Possessive Stepbrother's Silver Fox Obsession (Stepbrother's Forbidden Fantasies #20)

1. Holly

HOLLY

The resort stretches before me like something out of a dream—white sand beaches meeting turquoise water so clear I can see fish darting through coral reefs fifty feet from shore.

Palm trees sway in the Caribbean breeze, casting shadows across perfectly manicured grounds where uniformed staff glide between guests with cocktails and cold towels.

Luxury wraps around everything here in Turks and Caicos, from the infinity pools that seem to pour directly into the ocean to the private cabanas dotting the beach like exotic flowers.

I should be happy. Relaxed. This is supposed to be a family vacation, after all.

Instead, I'm wound tighter than I've been in months, and it's entirely because of him.

Harrison Vale. My stepbrother.

The title feels wrong in my mouth—too casual, too innocent for what he is to me.

What he's been to me since the day our parents got married two years ago and I looked across the small ceremony to find gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that stole my breath.

He's not my brother. Not really. Our parents' marriage certificate doesn't change biology, doesn't create the kind of bond that makes this attraction wrong on any level except the social one.

But God, society would lose its mind if it knew what I thought about him. What I've thought about him every single day for two years.

"Holly, sweetheart, you should enjoy yourself!

" Mom—Frances—settles into the lounge chair beside mine, her wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow across her sun-kissed face.

She's been glowing since we arrived yesterday, happy in the way only newlyweds can be.

Well, two-year newlyweds. The honeymoon phase hasn't worn off for her and Arthur.

"Meet some people your own age. There are plenty of young people here. "

I force a smile. "I'm fine, Mom. Just soaking up the sun."

Arthur appears with drinks, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the heat.

He's kind, distinguished, the sort of man who wears linen shirts and deck shoes and looks like he belongs in a yacht club.

"Your mother's right, Holly. You're twenty.

You should be out there having fun, not sitting with the old folks. "

"You're not old," I say automatically, accepting the fruity cocktail he hands me.

"I just feel old some days." Arthur laughs, settling beside Frances. "Especially when my son makes me feel ancient just by existing."

My pulse kicks up at the mention of Harrison. I can't help it—the Pavlovian response is ingrained now. Two years of training my body to react to even his name.

"Where is Harrison?" Frances asks, glancing around the pool area.

"Last I saw him, he was headed to the gym." Arthur shakes his head with amused exasperation. "The man's on vacation and he still can't skip a workout."

Of course he is. Harrison's discipline shows in every line of his body, every controlled movement. Nothing about him is accidental.

"Well, he should relax too." Frances sighs, then turns her attention back to me. "Speaking of relaxing, that's a darling bikini, honey. Very flattering."

I glance down at the black string bikini I'm wearing—two triangles of fabric held together by what feels like dental floss.

It's the most revealing thing I've ever worn in public, purchased on impulse during a shopping trip with my roommate before this vacation.

Confidence and exposure war inside me every time I stand up.

"Thanks," I manage, taking a long sip of my drink.

My parents drift into conversation about dinner reservations and tomorrow's snorkeling excursion, their voices fading into background noise as my attention snags on movement across the pool.

Harrison emerges from the resort's interior, and my breath catches.

He's shirtless.

Two years of catching glimpses of him in suits and casual button-downs, of imagining what might be underneath, and nothing prepared me for this.

He's 6'4" of pure masculine perfection—broad shoulders that taper to a narrow waist, chest and abs so defined they look carved from marble.

Dark hair dusts across his pecs, trailing down his stomach in a path my eyes follow helplessly.

But it's the tattoos that make my mouth go dry.

Sleeves cover both arms in intricate black ink, designs I can't make out from this distance but that transform him from distinguished to dangerous.

More tattoos spread across his chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.

The contrast between the ink and his olive skin makes every muscle stand out in sharp relief.

Silver threads through the black hair on his chest and arms, matching the silver streaking through his neatly trimmed beard.

He's forty-nine—nearly thirty years older than me—but age only adds to his appeal.

He doesn't look like the boys I go to college with, all smooth skin and uncertain movements.

Harrison moves with absolute confidence, every step controlled and deliberate.

