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. ...