Chapter 17

Sleep never usually comes easily to me at the best of times, and this isn't the best of times. I sit on the bed, the sheets still on, letting my hand work as I move the blade over the piece of wood. Tiny flakes of wood chip away, floating to the floor. It's no surprise when I see the edge of a ballerina's dress begin to form, her arms stretched in the air. When I finish, I put it on the counter next to the one I completed at 2 a.m. It's 3:30 a.m. now.

Lying in bed, I try closing my eyes, but all I see is mayhem, and then Ania, like I saw her when I was fantasizing in the shower, her body right there for me, just for me.

"Just for me," I repeat, realizing how insane it sounds.

My phone vibrates. "Visitor wants to talk" appears on the screen. This notification tells me somebody in the "guest room"—Ania's prison—wants to talk. We've only used that room once before when we had trouble with some criminal types, and he wasn't getting his calls answered.

I swipe the phone.

"Ania?" I ask.

"I'm not sleepwalking," she says. "Just so you know."

"You sound lucid to me," I agree.

"I just … It's kind of, well, it's silly, but …"

"You don't have to be ashamed," I tell her, "of anything. What is it?"

"It's just there's this big spider right next to my bed and … Don't worry. No, it's fine."

"A spider?" I say, relief touching me. "Hell, Ania, after everything, that's easy. Give me a sec."

"You don't mind?"

Not even a bit, and it gives me something to do. In the back of my head, the truth burns. I just want to see her, plain and simple.

Walking through the quiet apartment, I open Ania's door and find her standing in the entranceway with her arms wrapped over her middle. Oh, damn. Is she doing this on purpose? She's changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top, and fuck … Really? My dick is already growing hard. She's not wearing a bra.

Her perky nipples poke through the material, making me want to stroke them softly, then pull her top down and start sucking.

"I know it's silly. The big bad spider scared me," she laughs shakily. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she murmurs. "Like … I don't know."

Yet part of me wonders if she does know. Maybe she can sense the hunger in me. Or perhaps I'm giving her more credit, assuming she knows more about how this works. Has she ever even been with a man? She's eighteen.

"Let's see this beast, then," I say, walking toward the bedroom.

She follows me, gesturing across the large, simple room to the tiny spider clinging to its web right next to her bed, stretching from the bedframe to the side table.

When I move forward, raising my hand as I get ready to deal with the problem, Ania says, "No, don't do that!"

I turn, narrowing my eyes. Is she serious? From the look in her eyes—the soft love there, the genuine concern—I can see that she is. A sense of pity almost touches me, but I don't let it take hold. It's not pity she deserves. It's respect because I could never imagine caring that much. I could never imagine having that much softness.

Usually, I despise it, but it's somehow appealing in Ania.

"You want me to save it?" I ask.

She narrows her eyes at me. "Don't say that like it makes me sad."

I smirk. "I don't think you're sad. I think you're cute."

"Oh, cute," she says, and I can tell she can't think of anything else to say. The compliment has turned her into Miss Shy, making her even cuter. Looking around the room, I grab a piece of paper from the desk, curl it into a cone, and walk slowly over to the spider. Leaning down, I slowly scoop it into the cone, adjusting my angle until it's resting at the bottom, trying to climb back up.

"Now where, madam?" I say.

She laughs. "Uh, I don't know. Where do spiders live?"

"Bedrooms, apparently."

"Maybe take him with you?"

"So it's a him now? Sure, he'll be my buddy for the night."

"Maybe come back to make sure there aren't anymore."

She says this last part quickly when my back's turned. It's like she has to get it out quickly. A smile touches my lips as I leave the room, taking the spider out. My instinct is still to kill it. Maybe I'm too savage. I hate the idea of lying to Ania, even about something this small, so I let the fella go into my room.

When I return to Ania, she has one hand in her hair, twisting a strand around and around her finger. She couldn't look more attractive if she tried, and something tells me she's not trying.

"You needed me?" I ask, trying not to look at her perky, perfect nipples poking through her shirt.

"What do you think I should say tomorrow?"

"To your brothers?" She bites her lip, nodding. My balls are aching so damn hard. "You should tell them how you feel."

"Well, what's that?"

I laugh but then quickly stop when I realize she's serious. She's so sweet and innocent. "You're asking me how you feel?"

"I'm just asking … in general. I thought I wanted to run, but then—" She stops herself, looking at me in a way that makes me think she was about to say me. She stayed because of me. Then she says, "I had the most magical time with Molly … Mom."

"Maybe there's a peaceful way out of this," I murmur.

