Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Rose’s POV

His fingers lingered against my cheek for a moment before slowly falling away. I stared at him. He stared back. Neither of us spoke. My heart was still pounding like I’d just run up three flights of stairs, and the worst part was that Reagan looked completely calm. Like he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes making my entire brain stop functioning. I should’ve looked away. I should’ve said something. Anything. Instead, my eyes dropped to his mouth. I immediately caught myself. Oh, God. No. I looked back up. Too late. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. The faintest hint of amusement appeared in his eyes.

"Don’t."

His eyebrow lifted. "You didn’t even let me say anything."

"I know that look."

"What look?"

"That one."

His mouth twitched. "You’re imagining things."

"Maybe."

He took a slow step toward me. My breath caught. I didn’t move. Why wasn’t I moving? The question screamed through my head. I had every reason to leave. I’d already said what I needed to say. I’d already taken care of his hand. I’d already stayed far longer than I should have. So why was I still standing there? He took another step, shrinking the distance between us. My fingers curled against my sides. What was I supposed to do? Push him away? Leave? Slap him again? That last one probably wasn’t happening. I’d already slapped him once tonight, and judging by the stupid amusement on his face, he’d probably find another one entertaining.

His eyes dropped briefly to my lips.

My stomach tightened.

Oh.

Oh, no.

He was going to kiss me.

Again.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I should stop him. I knew I should. This was Reagan. The same Reagan who had ignored me for weeks. The same Reagan who had frightened me at the club. The same Reagan who had just screamed at me to get out after I’d come running because I’d heard something break. And somehow, standing this close to him, none of that seemed loud enough to drown out the pounding in my chest.

My mind became a complete mess. What the hell was I doing? Why was I still here? Why hadn’t I moved? Why did it feel like I was waiting? Worse... why did it feel like I wanted him to kiss me? His hand lifted slightly. My breath stopped. I could push him away. That was easy. I could turn around and walk out. I could tell him exactly what I thought of him. So why couldn’t I make my feet move?

He leaned closer.

My eyes widened.

This was insane.

I was actually standing here waiting for him to kiss me.

I could feel his breath against my skin. My heart was going completely out of control. Maybe I should just—

"Rose?"

My mother’s voice echoed from somewhere down the hallway.

My entire body jolted.

"Oh my God."

I shoved Reagan away so quickly he barely had time to react.

"What—"

"Shh!"

I glanced toward the door. Footsteps. Coming closer. My heart nearly stopped. I looked back at Reagan. He was staring at me with an expression that looked suspiciously amused.

I pointed at him. "What’s funny?."

His eyebrow lifted. "Wasn’t aware you’ve started hearing ghosts."

"Just—Nevermind."

Another footstep sounded.

I didn’t wait.

I turned and practically sprinted out of the study.

I didn’t stop until I reached my room. I pushed the door shut behind me and leaned against it, breathing so hard my chest hurt. For several seconds, I just stood there, my hand flying to my chest.

"What the hell..."

I closed my eyes. That had been way too close. My mother had almost walked in on me. With Reagan. In his study. After midnight. My face burned, and if she’d come in two seconds later...

I covered my face with both hands.

"No."

I pushed away from the door and started pacing. No. Absolutely not. I wasn’t going to think about that. I wasn’t going to think about what almost happened. I wasn’t going to think about his mouth, or his hands, or the way he’d looked at me, or the fact that I hadn’t pushed him away.

I stopped pacing.

That last one was a problem.

I hadn’t pushed him away.

Not immediately.

Not even when he leaned closer.

I’d had every opportunity. I’d had several. And instead I’d stood there like an idiot, waiting for him to close the distance.

I groaned and threw myself onto the bed. I barely had time to pull the blanket over my head before there was a soft knock on my door.

"Rose?"

Mom.

I squeezed my eyes shut and stayed completely still, hoping she’d assume I was asleep. The door opened anyway, and I heard her sleepy footsteps cross the room.

"Rose, are you alright?" Her voice was quiet but worried. "I heard something earlier. It sounded like glass breaking... and then I heard footsteps running through the hallway."

My heart nearly stopped.

"I-I’m fine," I mumbled from beneath the blanket, praying my voice didn’t sound as guilty as I felt.

There was a short pause.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Nothing happened?"

I swallowed. "Nothing. Probably just... the birds."

Silence.

Mom sighed softly, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully she didn’t question me further.

"Alright, sweetheart. Go back to sleep, okay?"

"Okay."

"Goodnight."

"Night, Mom."

