One month of putting my hands on Levi’s tight body. One month of rubbing every inch of the smooth, sun-kissed skin I’ve only seen in magazines for the last four years. One month of his insufferable attitude and I’ll be set.

It’s going to be pure torture, but only a moron would pass this up.

And I’m no moron.

An hour later, I’m rethinking everything when Levi bursts through the door on a set of crutches. A man with a thick beard similar to his follows in behind him, a brunette under one arm and a blonde tucked under the other, and kicks the door closed behind them with his Van covered heel. They’re loud and obnoxious and totally wasted.

What the hell is Levi thinking, partying after undergoing major surgery to repair the break in his femur caused, once again, by his recklessness? Granted, that was three months ago, but with the kind of medications the doctors must have him on, he has no business going out drinking.

I’m momentarily shocked into stillness by their intrusion. I’m sitting here, in a spaghetti strap tank top and yoga pants, a Nutrigrain bar hovering in front of my lips, when my gaze collides with his and it all comes flooding back.

I haven’t seen Levi since the wedding. Standing up for his father and I for my mother, he’d refused to even look at me as they recited their vows, which killed me, adding to the pain his words delivered just hours earlier. I wanted him to acknowledge me, needed to see in his eyes that I meant something more to him, that I wasn’t another throwaway in his life, but he never did. And when it was all said and done, he’d taken off with one of the bridesmaids rather than continue occupying the same space.

My last memory of him is much like the picture before me now—Levi, too damn sexy for his own good, drunk off his ass, with a sure thing waiting in the wings.

We were only kids then. We’ve both had time to grow up. And Levi? He’s definitely changed.

My gaze skates down his lithe form, taking in his towering height, wide shoulders, and broad chest. As a teenager, Levi was hot. Now, he’s sexy as sin. The magazines didn’t do him justice. The man who stands before me now oozes sex appeal from every pore. Between the casual style of loose cotton pants and a band t-shirt revealing fully tattooed arms, the heavy old beard growth that covers half his face, and dark, wavy hair that looks wild and unkempt, he’s got this rugged, casual, bad boy persona down pat. The giant cast running up three-quarters of his left leg just adds further credibility to the look.

And I’m totally checking him out.

When I realize what I’m doing, my eyes fly back up and with a flush of heat I see that he’s scoping me out, too.

When our gazes clash again, a cocky smile lifts one side of Levi’s mouth, and I know, without that beard in the way, there would be a slight dimple in his cheek. It’s his signature smile. The one I see in all the tabloids. He flashes it and women melt. Including me.

His stepsister.

One of the girls giggles as she approaches him and presses her hand to the center of his chest as she attempts to curl up against him. The sound is jarring, the sight almost comical as he is forced to adjust the crutches and steady his balance, and I blink, remembering where I am, who I am, and most importantly, why I’m here.

“Levi,” the girl says in a voice that is pure seduction, “who’s that?” Her fall of blonde hair sways over her slender shoulder as she jerks her head in my direction, refusing to look at me.

Staring straight into my eyes, Levi tells her, “That is my dear sister.”

2

“Levi.” My greeting is short and clipped, just as I intend for my presence in this room to be. Clearly, he forgot I was coming and planned a private gathering, of which I have no intention of being a part of.

“Vista,” he drawls, stretching my name out in a way that makes it sound almost obscene. At the sound of that deep, naturally seductive voice, my mind conjures all kinds of inappropriate scenarios involving the two of us, alone, with no clothes on.

His light gaze flickers over me again, sending a tiny shiver racing through me. It’s probably just a casual observance on his part, but my brain twists it, perceiving it as a physical caress that warms me all the way down to my toes.

Clearly, I am a sick individual in need of professional help.

Shrugging the woman off, Levi sets into motion across the open floor to the kitchen, his crutches taking the lead and the brunt of what appears to be considerable weight. I watch as he pulls glasses down from a cabinet, the muscles in his back and arm flexing, and lines them up along the counter. “Wine?”

He’s asking everyone, but when his clear blue gaze flicks up, his eyes are fixed on me. As he begins to pour, I shake my head.

“No, I’m fine,” I tell him, my voice weak even to my own ears. I’d always assumed that wine was too refined for arrogant assholes. What am I still doing here? This interaction has already gone on too long. It’s messing with my head.

I watch him pour, resisting the urge to comment on his choice of alcohol.

Knowing I need to extract myself from the situation, I stand up and brush bits of granola crumbs from my clothing onto the pristine floor. “I’m tired, so I’m just going to turn in for the night.”

“Turn in for the night?” Levi barks a laugh. “What are you, fifty?”

His guests laugh at his attempt at a joke and I grit my teeth to withhold a snappy retort. This Levi is easy to hate. He reminds me why I left in the first place.

“Sorry to be a downer,” I sneer, “but some of us have jobs in the morning.”

“Jobs?”

“Yeah, that thing people like me refer to as work. I’m sure the word is foreign to you, so I don’t expect you to understand the concept.”

Lifting his glass, Levi wraps his full lips around the rim and takes a drink as he studies me through narrowed eyes. The look is cutting, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable in this cavernous room of stark modernity. I am aware of the curious, watchful eyes of his friends as they attempt to figure out just what the hell is going on between us. Good luck with that, I want to tell them, because my lips are sealed. They don’t need to hear all the sordid details of our fucked up history.

Somehow, even with his crutches, Levi heads toward me with a fluid grace that leaves my mouth dry.

He is everything I’ve told myself I should loathe, but there’s something about him that stokes a fire within me. Always has, ever since the day we first met, and a part of me fears always will. My stomach flips and if I ever doubted it, I don’t now. Nothing has changed. Levi is still hot as holy hell and more than capable of reducing me to a love-struck teenager whose brain trips over itself at the mere sight of him.

Everything about Levi is the same as I remember, only bigger. The only indulgence I’ve allowed myself over these last four years was following him in the media, but seeing him in magazine spreads and on television hasn’t prepared me for what stands here now.

He’s somehow even more devastating in person.

Levi stops directly in front of me, so close the heat of our bodies merge. He smells of clean linens and soap, and when he speaks, sweet wine.

“When did you get in?” His tone is soft, easy. Conversational. Not at all what I expected considering the harsh look in his eyes.

“Uh...a couple hours ago, I guess.” It’s difficult to think with him standing so close.

“You showered,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he looks me over once more, his eyes pausing on my chest, making me acutely aware that I’m not wearing a bra. My nipples tighten under his lingering gaze, and it doesn’t escape his attention. His lips curl up on one side.