𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

Cara Hendersons pov

I felt as if I were trapped in ice, every part of me frozen in place, every breath a distant echo. A stark awareness settled in—if I moved even an inch, the sensations would ignite throughout my entire being. So I stood there, motionless, my gaze locked on my brother. Anger radiated from him like heat waves, his dark brown eyes burning with an intensity that screamed hatred. Yet, amid that fury lay an unexpected spark of adoration, making it hard for me to believe he truly despised me.

"I don't want to kiss you," I said, my voice shaky and unconvincing. Deep down, I yearned for that kiss; my body ached for it, but my mind screamed at me to flee, to create distance, to protect myself. I didn’t owe him anything—they were both using me. So why was I still here? