Page 5 of Jealous Stepbrother (Jealous & Possessive #4)

MEMORY LANE SUCKS…RIGHT?

Scarlett

I ’m caught in that strange place between sleep and wakefulness, heavy-limbed and restless.

The sheets are twisted around my legs and my hair is stuck to my cheek.

I barely slept, too wired from my plans being derailed spectacularly, too wound up from Asher’s touch, his words, the way his mouth felt against mine.

The promises hanging thick and oh so illicitly in the air.

Every time I closed my eyes, last night looped in my head. Every time I tried to shove it away, that other night—four years ago—slipped in. The taste of him. The feel of his hands where they had no business being. The reckless, breathless moment right before it all went too far.

Before we crossed that forbidden line.

Now I’m squirming, exhausted, hornier than I’ve ever been in my life, pressing my thighs together like that’ll quiet the ache throbbing low and urgent in my belly.

A small, involuntary moan rumbles free before I can stop it, and I bite my lip.

God, what is wrong with me?

I glance down, see my pebbled nipples pushing against my sleep tank. Almost mesmerized, I drag a nail across one peak, then almost jackknife at the wild electricity that streaks from nipple to pussy.

A gasp is followed by another moan when I repeat the act.

“You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood with that moaning,” a deep voice drawls. “And then I’m going to have to break a few bones.”

I bolt upright.

He’s leaning in the open doorway to the balcony—a doorway I was way too distracted to hear him ease open—the morning light pouring in around him. Barefoot, hair mussed, wearing gray sweatpants slung low on his hips like he rolled straight out of bed.

“Asher! What the hell?—”

“Payback’s a beautiful bitch, isn’t she?” he says lazily, sauntering in. “Or in this case, a handsome brother. You walked into my bedroom uninvited four years ago. Consider the balance restored.”

My mouth goes dry. “I knocked. And I don’t even know why you’re still so pissed?—”

He stops at the foot of the bed, eyes narrowing. “Don’t play dumb, Scarlett.”

“I’m not?—”

“Oh no?” he asks ominously. His nostrils flare, and the next second he climbs onto the bed, all unhurried menace, until he’s stretched out beside me, one arm braced above my head.

The warmth of him seeps through the sheet like a taunt. His scent—clean skin, faint cedar, and something darker—floods my senses.

I make the mistake of meeting his eyes, and the air between us sharpens.

We’re leaning in before I even register moving, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

“You sure about that? Think carefully before you insult me by saying you don’t remember every fucking second of what happened that night, Scarlett,” he breathes.

“Okay, yes, fine. I remember.”

“Good girl.”

Those two words send fresh zings through my body. I want to reach for the sheet, pull it up over my traitorous body, but I can’t move beneath the sheer hypnotic captivity of his icy-blue eyes.

Not even when those eyes drop to the twin peaks of my aroused nipples. Not even when his nostrils flare and his lips part and?—

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I flinch back and grab it, at once grateful for and intensely irritated at the interruption.

It’s my mom.

Been calling you, honey. I want to hear about your first day. And don’t forget, Montauk next weekend!

“Text her back,” Asher says, still too close, his coffee-and-mint breath washing over my cheek as his ferocious gaze moves from the screen to my face. “Tell her you won’t make it this year.”

I blink. “And why won’t I?”

His mouth curves, dangerous and deliberate.

“Have you forgotten already, princess? I own you. And my plans for the summer don’t include letting you run off to Montauk.

” He swings off the bed like the conversation’s over.

“Breakfast is ready. We leave in half an hour. Be late and I’ll leave without you. ”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me staring at my phone, pulse still tripping.

Breakfast was…tense.

Tense and silent .

I sat across from Asher at the long marble island, picking at a croissant while he scrolled through his phone, every flick of his thumb an exercise in self-control.

His jaw worked once, twice, like he was chewing on words he had no intention of sharing. After casting me a frowning look when he realized I wasn’t going to eat more than two bites of the croissant, he’d jerked his head at the door.

Outside, when the town car pulled up, he didn’t so much as glance at me before sliding in.

Now, thirty minutes later, we’re walking into the top floor of House of M, bypassing the conference room where the scene of my capitulation happened.

The main studio is nothing like I pictured.

It’s less sterile fashion house, more organized chaos.

Bolts of fabric spill across work tables, sketches paper the walls, and racks of half-completed garments stand like strange metal forests in the open space.

Six people turn at once at the sound of Asher’s commanding footsteps.

“This is my core team, those I let close enough to touch my work,” he says, the words clipped, like the air between us hasn’t thawed one degree since breakfast, and at this point, I’m not even sure what he’s so furious about. “Zeke, Oscar, Kai, Damian. Morgan, and Talia. Everyone meet Scarlett.”

There’s a shuffle of nods and hellos.

Zeke, tall, wiry, dark blond hair pulled into a man-bun, offers a quick smile.

Oscar, inked from neck to knuckles, lifts his chin. Morgan, petite and sharp-eyed, gives me a warm, knowing nod, and Talia, with her striking sheet of platinum-silk hair, offers a polite smile.