His gray eyes scan the pool area, passing over lounging guests until they land on me.

The impact hits like a physical force. His jaw tightens. His entire body goes rigid for a heartbeat before he continues walking toward where Arthur waves him over.

I can't breathe properly. Can't think past the image of him shirtless, tattooed, looking at me like he wants to devour me and hates himself for it.

"He's a handsome man, isn't he?" Frances's voice makes me jump. She's watching Harrison with motherly affection, completely oblivious to the tension crackling across the pool. "Arthur's son is quite the catch. I'm surprised some woman hasn't snatched him up yet."

"Mm-hmm," I manage, not trusting myself to form actual words.

Harrison reaches Arthur, and they fall into conversation. But his eyes keep flicking back to me. Each glance feels like a caress and a warning—stay away, come closer, this is wrong, I don't care.

I've felt this pull since the day we met.

The immediate, overwhelming attraction that made me feel like the worst person alive because he was about to become my stepbrother and I couldn't stop imagining what his hands would feel like on my skin.

I thought maybe it was just me, just my inexperienced crush on an older man who represented everything I'd never had.

But sometimes I catch him looking at me like this, and I know I'm not alone in this madness.

"I'm going to swim," I announce abruptly, standing before I can second-guess myself.

The movement draws Harrison's attention fully. His conversation with Arthur falters as his gaze travels down my body—slowly, deliberately, taking in every inch of exposed skin. The black bikini leaves almost nothing to the imagination. His hands clench into fists at his sides.

I walk to the pool's edge with my heart hammering, hyperaware of his eyes following me. The water is perfectly warm when I dive in, a relief from the heat building under my skin. I swim laps, trying to burn off nervous energy, trying not to think about Harrison watching from the poolside.

When I surface at the shallow end, pushing wet hair back from my face, two men around my age are standing at the pool's edge.

"Hey there," the blonde one says, flashing white teeth. "I'm Tyler. This is Josh."

Josh, dark-haired and athletic, waves. "We saw you swimming. You're really good."

"Thanks." I tread water, looking between them. They're conventionally attractive—the kind of guys who probably play lacrosse or row crew at whatever expensive college they attend. Boys. That's all I can think looking at them. They're boys compared to Harrison.

"Want to grab drinks with us?" Tyler asks, crouching down to meet my eye level. "There's a beach bar down the shore that's supposed to be amazing."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm here with family." I keep my voice polite, hoping they'll take the hint.

"Come on, just one drink." Josh grins. "We're here all week. Might as well make some friends, right?"

I swim to the steps, intending to get out and retreat to my lounge chair. They follow like eager puppies as I emerge from the water, wringing out my hair. Tyler's eyes drop to my chest where the wet bikini clings to my skin.

"Seriously, we're fun guys," Tyler continues, moving closer. "We could show you around the island."

"I said no thank you." I reach for my towel, but Josh is suddenly there, holding it out with a playful smile.

"At least let us buy you a drink here by the pool." He gestures to empty chairs flanking mine. "No pressure."

They're settling in on either side of my chair before I can protest, bracketing me in.

Frustration flares—why can't they just accept rejection?

—but I'm too Midwestern-polite to make a scene.

I glance toward where Harrison was standing with Arthur, some desperate part of me wanting him to intervene even though I know that's ridiculous.

He's staring directly at us. At me. At Tyler's hand as it reaches out to touch my shoulder playfully.

Harrison's expression darkens into something primal and furious. His entire body radiates tension, muscles coiled like he's preparing to spring. The intensity of his reaction steals my breath—this is more than brotherly protection. This is possession.

Tyler's still talking, saying something about jet skiing, but I can't focus on his words because Harrison is moving. He cuts across the pool deck with long, purposeful strides, his eyes never leaving us. People shift out of his way instinctively, responding to the danger rolling off him in waves.

"The lady said no," Harrison's voice cuts through Tyler's rambling like ice water. "Move along."

Tyler looks up, startled, then recovers with false bravado. "Hey man, we're just talking. No harm?—"

"Now." One word. Absolute command. Harrison towers over both of them, his height and build making them look like children playing dress-up as men.