, her mind, her hands working for me. For my vision. My name.

Mine. Inside and out.

Outside my bed and deep within it.

And maybe, if I’m being honest, because it gave me a fucking good kick.

For once, I’d won against my old man. He’s still clinging to the delusion that I’ll come crawling back to run his empire, still pissing on every corner of my independence every chance he gets.

And Annette—ever the diplomat—keeps trying to smooth things over like the cracks aren’t already fault lines.

But Scarlett? She’s a fault line I want to split wide open, explore every crevice, excavate every last treasure in this lifetime and the next.

When I saw her name on the internship shortlist, I didn’t think. I acted. Quiet calls and quiet pressure. Quiet promises to the right people, and yup, a few weighty threats to the wrong ones.

Because no one was going to get her before I did.

And when I say get her, I mean all of her.

The talent and the attitude and the body I still remember in far too many flashes in the witching hours when she destroys any hint of sleep or peace. I see pieces—the arch of her back, a supple curve of her thigh, the exact sound she made when I?—

No. I can’t relive that. Not yet. Not here.

Truth is, she came back faster than I expected. When she stormed out in a blaze of fury, heels snapping against the marble like she thought she could walk away from me a second time, I thought she’d hightail it home to the Upper East Side, pout for a day at least.

Stunned the fuck out of me when my spies told me she was on her way back to me.

And now she’s here.

I force myself to concentrate, to take it one step at a time, and not grab and devour the way I want to.

“I need this internship,” she repeats, and there’s that tremor in her voice she tries to hide. The one that tells me she’s already halfway to where I want her.

I maintain my expert poker face and the thick, primitive roar building in my chest.

Her lipstick is softer than I remember from her nineteenth birthday, but it’s still the kind that makes me want to smear it, get my favorite scarlet delight beneath.

“I know, you already said that. And I believe I told you you can have it. Are you ready to hear that condition now?”

She freezes. The stubborn set of her jaw is almost enough to distract me from the way her chest rises just a fraction faster.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says. “If I stay, it’s on my terms. Not yours.”

I chuckle, low and unhurried. “There’s the door, sweetheart.

You’ve walked through it once today. Feel free to use it again.

I quite enjoyed the view last time. That sweet little ass bounce when you’re stomping away in those heels…

” I trail off, letting my eyes drift briefly over her—deliberately—before returning to her face. “I wouldn’t mind a repeat of it.”

Her nostrils flare. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Who’s going to stop me, sweetheart?” I ask softly, almost bored.

Her lips press together, and for a second, I think she might bolt. Instead, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, arms crossing tightly over her chest. “You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe.” I turn away from her, returning to the conference table where I flip open the leather-bound portfolio she left on the edge of my desk.

Her work spreads out before me in sharp lines and unexpected curves—designs with more bite than anything I’ve seen from someone at her stage. My fingers trace one sketch without touching the paper.

I watch her from the corner of my eye.

She’s tense, but there’s heat there too. A silent dare in the way she stands her ground. Curiosity also. And a hunger, professional not carnal, although I know that’s lurking just beneath her surface. My baby stepsister is a feisty brat with her lust.

And heaven help me but I can’t wait to stoke that fire.

“You’ve been busy,” I murmur, pretending to study a page while really studying her. “These are far better than I expected.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval,” she says heatedly, but I see her squirm, restrain herself from coming closer.

I smirk without looking up. “No. You came here for it anyway.”

Her breath hitches, barely audible. She looks away first. Good. She’s still learning.

I want to close the distance, to back her up against the glass until she admits she’s mine, but that would be too easy. I’ve waited four years. I can wait a little longer.

“Stay and I’ll hone your talent until it’s sharper than anything this city’s ever seen. Sharp enough to cut them, and sharp enough to cut me if you dare.”

She chews on her inner bottom lip, a mulling tic she hasn’t outgrown. One she has no idea throws up a picture of her sucking on a piece of candy. Or my finger. Or my?—

“Fine,” she says finally. “I’ll stay. But I’m not agreeing to anything else until we discuss exactly what I want from this.”

There it is, what she believes is her olive branch. I almost laugh. My little princess believes she has some sort of leverage here. She doesn’t. Not yet. But letting her believe she does gives me a foothold.

“Fair enough,” I say slowly, snapping the portfolio shut. “We’ll discuss it.” I let the pause stretch, revel in her breathless wariness, then add, “First step, you move out of that shitty studio in Queens,” I say with deliberate distaste.

Her brows lift. She blinks once, like she’s not sure she heard me right. Then that chin tilts, defiance flashing in her eyes. “That’s not happening. And also… why?”

It’s adorable that she looks genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s a dump,” I say flatly. “Because your landlord’s a crook, your locks are older than you are, and I know half the neighbors have police records longer than my arm.

And because the last time I drove past, I counted three guys on your block who’d sell you for parts if they thought they could get away with it.

