I should have said no.
That thought plays on a loop as I press the doorbell, suitcase in hand, stomach doing somersaults. The house in front of me is all glass and stone and cool, sleek masculinity—just like the man who owns it.
Alec.
My stepbrother.
I hate that my heart jumps at the thought of him.
The door opens with a soft hiss, and there he is—leaning against the frame in black joggers and a plain white tee that clings to his chest like it was tailored for sin. His hair is slightly tousled, stubble rough across a jaw I used to fantasize about way too much for someone I was technically related to.
“Well,” he says, voice low and unimpressed. “You actually came.”
I square my shoulders and fake a smile. “Good to see you too, Alec.”
He steps aside, and I wheel my suitcase in, refusi
