“But you’re not his daughter,” she shoots back, turning toward me and leaning in. “You’re a hot, young piece of pussy living under his roof, and you know he’s thought about that. He may be Cole’s dad, but he’s also a man.” She turns back, looking out the window and checking him out. “And a fine, healthy-looking one, too.”

“I have a boyfriend. His son.”

That’s right, Jordan. That’s exactly what you should’ve told yourself when you were staring at him a minute ago.

But my sister just shrugs. “Even hotter.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “If you like him, go for it.”

“Nuh-uh.” Her lips curl playfully. “I’m all worked up about the fantasy now. I want my own boyfriend’s father.”

Uggggghhhh…my cheeks warm again.

“You’re sordid. And you don’t have a boyfriend,” I point out.

“Well, I should get one. One who has a hot dad.”

I shake my head. I’m not talking about this anymore. She’s convinced I was ogling, and she thrives on naughtiness. I’m not feeding her.

“Plus, you’re my sister,” she states. “I don’t want to make you jealous by hooking up with him.”

“Why would I be jealous?” I blurt out, finishing the last potato. “Seriously. I have a boyfriend. Who Pike Lawson screws is of no consequence to me. Go for it.”

Turning away, I wipe off my hands, veer around her, and grab the pot of water with potatoes and put it on the stove, starting the burner. Pork chops are marinating. Dough for the biscuits is sitting. I go through my mental checklist as quickly as I can to keep my mind occupied. And away from him.

He can see whomever he wants. This is his house.

“Well,” I hear Cam say. “If you’re okay with it then…”

I remain at the stove, pretending to check the burner, but my hand tightens on the knob, fear twisting my insides.

The next thing I hear is the back door slamming against the frame, and I jerk upright, seeing that she’s left the kitchen.

Son of a…

Walking back over to the sink, I peer out the window and see Cam heading across the lawn to where Pike is working. She tosses a look over her shoulder at me like she knows I’m watching. She smirks, and I scowl.

I wasn’t serious. The thought of her hands on him…his arms around her... I don’t want to see that. She’s my sister.

He senses her approach and looks down at her, turning off the tool, and I watch as he listens, probably wondering why she’s bugging him.

Maybe he’s wondering, that is.

My sister is hot, and not many men would refuse her if she set her sights on them. Maybe Pike’s attracted to her? He is a man, like she said.

And she’s older, has her own place, a car, and is rooted in this town for the time being. She’s still significantly younger than him, but she’s not a kid.

She’s not a ‘little girl’.

She crosses her arms over her chest, shuffling her feet a little, giving the impression of modesty, and I shake my head, because Cam is not modest. At all.

Just very good at reading people. She knows coming on too strong will freak him out.

After a moment, she touches his arm, and I barely breathe as I watch her bend her neck, inspecting his ink. Then, quickly, she straightens and lifts up her arm, showing him the huge black phoenix on the side of her torso.

He watches as she lifts up her white tank and bra straps, and my stomach sinks, expecting him to blush or look uncomfortable, because uncomfortable is Pike’s thing, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches her as she talks animatedly, excited, and then suddenly, he smiles, his body shaking with a laugh at whatever she’s saying.

Something tugs at the back of my throat, and I don’t feel good. He keeps looking at her. His eyes have barely left her since she walked out there. Does he want her? Does she turn him on?

I mean, I want him to like her, just not want her. It’s not right. I don’t want to hear her moaning and panting down the hall all night.

Besides, she won’t like him. He’s way too uptight. Pretty boring, actually.

But she’d definitely make him feel good for a while.

I close my eyes, a five ton weight on my shoulders.

She turns and starts picking up branches off the ground, and he goes back to cutting, both of them working together in happy unison. But I see her turn to mouth something at me with a cocky little smile.

It takes a moment to register what she said.

Jealous yet?

I can’t help the snarl that escapes as I flip her the finger and then turn around, walking away from the window. Damn her. She won’t do anything. She thinks I like him. She’s just trying to piss me off.

I pull the collar of my T-shirt away from my body, every inch of my skin feeling irritated. I need a breath.

Walking over to the stove, I turn off the burner and leave the kitchen, jogging up the stairs. I enter Cole’s and my bedroom, pull some clean clothes out of the drawers, and leave, walking across the hallway to our bathroom.

