Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
My hand finds the back of her head, and my fingers stroke her hair gently as I breathe her in—lavender and salt, the scent of her shampoo and her grief.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, my voice rough, cracking under the weight of her sorrow. “I know you loved him deeply. I’m so sorry, Amelia.”
Words aren’t enough, but they’re all I have. A feeble offering for the hurt she’s carrying. I can’t imagine how deep it cuts, losing him, being left alone. I want to fix it, to take it all away, but all I can do is hold her and shield her against this cruel world.
We stay like that, locked together, time blurring into a single, endless moment.
She clings to me, her breath warm against my neck, and I don’t let go, even when I know I should. Anyone could walk in. The line between half-brother and something more blurs, but I don’t care—not now, not with her shaking in my arms. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red, and her face flushed. I’m not ready to let her go. My hand reaches out to brush away a strand of hair from her face, my fingers grazing, lingering on her cheek. Her skin is soft, warm, and the touch sends a jolt of sexual awareness through me.
Wrong, so wrong, but undeniable.
“You look well, Max,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes searching mine.
“Yeah?” A small smile tugs at my lips despite the ache in my chest. “I can’t believe fourteen years have passed. Time hasn’t touched you at all.”
She laughs, a soft, broken sound that lights up the room. “You always were a bad liar.”
My gaze holds hers, steady and unyielding. “You’ve always been blind.”
“I saw you clearly back then,” she says, her smile fading, her eyes darkening with memory. “And now.”
The air shifts with the unspoken, and the space between us becomes electric. We stare at each other, caught in a moment that feels like it could break the world. My blood hums, every nerve alive with her presence, and I know she feels it too—the pull, the forbidden ache we’ve never escaped. But we can’t. We won’t… but the real truth is, she won’t. I could never resist her… if she wanted.
She looks down, breaking my gaze, then turns away, and the moment shatters, leaving a screaming void in my chest. I want to grab her, pull her back, but I don’t. How dare I put her in an intolerable position? I will leave, and she has to live here amongst watchful eyes. Suddenly, I’m grateful for Sara and Jason’s presence. They are floats keeping me from drowning in her. Without them, I’d lose control, consequences be damned.
I swallow hard, my voice hoarse. “What can I do to help, Amelia? Anything you want, anything, just say it. I swear to God, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
Her lovely eyes turn to me, wide and shimmering with something I can’t name. Her hand lifts, an instinctive motion, as if to touch my cheek, and my breath catches. But she hesitates, her fingers trembling, and starts to pull back. I can’t let her. Not this time. My hand shoots out, catching her wrist, guiding her palm to my face. I close my eyes, her touch a brand against my skin, warm and electric. Tears prick my eyes, and I don’t fight them. This moment feels infinite, a second stretching into forever, and yet it’s fleeting, a breath away from breaking. Her fingers tremble against my cheek, and I lean into her touch, savoring it, knowing it can’t last.
“Max, I’ve got something to tell you, my fathe-,”
“Daddy?” The voice is small, but it slices through the haze. My heart stops, my head snaps around. Jason stands in the doorway, his gray eyes wide, his face a mirror of confusion and worry.
Chapter
Six
AMELIA
His grip on my wrist, my palm pressed against his cheek, his stubble a rough spark against my skin, and the intensity of it—his nearness, his warmth. It had all blinded me… made me weak, made me forget.
God, I almost told him.
I don’t know what would have happened if I had, what reckless thing we might’ve done, but I know it would’ve shattered this little boy’s world. Regret would’ve followed, or maybe it wouldn’t—either way, the choice was taken away by his small voice, and I’m grateful to him.
I jerk my hand back, our connection snapping as easily as breaking a twig. My gaze whirls to the doorway. Max’s son looks at us with a slight frown. Right then, his resemblance to his father is a punch to the gut—dark curls tumbling over his forehead, just like Max’s, framing a face so perfect it could’ve been carved by angels. His eyes, though, are gray, not Max’s blue. They shimmer with a quiet innocence.