” I step toward her, just close enough to feel her breath.

“You move out of that place, and in with me. Today.”

This time her breath catches. “Again, why? And how do you know all of that about my living situation?”

I let the question hang, watching the way her fingers tighten on the strap of her bag.

“Because I make it my business to know,” I say, voice low.

“Where you sleep. Who you talk to. What streets you walk at night and what time you turn your lights off. I’ve known every address you’ve lived at since the day you left college, Scarlett.

And every man who’s looked at you twice.

It’s called staying informed.” My mouth curves, slow and unapologetic.

“It’s also called making sure no one touches what’s mine. ”

I’m close enough to see the pulse race faster at her throat. I clench my fingers to stop from tracing over it, feel her life force beneath my touch. Fuck, it’s been so long. But I want no interruptions when I reclaim what’s mine.

So I wait, while she inhales, her eyes darting all over the place before returning to mine. She attempts affront and heat, but all that emerges is a gust of sexy breathlessness when she says, “I’m not yours, Asher.”

I smile, slow. She’s so fucking predictable. “You are. You just don’t realize it yet.”

Her arms fold again, tighter this time. “I’m not your pet you can just… relocate.”

“Pet?” I let the word roll in my mouth, then step closer until her back brushes the edge of my conference table. “Pets don’t have portfolios like yours. Pets don’t have an entire career in their hands that I can build or break before breakfast.”

Her lips press into a line. That’s the first crack, the one where she’s not sure if I’m bluffing.

I’m not. And with a thick swallow, she realizes that. Accepts it.

“I like my apartment.”

I know it’s a lie because her pupils flicker left when she says it. She hates the noise, the smell, the paper-thin walls. She hates the shadows in the hallway and the way her lock sticks.

I lean a fraction closer, lowering my voice. “You should never have been there in the first place. I’m not sure what your mom was thinking.”

Her lips purse. “I’m a grown woman, Asher.”

I smile again, let my gaze wander slowly, excruciatingly over her.

God, her tits are the right size for my hands.

I remember the shape of them better than the sum of money in my bank account.

“Sure, you are. But you’re also mine. And I keep what’s mine safe.

And since it looks like I have to spell it out, this is where I say that’s non-negotiable. ”

Everything I plan to do with her… to her is non-negotiable, but she doesn’t need to know that. Yet. Or… ever.

There’s a flinch. Barely there, but I catch it.

She shifts her weight, breaking eye contact just long enough for me to see the pulse flutter in her throat. “You’re reading into things,” she mutters.

“I’m reading you,” I correct. “And I’ve gotten very good at it.”

She exhales hard, trying to summon that fire again. “Even if I did move in, it wouldn’t mean?—”

“Anything?” I interrupt, smiling. “Sure. Let’s pretend it wouldn’t mean anything. You’ll have your own space. The guest penthouse is soundproofed. Separate entrance, separate kitchen. No one will bother you.” Lies. I plan on bothering her.

A fucking lot . Pun very much intended.

Her eyes narrow. “And you just want me there for… safety?”

“Safety. Convenience. Control.” I don’t bother sugarcoating it. “It’s easier for me to watch you from across the balcony than across the city.”

She shakes her head, but her shoulders dip, the fight bleeding out a little. She’s weighing it, and she knows the smart move is to take what I’m offering.

“Scarlett,” I say softly, “you came back because you had no choice. The sooner you stop pretending otherwise, the easier this gets.”

She looks at me for a long time, searching for something, maybe a weakness, maybe proof I’m bluffing.

She won’t find either.

She doesn’t answer right away. I can see the war playing out behind her eyes—pride against practicality, stubbornness against self-preservation.

Then, finally, she exhales through her nose. “Fine. I’ll move in. Temporarily. Just until the internship’s over.”

I keep my expression neutral, but inside, it’s a hit of adrenaline. She can call it temporary. She can call it whatever she wants. She won’t be leaving.

“Today,” I remind her.

Her gaze flicks to the side. “I have things to pack.”

“I’ll send someone to take care of it. Your landlord is already on notice. Your things will be home by the time we get there.”

That gets me another glare, which I take as a victory. Every glare is proof she’s still here, still reacting, still mine to wind tighter.

I let the moment stretch, then tilt my head slightly, as if something just occurred to me. “One last thing.”

Her eyes narrow. “What?”

“Get over here and kiss me.”

Her breath emerges shakily. “Why would I?—?”

“It’s been four years since we’ve seen each other, sweetheart. As a kink, a slap is a great start, but I’d like something less…” I let my gaze drop to her delicious mouth, “…violent.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “No… this is insane. You can’t…”

I smile, slow and deliberate. “We already have. Remember?”

I watch the bright blush race across her cheeks. Watch her flick the tip of that tongue I want to suck on for an hour straight, over her bottom lip. “I… I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Fuck the talking then, baby. How about a proper kiss hello for your brother, hmm?”