But standing here, with his hands on my face and his eyes burning into mine, all I feel istrapped.
“You never need to provide for me,” I say, and I step back before I start shaking. “I can take care of myself.”
Z’s smile slowly falls… and then twists into something ugly.
“Is this you taking care of yourself?” He waves at thepristine basement like it’s evidence in a trial. “Playing house with Daddy’s shiny new wife? What’s the plan, Harp? Follow in the family tradition and snag yourself a sugar daddy?”
All the air swoops out of my lungs at the unexpected blow. My defenses were down, so it hit harder than it should have. But old habits snap into place like a spring recoiling.
If he wants cruel, I can do cruel. Hell, I was raised on it.
“Money does make shit easier,” I snap, eyes locked on his. “Maybe Iwillbe a trophy wife. Seems like there’s plenty of rich morons around here who’d be thrilled to put a ring on some damaged pussy.”
Z’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “That soft little prep school boy upstairs one of them?”
And just like that, he hits a nerve.
Something hot and sharp blooms in my chest. Protective. Possessive.Feral.
Because he doesn’t get to talk about Caleb like that. He doesn’t get to reduce what Caleb and I have tothat—to me using him, to me being another con artist Tucker.
Caleb stood up to Frank O’Brian. Caleb drove me all the way to East Texas, knowing I was going to marry someone else. Caleb said, “I love you,” andmeantit.
Caleb chose me.
Not because I was convenient. Not because I was the only option. Not because he wanted something from me.
He chose me because I’mworth choosing.
“Leave him alone,” I bite out.
Z’s eyes light up with vicious delight.
“Ohshit.” His grin is savage. Triumphant. “You like him. Harper Fucking Tucker, queen of one-night stands and ghosted hookups, caught feelings for her stepbrother.”
“Fuck you, Z.”
But it comes out too high-pitched. Too desperate.
Because he’s right.
I have feelings for Caleb.
Real, terrifying, overwhelming feelings that make my chest ache and my hands shake and my carefully constructed armor feel like it’s made of tissue paper.
I turn and head for the stairs, all but running this time so he can’t stop me.
“You coming back down tonight?” he calls after me, and his voice is calculated. Possessive. “We could cuddle like old times.”
I don’t even look back.
Just flip him off as I climb the stairs, middle finger sky-high.
But his words follow me up the stairs. Slither up my spine like smoke.
Like old times.
But I don’t think I’m that girl anymore—the one who curled up in Z’s bed and thought that love was whatever scraps someone gave you if you were pretty enough and quiet enough and useful enough.