"I thought my brothers were evil?" she says bitterly.

"If you tell them how you feel, and they agree to let you stay with your mom, maybe I was wrong."

"Just like that? They've gone from devils to angels?"

"Let's not go too far," I growl.

"They won't let me do anything," she says. "If I explain the situation to them, they'll understand."

"Then we should have nothing to worry about."

I have to turn away again. It's too tempting staring at her with that enticing body, with her slender hipbones emphasizing her natural shape. It's too easy to imagine sliding my hand down toward her tight?—

"Where are you going?" she says.

"Where else? Bed."

"Oh."

Fuck. That gets me to turn around again. The oh is filled with too much potential, too much possible heat. She stands in her adorably awkward way.

"Oh?" I say. "Where else would I be doing?"

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"Is this sleepwalking talk again?" I ask, smirking, trying to make a joke of it.

But this feisty ballerina is in no mood to joke. "I already told you I'm awake."

"No, I meant … when you were sleepwalking, you wanted things, Ania. Maybe you don't want me to go because you want those same things?" A husky note comes into my voice. I can't help it.

She looks at me in a way that makes me think she might as well scream yes. The excitement in her eyes and how she bites down is like she's getting ready for something. Yet savagely, I know she's not prepared for how badly I want her. I know I have to be the mature one here. I have to remain in control.

That's why it's a bad, fucked-up thing when I grab both her hands in mine, staring down. "Do you know how old I am?"

"No."

"Guess."

"Um, twenty-seven?"

"I'm thirty-three, Ania. Do you understand how much a person changes between eighteen and thirty-three?"

"What are you even talking about?" She gets all breathy, almost offended that I'm asking this question, her touch tightening on mine. "We're just holding hands."

I lean down toward her, knowing this is my last chance, but fuck. Dammit, what am I supposed to be, some superman with unrealistic discipline?

"We're going to do more than hold hands."

"I thought you hated me," she whispers.

"Same goes for you."

I lean in closer, waiting for her to tell me to stop. If she screams at me to back off and makes it clear that she doesn't want this to happen, I'll use all the discipline I have left to turn away and run fast. But she bites down again. She makes a hot-as-hell noise.

When our lips touch, everything makes sense: all the jittering and all the wasted time on relationships that were never going anywhere to begin with. I gently touch her slender hips, pulling her against me, my manhood flooding with hunger as I savor the taste of her lips. She wraps her arms around me slowly, clutching onto my shoulders.

"Oh, oh," she moans in the small gaps between the kissing. "Aiden …"

My stepsister slides her hands down my arms. There's so much passion in the way she clutches on.

I glide my hands down to her ass, lifting her up. She wraps her legs around me with a ballerina grace. Carrying her across the room, I lay her on the counter.

"Uh, wait a sec," she says, leaning back.

"What's wrong?" I ask as my heart hammers, my groin flooded with need, and my dick so hard I can barely take it.

"No, it's nothing. It's just that …"

Suddenly, she turns and hops off the other side of the counter, her hand over her mouth. "It's not you. It's?—"

She runs to the trashcan, just about opening the lid in time for a stream of vomit to erupt from her mouth. She keels over, gasping. "It's … not … you."

"Ania," I say, walking around the counter and touching her shoulder. "It's okay."

"It's not." She glares up at me, her lips glistening either from the kiss or the vomit. "None of this is okay."

"I shouldn't have pushed you," I tell her, even as some crazy part of me bellows that I should take her now anyway.

"Let me brush my teeth," she murmurs, but I can tell she's saying it for my benefit, not hers. She thinks this is what she has to do.

"You need sleep," I say. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

"I'm fine."

I have to turn away. If I don't, I'll listen to the hunger that won't quit. I'll let it take me over like troops storming a battlefield. Then it'll be war, mayhem, and lust like I've never felt. Even now, I want to tear off her clothes and slide into her, hard, deep, as she bounces and moans.

"Go on then. Run away," she snaps. "Like I want to lose my virginity to a hot-and-cold prick like you!"

At the door, I pause. A virgin? A virgin. I suspected she might be, but hearing it come from her adds extra pressure to it somehow. I think how sweet it'd be to be the only man ever to claim Ania.

For what? Forever?

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask, still not facing her. I can't.

"I don't need you," she says, a sob threatening in her voice.

I know—or maybe I hope—that we're both holding back for our own reasons. She doesn't hate me. She does need me, but why would that be a good thing? Tomorrow, or today technically, this ends. Whatever it is, it's over.