But as soon as I step inside, I stop, seeing the mess Pike has made. The tub is ripped out, the valves are disconnected to the sink, and there’s debris all over the white tiled floor.

He’s still renovating. I forgot.

His bedroom door lays open, and I can see his bed straight ahead, the headboard against the opposite wall as I walk toward his room. Every time I’ve passed through here to get my showers this past week, it’s felt awkward. Being in his room alone.

I don’t snoop, but it’s tempting.

His bed is always made. A little haphazardly, blankets just tossed back up in a rush, but I can’t help but be a little taken back. If not for my stepmom, my father’s bed would never be made.

Heading for the bathroom, I see the pictures of Cole from birth to senior year portraits lining the frame of his dresser mirror. A flat screen hangs on the wall, it’s power cord dangling and unplugged. A model schooner sits on his bureau with only a light layer of dust on the white sails.

And an old watch with a worn leather band I’ve never seen him wear sits in a dish on his dresser. There’s no other jewelry anywhere.

Aside from the bed, the two dressers, the TV, and the bedside tables, the room is minimal. Nothing on the walls, of course, one black lamp with a gray shade, and a strong afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the partially open blinds.

I hate that he lived here alone for so long. Someone needs to spice this place up. Not my sister.

Swinging the bathroom door closed behind me, I lock it and reach into the shower, turning on the water. I set my change of clothes on the sink counter and strip down, pulling out a towel from the shelf and hanging it on the hook outside the shower.

Jealous yet? I shake my head, my ire rising again as I step into the shower and close the glass door.

I’m not jealous. I just don’t want to see her push him around like I know she definitely can. So much is a game to my sister, and she hides her insecurities behind flighty behavior and sarcasm.

Pike’s not like that. He needs someone calm. Someone who knows how to keep him calm.

Someone who can wrap their arms around his neck and make the rest of the world disappear.

Tipping my head back, I wet my hair and close my eyes, feeling the heat of the water pound my shoulders and neck. Chills spread down my arms, and my head suddenly swims with the pleasure of the warmth.

Turning around, I plant my hands on the wall and roll my head under the spray, finally coming back up and leaning against the wall behind me as I push my hair back over my head.

My stomach curdles. If Cole wasn’t in the picture and Pike came into the bar one night and sat on a stool and talked to me…I’d like him. I’d really like him.

I’d want him.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. God, my sister is right. Something is happening. It’s been happening, actually. Does everyone else notice, too? Does he notice?

Shit.

Opening my eyes, they immediately fall on his body wash ahead of me sitting in the caddy. Cole usually uses Axe, but he hasn’t pulled his stuff out of the other shower yet, probably just using his dad’s Irish Spring.

I cast a quick look toward the glass, making sure I’m alone, and pull the bottle off the rack and pop the lid.

Little suds fizz around the opening from the guys’ showers that morning, and I close my eyes, bringing Pike’s body wash to my nose. The heady fragrance fills my head, and tingles spread across my skin. It’s cheap soap, but it’s no frills, does the job, and reminds me of jeans, lumber, and the barest bristle of a five-o’clock shadow on a man’s jaw.

It’s him.

My throat swells like I’m taking a gulp of water, and I swallow, feeling disappointed that nothing is there. I lick my lips, breathing hard.

I suspend reality somewhere in the back of my mind and absently squeeze a drop of the soap into my hand. Bring my palm up to my nose, I smell again, my breath catching, my eyes falling closed, and my clit instantly throbbing.

Should I go after her? I remember his rare, cocky smirk that excited me last night. I didn’t want him going after anyone, but God, I’m desperate to see what that looks like. What is he like with a girl?

You think I can’t handle her? I’ve been around the block.

The hand with the soap falls down my neck, glides over my collar bone, and washes down my breast and over my nipple. Handle her? “Not her,” I mouth to myself.

My fingers graze down my stomach as I lean back on the wall, and I slide my hand between my legs, biting my lip and shuddering at the touch.

I slowly start to rub myself, my fingers working little circles on my hardening clit.

“No,” I whisper, opening my eyes. “Stop, stop, stop…”

I force Cole into my head. His hands on my body. His lips on my ear. The way he buries his face in my neck, so I can never see his eyes.

Oh, baby.

Fuck, baby, fuck.

You feel good. So good.

His hands grip my ass, and I rub the nub harder. Faster. Chasing the momentum I just had. The orgasm taunts me low in my belly and wants out so hard.