I waited until I heard the door close before letting out the breath I’d been holding. I slowly lowered the blanket from my face and stared at the ceiling.

"That was close."

"What is wrong with me?"

I grabbed a pillow and pressed it over my face. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe the entire night had scrambled my brain. That had to be it. I’d been angry, then worried, then furious, then crying, then I’d slapped him, then he’d kissed me. Twice. Anyone’s brain would be confused after that.

I tossed the pillow aside and stared at the ceiling. My lips tingled. I touched them before I could stop myself. The second my fingers made contact, I pulled my hand away.

I hated that I could still remember exactly how it felt.

I rolled onto my side.

"No."

I pulled the blanket over my head.

"I did not."

Except my mind immediately argued back.

You didn’t stop him.

I groaned into the pillow.

"Shut up."

I threw the blanket off again and sat up. There was no point pretending. I had wanted him to kiss me. At least for those few seconds. And that realization scared me.

Because wanting Reagan was the last thing I should’ve been doing.

He was difficult. Arrogant. Infuriating. He could be cruel when he wanted to be. And yet I’d still walked into his study because I’d heard glass break. I’d still panicked when I saw blood. I’d still wrapped his hand. I’d still stayed. I’d even argued with him when he told me to leave.

Why?

Because I cared.

That was the answer I kept trying to avoid.

I cared about him.

I hated that.

I hated that caring about him made me vulnerable to him. I hated that he knew it. And judging by the look on his face tonight... he knew.

I fell back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling again. I could still hear his voice.

*"Concerned?"*

I had lied.

Of course I was concerned. I’d practically run across the house because I thought he’d hurt himself. Then I’d insulted him while bandaging his hand because admitting I cared would’ve been far too humiliating.

A tiny smile tugged at my lips.

I immediately frowned.

"Why am I smiling?"

I wiped the expression from my face as though someone might be watching.

Maybe Reagan had finally driven me insane.

That had to be it.

I turned toward the clock.

1:04 a.m.

I’d only been gone from the study for a few minutes. It felt like an hour. I wondered what he was doing.

I immediately hated myself for wondering.

Probably standing there with that stupid expression. Maybe he’d laughed after I ran. Maybe he’d gone back to cleaning up the mess. Maybe he’d—

I sat up.

"No."

I pointed at myself.

"You’re not going back."

My brain had apparently been considering it.

That was concerning.

I got out of bed and walked to the mirror. I looked terrible. My hair was messy from his fingers. My cheeks were still flushed. My eyes looked slightly swollen from crying.

I stared at my reflection.

"Get yourself together."

I fixed my hair, then stopped.

One strand was still slightly out of place.

The same strand he’d tucked behind my ear.

My fingers slowly touched it.

My stomach fluttered.

I dropped my hand.

"Nope."

I turned away.

I wasn’t going to romanticize that. It was just a gesture. A simple gesture. It didn’t mean anything.

Except it had felt different.

Reagan had spent the entire night being angry, cold, and impossible. Then he’d touched my face so gently that for a second I’d forgotten every reason I was supposed to hate him.

That was the problem.

He knew exactly how to get under my skin.

Maybe he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

That thought somehow made it worse.

I climbed back into bed and forced myself to stay still. I closed my eyes. The room was quiet. The air conditioner hummed softly. Somewhere outside, a car passed in the distance. I breathed slowly.

Maybe sleep would come.

It didn’t.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Standing in front of the windows. Blood on his hand. That dark expression. The way his eyes changed when he saw my tears. The slap. His smirk. The kiss.

I turned onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow.

"This is ridiculous."

I stayed there for a while before rolling onto my back again. My mind wandered back to the moment just before my mother called my name.

His face had been so close.

I could remember the exact look in his eyes. I could remember how my body had gone completely still. I could remember thinking:

Maybe I don’t want him to stop.

My eyes opened.

I stared into the darkness.

That thought frightened me more than anything else tonight.

Because I wasn’t sure whether I was afraid of Reagan kissing me again...

Or afraid that next time, I wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin.

"Just sleep."

I closed my eyes.

A few seconds passed.

Then I whispered into the darkness.

"...I hate him."

Silence.

I swallowed.

"...Probably."

That was the last thought I had before exhaustion finally began to pull me under.

And even then, the last thing I remembered wasn’t the argument. It wasn’t the slap. It wasn’t even the kiss.

It was the feeling of his fingers gently tucking that loose strand of hair behind my ear.

And somehow, that was the part I couldn’t stop thinking about.

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