Chapter 8
Eight
LAN
Istumbled into my glorified closet—aka my bedroom—and face-planted onto the mattress like a drunk penguin attempting synchronized swimming.
The towel around my waist was hanging on for dear life, but I couldn’t be bothered to fix it.
Living in what was essentially a walk-in closet had its perks—at least I didn’t have far to fall when my legs decided to give out.
Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling, watching the light cast shadows that were probably judging my life choices harder than Colt judged Nico’s cooking attempts.
I should get up, dry off properly, put on actual clothes like a functioning adult.
But the bed felt like a cloud, and in this heat, being naked was practically a survival strategy. Darwin would approve.
Then, because my brain hated me with the passion of a thousand burning suns, Jaxson’s face materialized in my mind.
Perfect, gorgeous, totally off-limits Jaxson.
The way he’d hugged me in the car, his fingers gentle against my cheek, his body warm and solid against mine.
His scent—that uniquely Jaxson mixture of expensive cologne, coffee, and something else I couldn’t name that made my knees weak and my common sense take an extended vacation to parts unknown.
The memory of his arms around me in the car sent heat spiraling through my body.
How he’d pulled me against his chest, how his breath had tickled my ear when he whispered to me.
How for just a moment, I’d felt like I belonged there, like we were something more than what we were supposed to be.
Like being held by him was somehow written in my DNA, a biological imperative I couldn’t fight.
“Jaxson,” I groaned, immediately wanting to smack myself. Great job, Lan. Moaning your stepbrother’s name in the dark like the protagonist of some questionable romance novel. Totally normal behavior. Nothing to see here.
That’s when I noticed my body had its own ideas about normal behavior. The towel was tenting in a way that would make a circus proud.
“Seriously?” I glared down at my betraying anatomy. “You had one job—don’t get excited about Jaxson. One. Job. And here you are, standing at attention like he just walked into the room.”
I was about to deal with my “situation” the old-fashioned way when three sharp knocks hit my door.
“Lan?”
Jaxson’s voice. Because of course it was. The universe had a sick sense of humor and apparently a personal vendetta against me. What’s next? Maybe Colt could walk in with a camera? Or Wei could install a loudspeaker to narrate my humiliation to the entire apartment building?
“Lan? Are you asleep? I’m coming in.”
No, no, abort mission! my brain screamed, but my voice had apparently gone on strike at the worst possible moment. The door handle turned with what felt like dramatic slow-motion horror, each click of the mechanism like a countdown to my doom.
I flopped onto my side faster than a panicked fish, presenting my back to the door. Maybe if I played dead, he’d go away. Worked for possums, right? Though they probably didn’t have to worry about hiding erections from their stepbrothers.
“Lan?” His voice was soft, a gentle caress in the darkness. “You left your clothes in the bathroom.”
I forced my breathing into the rhythm of sleep, though my heart was doing the cha-cha in my chest at approximately the speed of light.
I could feel his presence, his gaze on my back, and it took everything I had not to shiver.
The air in the room seemed to change the moment he entered, like the atmospheric pressure had shifted, making it harder to breathe.
“He’s asleep,” he murmured, and I almost relaxed. Almost.
Then his footsteps approached the bed, each soft thud against the floor making my pulse spike higher. Shit, shit, triple shit with a cherry on top.
His fingers threaded through my damp hair, gentle as a summer breeze, then traced the side of my face with a touch so light it might have been my imagination if it hadn’t left fire in its wake.
Everywhere his skin met mine, I felt that strange warmth that always seemed to radiate from him—something more than normal body heat, something that seeped into my bones and made me want to curl into him like a cat seeking the warmest spot in the sun.
“Lan, you’re going to catch your death like this,” he said, channeling his inner mother hen. His fingers continued their exploration, brushing back strands of hair from my forehead with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “What happened to ‘I promise I’ll dry off properly’?”
I kept my eyes shut, committed to my Oscar-worthy performance of ‘Sleeping Beauty minus the beauty part.’ Maybe if I just stayed still enough, he’d leave, and I could go back to my regularly scheduled crisis without an audience.
