She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “What about a wife? Kids? A house with a white picket fence and a dog?”

“I don’t want it. Any of it.”

She tilted her head inquisitively. Christ, I loved it when she did that. “Why not? What do you have against a family?”

“I’m a loner, a free spirit. Mom’s been harping on me ever since I mentioned I might come home, and it’s killing me. She’s smothering me, and it’s only through the phone.” I took another sip of beer. “I can’t imagine being with one person for the rest of my life, having to check in constantly, and not feeling trapped by that life. And if my fictional wife decided she hated me, we’d be stuck. If I get married, I want it to last. Divorce shouldn’t be an escape route. So our fictional kids would be trapped in a toxic environment with two parents who can’t stand each other.”

I refused to let my mind go to the one woman whom I might be able to happily spend a lifetime with. After all, she might end up marrying someone else out of duty.

Twisting the beer, she lowered her head. “You’re assuming you would grow to dislike each other. But what if you could be happy for the rest of your lives? What if the woman you married was the person you’ve been waiting for your whole life? What if you pass up your soul mate because you’re too scared to risk it?”

Still not thinking about it. I didn’t even believe in soul mates. You either liked someone, or you didn’t. End of story. “What if you pass yours up while you’re married to Preppy Prick?”

She blanched. “I don’t know.”

Well, shit. I hadn’t even lasted twenty minutes before breaking my vow not to poke at her any more about that marriage. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” I muttered.

“It’s okay. You’re right. I might miss out on that. On all of it. The happiness. The laughter. The love.” She sighed. “And that would suck, but it is what it is. Sometimes life isn’t fair. Sometimes you don’t get what you want. We can’t all get happy endings, can we?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I tightened my hold on my beer, seeming to realize at the same time as her how close we sat to one another. Our legs were both turned in, knees brushing, and her hand rested on my thigh.

How the hell had that happened?

She jerked her hand back, and we both jumped up.

“I’m tired,” she blurted out.

“I’m going to do the dishes,” I said at the same time.

We laughed and went to pass one another, but we both went the same way. The end result was my chest pressed against hers, and her hands on my hips. Her perfume washed over me, and I groaned. Actually groaned.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Lilly backed up, tucking her hair behind her ears, her cheeks even pinker than before. Her fingers trembled as she lowered them, and I knew—I damn well knew—she trembled with desire. For me. “You know, for a man who values the concept of brotherhood so much, I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit about your potential as a husband. Marriage just means you’re on a different kind of team.”

Her jaw worked for a moment as if she was debating saying something else, before bolting for the stairs, and I watched her go, my mind finally thinking about it. What it would be like if Lilly was free. What life could be like if I married her.

I reminded myself of all the reasons why following her up to her room was a horrible idea. If I let her in, it wouldn’t just be her heart breaking in the end. Her level of self-sacrifice astounded me, and I couldn’t pressure her any longer to go against her principles. If she decided she had to marry Derek, then I wouldn’t stand in her way.

Besides, what did I have to offer her?

I was living in her home, free of charge, on her charity. I only had seven years of banked army pay in my accounts. If I went up those stairs, if I knocked on her door, she would become my world. I wouldn’t care that she was my stepsister, about the scandal our relationship would create, about the fact she was promised to another man.

All I’d care about would be her.

I would lose control over my own fate. My happiness. It would all belong to Lilly. She’d hold everything I was in her hands. After years of being unable to control anything in my life, I wasn’t ready to give up control like that again. I couldn’t be helpless like that.

Vulnerable.

Even for her.

She could never just be my stepsister now. If I was being honest with myself, she first started to worm her way into my heart when she brought me those damn cookies. When she took the time to write a scared, eighteen-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears army grunt.

Getting to know her now, all over again, it was only getting worse.

She was incredible. Amazing. One of a kind. And not mine.

I cleaned up untouched pizza and empty beer bottles, then drank a few more. I lost track of how much time passed, but it had to have been at least a few hours. When I climbed the stairs, the room spun a little bit, and I held the railing to steady myself. I had hoped drinking the rest of the beer would dull the aching void that Lilly Hastings had left behind in me. Had hoped it would temper the lust. The need. The pain.

It didn’t.

If anything, it made it stronger.

I clung to the railing, blinking against the darkness as I finished climbing the stairs. When I reached her door, I stopped. For a second, just a damn second, I fought with myself. I could go in, wake her up with a kiss, and take her. Settle for whatever scraps of her I could get before she agreed to marry Derek.

But I couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“Jackson…yes, God, yes.”

I stiffened, resting a hand on the doorjamb and leaning closer. Had I seriously just heard that? Or was it all in my imagination? It had to be the beer messing with my—

“Jackson,” she moaned again. “Ohhhh…”

Look, there was only so much a man like me could take.

Even a saint wouldn’t have been able to walk away from that door—and I’d already established several times now that I was no damn saint. If she was going to touch herself, and pretend it was me, there was no way in hell I was walking away.

I wasn’t a good-enough man. And I never would be.

Especially after this.

Breath held, I turned the knob, half hoping it was locked, mostly hoping it wasn’t. Hell, even if it was, I probably would have knocked down the damn door to get to her.

It cracked open without objection.

Stumbling in, I ripped my shirt off as I walked over to the bed. She lay in the middle of it, breathing heavily, blankets kicked off. Her perfect thighs were parted, and her hand pressed against her clit, underneath her thin, lacy panties. They hid nothing at all, and yet hid too much. I could see her pink, rosy lips, and I could see how wet she was. But I couldn’t see the way her finger thrust into her soft pussy, or how crazy she drove herself while she played with her clit.

It was still, hands down, the most erotic thing I’d ever seen in my life.

Part of me expected her to freeze up on seeing me. For her to stammer apologies, or blush, or grab the covers. Something modest and innocent. But she stared at me, biting down on her lip, and moved her fingers even harder. Even faster.

And then she groaned.

I choked on nothing at all, ripped my pants open, and let them hit the floor. “I’m going to fuck you, and nothing—nothing—will stop me.”

“God, yes. Jackson.” She moaned and arched her hips, still rubbing herself, her lips parting as she cried out. “It’s about damn time.”

I couldn’t look away, and I squeezed my cock as I watched, needing a little bit of reprieve from the need crashing into me relentlessly. There was no more time, or need, for words. Not anymore. We’d said it all. Thought it all.

Now it was time to shut up, ignore it all, and just do.