Chapter 4 Bastian
BASTIAN
I’d been doing everything possible to avoid her for the past few days.
Every morning, I left the guest house before anyone was up and worked at the marina until it got dark, burying myself in engine repairs and whatever odd jobs needed doing.
I told myself it was the smart thing to do. The right thing. Being around Juliet for too long made my thoughts dangerous and my body even more so.
I couldn’t risk it. She was my step-niece, for Christ’s sake. Over a decade and a half younger than me. I had no business looking at her the way I sometimes caught myself doing.
But all that careful distance shattered on a sweltering Thursday afternoon.
I was bent over an old outboard motor, grease up to my elbows and sweat pouring down my back, when I heard the crunch of tires on gravel. I glanced over my shoulder, and my body reacted with that tight, unwelcome pull in my chest.
Juliet stepped out of her car looking like every bad decision I’d ever wanted to make. She looked soft and sun-kissed and far too tempting. Her dark hair was twisted up messily with loose pieces sticking to her neck and shoulder.
She had on tiny cutoff denim shorts that showed off way too much leg and a thin, white T-shirt that made it clear she wasn’t wearing a bra, her nipples large and round and straining against the cotton. Reluctantly, I raised my eyes up to her beautiful brown ones.
“Mom mentioned you might be able to take a look at my car,” she said, walking over with a small smile. “It’s been making this weird rattling sound for a few days. I figured since you’re good with engines…”
I wiped my hands on a dirty rag and nodded, keeping my voice as even as I could. “Yeah, pull it off to the side of the parking lot and pop the hood. I’ll check it out.”
The afternoon sun was brutal, beating down on us and making the air feel thick and sticky. I could smell her sunscreen. It was something sweet, like vanilla, mixed with that warm feminine scent that was driving me insane.
I went over to her car and tried to focus on the engine, but it was impossible with her standing right next to me. Every time I moved, my shoulder nearly brushed hers. Sweat trickled down my spine as I worked, grease smearing across my forearms and shirt.
“So, where have you really been all these years?” she asked after a few quiet minutes, her voice soft but curious. “You always disappear for so long. I never know if you’re okay or not.”
I kept my answers short. “Work. Different countries. Nothing special.”
She laughed lightly. “You’re always so vague. Come on, Uncle Bastian. You used to let me sit with you for hours and tell me stories about your travels. You didn’t completely shut me out back then.”
I stayed silent, but she kept pushing in that gentle way of hers, asking if I ever got scared out there, if I missed the lake, and if I ever thought about coming home sooner.
When I finally glanced over, she was leaning forward, watching me with those big doe eyes. A bead of sweat slid slowly down her collarbone and disappeared into the neckline of her top. My mouth went dry.
“So, did you miss it here?”
“Yeah,” I admitted roughly. “Sometimes I missed being here.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”
Those words hit me hard. “Same, Juliet.” I had to turn away and fumble for a tool just to hide my face. Worse than that, I could feel my cock getting hard just from her being so close.
The guilt crashed over me immediately.
She’s your step-niece, you sick fucker. You’re disgusting. You are supposed to protect her not look at her like this.
I finished the repair as fast as humanly possible, barely speaking another word. When she thanked me and drove off with a little wave, I stood alone in the blazing heat, breathing hard and hating myself more than I ever had.
That night, I made the mistake of going to The Fisherman’s Dock, the little bar right on the water. I just wanted a cold beer and enough noise to drown out my thoughts. I sat at the bar, got my drink, and stared at the muted TV mounted to the wall.
Then I heard her.
Juliet was sitting at a high-top table with a couple of friends, laughing at something. Some local guy in a backward baseball cap leaned way too close, his arm slung over the back of her chair like he already thought he had a shot with her.
He touched her shoulder while he talked, and the sight of it made jealousy rip through me like something violent.
I gripped my beer bottle so tightly I thought it might break. I had no right to feel this way. None. I had no fucking claim to her, and I sure as hell had no right to want one.
Juliet could flirt with whoever she wanted.
But the thought of his hands on her, of anyone else getting to touch her or make her laugh like that, made something dark and possessive twist deep in my gut.
I wanted to walk over there and pull her away.
I wanted to tell him to get his fucking hands off her.
I wanted her in a way that terrified me.
Instead, I stayed at the bar like the conflicted bastard I was, watching from across the room and burning with a hunger I knew I could never satisfy.
Juliet was going to destroy me this summer.
And the scariest part was that I was starting to think I’d let her.