Then I felt his breath on my face, warm and minty fresh.
He was close. So close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the subtle notes of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him—something that reminded me of sunlight and safety.
So close that my body betrayed me with a slight shiver that rippled through me like a stone dropped in still water.
My eyes fluttered open before I could stop them, meeting his hazel-gold gaze.
The concern there, the warmth, the unguarded affection—it was too much.
But there was something else too, something darker and more intense that made my breath catch.
“Jaxson?” My voice cracked on his name, and to my horror, tears started brewing in my eyes like an unwanted emotional storm.
Really, body? Really? First the boner, now the waterworks? Pick a crisis and stick with it.
“Hey, what’s going on in that head of yours?
” His thumb caught a tear as it escaped, brushing it away with a gentleness that only made everything worse.
His touch lingered on my cheek, warm and steady and everything I wanted but couldn’t have.
The contact sent a strange current through me, like a low-grade electric shock that warmed rather than hurt.
I shook my head, biting my lower lip to keep it from trembling. I probably looked like a kicked puppy begging for treats. Smooth, Lan. Real smooth. Nothing says ‘desirable adult’ quite like crying while naked.
“Talk to me,” he murmured, his voice warm honey poured over my frayed nerves. His weight settled on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under him, bringing us closer in the small space. “Whatever storm you’re weathering, let me help shelter you from it.”
Yeah, that’s the problem, I thought bitterly. You’re always here, being perfect and kind and stupidly gorgeous, and I’m the idiot who fell in love with his stepbrother like some bad romance novel protagonist. The storm is you, Jaxson. It’s always been you.
A pathetic whimper escaped me, the sound small and broken in the quiet room.
“It’s like a constant ache,” I confessed, fingers clutching at my chest where my heart seemed determined to either break free or collapse entirely.
“Right here. And I can’t… I can’t make it stop.
” God, could I sound more like a romantic tragedy waiting to happen?
Maybe I should start writing poetry about the darkness of my soul while I’m at it.
“I want it to go away,” I continued, voice trembling, barely stopping myself from adding ‘these feelings for you.’ “I want to stop loving…”
His expression softened, those eyes I could drown in filled with understanding—but not the kind I needed.
He thought this was about someone else. Anyone else.
But then something shifted in his gaze, his pupils dilating slightly as he leaned closer, inhaling deeply as if catching a scent.
“Sometimes the heart needs time to catch up with what the head already knows,” he soothed, probably thinking I was having some standard young adult heartbreak. If only he knew. “I know it hurts.”
“Then tell me how to fix it,” I whispered, hating how desperate I sounded but unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Please.”
His smile was gentle. “Time helps. And maybe… have you considered telling them how you feel? Sometimes the what-ifs hurt more than rejection ever could.”
I let out a watery laugh that sounded more like a strangled hiccup. “Not possible. Trust me, this particular confession would break more than just hearts.” It would break our family. It would break us. It would break me.
“Time has a way of sorting these things out,” he said, ever the wise older brother.
His fingers continued their gentle exploration, tracing patterns on my skin that felt like they might leave permanent marks—like he was branding me, claiming territory that wasn’t his to claim.
His touch seemed to grow warmer by the second, almost hot against my skin, making me want to press into it like I was starved for it.
“You’re twenty-one, Lan. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.
The right person might be closer than you think. ”
I shook my head so hard I probably looked like a malfunctioning bobblehead. “I don’t think I could ever feel this way about anyone else.” The admission cost me, the truth of it burning in my throat.
His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. For a moment, they seemed to flash with a golden light that reminded me of a predator in the dark—hungry, possessive, dangerous. Was it surprise? Anger? Something else entirely? “That sure about matters of the heart, are you?”
“Because that person is the only one I’ve ever loved since…” I caught myself just before driving off the cliff of no return, the words ‘since I met you’ dying on my tongue.
“Since when?” His voice was carefully neutral, but there was an edge to it, a tension that hadn’t been there before. His hand on my face tightened fractionally, his thumb pressing against my cheekbone with more force than necessary.