The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 21: Chapter 21: Risky Touches

"You brought wine."

"The cheap kind."

James took the bottle. "Your mother’s already pouring the expensive stuff. Come in. You’re letting out the heat."

I stepped inside. The house smelled like rosemary and something charred. My mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Eliora." She kissed my cheek. "You look exhausted."

"Fourth year."

"Of course. Lucian’s in the dining room. Go. Sit."

Lucian sat at the far end of the table. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He didn’t look up when I entered. His eyes stayed on his plate, turning his fork in slow circles.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi."

He looked up then. Our eyes met. Half a second. Long enough to feel the weight of it.

"You look nice."

"I look tired."

"Same thing."

James pulled out my chair. "Sit. Lucian, take her coat."

Lucian stood. His fingers brushed my shoulders as he took my jacket. Light. Quick. Except nothing between us was quick anymore.

---

Dinner started.

Ariana brought the roast. James carved. The conversation stayed above water, my mother’s yoga class, the weather, my hospital schedule.

Then James set down his knife.

"The auditors found a second gap," he said. "Seventy-five thousand. Your name on the authorization, Lucian."

The room went quiet.

Lucian chewed slowly. "I explained that. Client reimbursement."

"There’s no client."

"Then I made a mistake."

James smiled. "You don’t make mistakes. That’s the problem."

He turned to me. "Eliora, did you know my son used to be perfect?"

"James," my mother said.

"I’m making conversation."

James poured wine. "Lucian, pass the potatoes."

Lucian reached for the bowl. His other hand dropped below the table. It found my knee.

His palm was hot. His fingers pressed down hard.

I didn’t move.

"Eliora," James said. "Your mother tells me you’re applying to emergency medicine."

"Yes," I said. "High stress. Long hours."

"You handle pressure well."

"I do."

Lucian’s fingers stopped an inch from the hem of my dress. He squeezed. I bit the inside of my cheek.

"Lucian used to handle pressure," James said. "Now he disappears. Comes home late. Won’t explain himself."

He looked at his son.

"What changed?"

Lucian withdrew his hand. "Nothing changed."

"Everything changed."

James set down his glass.

"But we’ll discuss it later."

My mother stood. "Dessert. I’ll get it."

"I’ll help," I said, standing too fast.

"Sit. You’re a guest."

"I need to stretch my legs."

Lucian stood. "I’ll carry the plates."

---

We walked to the kitchen together. Two feet of space.

The second the swinging door closed, he grabbed my waist and pushed me against the counter.

"Your father..." I started.

"Is in the garage. Getting wine." His mouth found my neck. "We have two minutes."

"Lucian..."

His hands slid under my sweater, palms hot against my breasts.

"Do you want me to stop?"

I grabbed his hair instead.

He kissed me hard, his tongue sliding against mine, his hips pinning me to the counter’s edge. His hand moved to my breast, thumb dragging across the fabric. I gasped into his mouth.

The risk of it, his father thirty feet away, my mother in the next room, made everything sharper. Every sound from the other side of the wall sent electricity through me, the danger heightening every touch, every breath. His other hand gripped my hip, fingers digging in, pulling me closer against him.

"He’s getting closer," I whispered against his jaw. "The money. He knows."

"He doesn’t know anything." Lucian kissed my throat, his lips hot and urgent. "He knows numbers. He doesn’t know why."

"And when he does?"

"He won’t."

His hand moved lower, tracing the waistband of my dress, his fingers slipping just beneath the fabric.

"Not from me. Not tonight."

The garage door rumbled.

We froze.

Footsteps on concrete. James’s voice, muffled, talking to himself.

Lucian stepped back. He straightened my sweater with hands that shook. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my heart pounding so loud I was sure it could be heard through the walls.

"Go first," he whispered.

I pushed through the door.

James stood in the hallway, two wine bottles in his hands. He looked at me. Then past me, at Lucian emerging behind me.

"Everything alright?" James asked.

"Fine," I said. "I was looking for napkins."

"Of course."

James smiled.

"Come. The cake is getting cold."

---

We sat back down.

Lucian’s knee found mine under the table. This time I didn’t pull away. My pulse was still hammering. My lips felt swollen. I kept my eyes on my plate, my mind racing through every stolen moment, every risk we’d taken, every secret we’d buried deep inside. The weight of his knee against mine was both comfort and danger, a reminder of what we were doing and what we could lose.

Dinner ended.

I said my goodbyes at the door. My mother hugged me. James shook my hand.

"Drive safe," he said.

Lucian stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

"I’ll walk her out."

"Good," James said. "It’s dark. Wouldn’t want her tripping."

---

The night air cut sharp.

Lucian followed me down the driveway. At my car, he grabbed my arm.

"I love you. Thanks for coming. At least I get to see you," he said.

His pocket buzzed.

He pulled out his phone. The screen lit his face in pale blue. He read the message. His jaw tightened.

"What?" I asked.

He turned the phone toward me.

A photo. My apartment building. The front door. The light I’d left on in my bedroom window.

Beneath it: She’s pretty. Be a shame if she came home alone.

Lucian’s hand closed around my wrist.

"Get in. Drive to Priya’s. Don’t go home."

"Lucian..."

"Go!" He shoved me toward the driver’s seat. "Now!"

I got in. The engine turned over. I looked up.

Lucian stood in the driveway, watching me, his phone still glowing in his hand.

Small and alone.

I pulled away. The road blurred. I checked the rearview once.

He was already gone.

My phone buzzed.

Not Lucian.

Unknown number.

Drive safe, Eliora. We’ll see you soon.

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