Kai’s grin is lazy and dangerously charming, and Damian’s handshake is warm but brief.

I barely have time to process it all before I feel it—the glances.

They’re subtle but curious.

Well, more than curious in a couple of cases.

My skin prickles.

“So you’re our new intern?” Kai asks, his eyes lingering on my face. I catch more interested gazes.

Asher notices too. I know because his posture changes like a flipped switch. His shoulders square, his jaw cutting sharper, and his hand flexes at his side like he’s holding himself back.

“Right, clear the room, everyone,” he says abruptly.

Morgan blinks. “But…we just started the?—”

“I said, get the fuck out .”

A thick pulse of silence, then pencils and scissors drop and feet shuffle. But just before Talia reaches for the door, Asher’s hand shoots up.

And then his voice drops, ice-edged and lethal.

“Let me make one thing clear. I catch any of you looking at Scarlett in any way other than professionally, you get fired. You don’t invite her into your office studio alone.

You don’t ask her to go for coffee or drinks or fucking dinner parties unless I’m present and have approved it. Is that understood?”

A chorus of “Yes, Asher” rolls back.

My eyes drop to the floor in mortification, heat rushing into my cheeks.

“You have your own assistants,” he adds, his voice still like a whip.

“Scarlett works only for me. She answers only to me. She doesn’t get pulled into your projects or your brainstorms, she doesn’t get borrowed for fittings, and she damn sure doesn’t get treated like she’s part of your social calendar.

You so much as think otherwise, you’re gone. ”

A thick, awkward silence settles.

“You’re dismissed,” he says finally. “Go work from your own studios.”

Chairs scrape. Footsteps scatter.

The second we’re alone I turn to him, my pulse still skittering. “How…what—” I stop, because a tiny scream is threatening to claw its way out of my throat. I take several deep breaths, but the deranged, mocking glint in his eyes makes it worse.

He raises one eyebrow, waiting.

“You can’t do that!” I finally screech.

His head tilts, his brow knitting like I’m the one who’s lost my mind.

“You keep saying things like that to me. Two problems, sweetheart. First, I’m your boss, which gives me the right to do whatever I want and makes you at risk of insubordination.

Second, I’m also your brother, which gives me a helluva lot more of those rights. ”

“Stepbrother,” I bite out. “And you can’t tell them not to look at me. That’s insane.”

His teeth flash in something feral. “You’re a design intern. First lesson you should know by heart by now. Details matter. Did I say they couldn’t look at you?”

I glare. “You basically threatened to rip their eyes out if they did.”

“No, princess. I said they couldn’t look at you in any way but professionally .”

“That’s still—” I sputter, “—insane. They weren’t even…” My words fade away when his smile fades abruptly.

“You think I didn’t see Zeke checking out your ass the second you turned around after shaking his hand? Or Oscar grinning like a Cheshire fucking cat when you complimented his tattoos, then staring at your tits while you were still talking?”

My mouth drops open. “They…didn’t.”

His nostrils flare. “They did. Even fucking Morgan, who has a wife and two kids at home, looked at your damn mouth like she wants to test how soft it is.”

I shiver under the force of his icy fury. And under the force of something else. Something primitive and carnal and… Jesus, does his display of manic jealousy actually turn me on?

Before I can argue, or think up something to counteract everything insane thing I’m feeling, he moves—fast.

One second I’m standing by the drafting table, the next his hands are on my waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing and pinning me against the cool plaster of the office wall.

His body cages mine, solid heat pressing in from every angle.

“You know,” I mutter, my voice sharper than I intend, “Zeke’s smile was…nice. Maybe I should work with him instead. He seemed…easier to deal with.”

His eyes flare like I’ve just set fire to the building.

“Go on, baby sis. Say that again. I don’t think I quite heard you right the first time.”

A trace of fear and panic whistles through me. But irrationally, it’s immediately doused by the bolt of electric thrill at the deranged look in my brother— stepbrother’s eyes.

“You’re being irrational, Asher.”

“On the contrary, I’m being extremely generous and fair. Drawing lines clearly so no one is idiotic enough to cross them.” He watches me for another charged second, then his fingers tighten on my waist, digging into my flesh.

I’ll probably bruise, but another absurd thought lands in my addled brain.

I don’t care. I want his marks on me.

“Or do you want to be ogled? Do you want my employees staring at your tits and ass, and…” he pauses for a moment, sucks in a long breath, “your mouth, wondering what it’ll be like to kiss you?

To invite you to the bar, get a few drinks inside you, see if you’ll loosen up long enough to let them find out? Is that what you want, princess?”

His eyes are the color of tropical thunderstorms and I sense he’s on the edge of whatever rabid and intense feeling is eating him up.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

Feral and depraved and untethered.

I caused that.

Under normal circumstances, I’d venture to tell him he’s overreacting. But looking into Asher’s eyes right now, I know in my bones that would be the completely wrong thing to say.

So I purse my lips. Shake my head.

“Good,” he snarls. “Now, strip.”