“He kidnapped her, put her in a cage without food or water for three days, and now this stupid girl is falling for him.”
“Stockholm syndrome, babe.”
She sighs and picks up her Kindle again. “But isn’t there a limit to Stockholm syndrome? Like in Beauty and the Beast, it’s understandable. That guy treated her really well. But this motherfucker made her his servant. And still, she’s falling for him? Bullshit. No one can make me believe she really fell for that dick.”
I laugh. Wen doesn’t usually read much, especially smut and dark romance. This book is my suggestion, and I’m sure that by the end, she’ll fall in love with it.
I resume my reading. I’m going through one of her classic collections. She’s a hardcore romantic, she reads the kind that makes your heart shift beats like gears, subtle yet lasting.
A knock comes at her door. Wendy opens it and peeks in. “Mr. Bennett is calling both of you downstairs.”
I get up from the swing chair and walk toward her, grinning, taking her hands in mine and making her spin. “I saw you yesterday evening in the garden.”
She giggles, dancing with me. “That’s not really good.”
“Giving hot, open-mouth kisses to a hunk in the cold while wearing no sweaters isn’t good either.” I twirl her again, adding, “Especially for your health.”
Wen hops off the bed. “Oh my, oh my, Wendy. What have we missed? Who was he?”
She smiles, a beautiful blush spreading across her cheeks. “Mr. Bennett’s shadow man.” Her expression shifts. “Oh—oh! You both are called downstairs. Hurry.”
We all reach downstairs. At the end of the last stair, I hear a voice, my steps halt.
Wen asks, “What’s he doing here?”
I shrug. “How would I know?”
We walk into the living room, where Zoan is sitting with Ma and Pa. The moment we enter, his eyes lift toward me. My heart forgets to beat for a few seconds. Is he really looking at me with that burning intensity, or has his way of seeing things changed over the past month?
He quickly shifts his gaze back to Pa and continues their conversation. I perch on the armrest of the couch near Ma, perfect positioning to watch him without drawing attention.
I take in every detail of him slowly, savoring his features. Now that he’s in front of me, I can feel how much I’ve been missing him. I watch his mouth move, when he talks, his facial muscles don’t even show a hint of strain. His beard has grown and is trimmed just as neatly as everything else about him. And I have to admit… he’s looking hot as hell. The heat spreads inside me, and to suppress it, I press my thighs tightly together.
My eyes flick up to meet his. I know he can feel me watching him, even though his attention is locked on Pa. Something is wrong with me, because right now, I’m even finding the arches of his eyebrows seductive.
I know exactly what that “wrong” is called. It has a name: lust.
I take a deep breath and force my gaze elsewhere. I can’t lust over him in front of my family. Nope. That’s not on the menu.
But my Zoan-starved eyes move back to him the very next second. I watch his throat, the way his Adam’s apple moves with every word. Now I’m focused on his voice, and I feel myself leaking into my panties just concentrating on its texture. The heat only intensifies as I take in his leaned-back posture, the stretch of his shirt across his chest, the defined muscles of his forearms, and the way every fold of his shirt is perfectly aligned, without a single corner out of place. Then my gaze drifts down to his tailored pants.
If my period hadn’t ended just a week ago, I would have sworn it was that. The amount of wetness pooling between my thighs doesn’t feel natural.
Everyone gets up, and I follow suit. Ma must have announced dinner, but I didn’t hear it—too busy getting wet over my adopted brother’s impossibly hot body.
We settle into our chairs. Wen and I sit across from Zoan and Ma, Pa at the head of the table. Wendy and Ava serve our dinner. Once they leave, we begin eating.
Pa looks at me. “Avi, is your luggage packed?”
I gulp down a bite, frowning. “For what?”
“Didn’t Zo tell you? You’re going to San Diego with him.”
I look at him, then back at Pa. “I’m not going there.”
No matter how much he can make me wet, I’m still mad at him.
“Didn’t you hear the conversation in the living room?” Ma asks.
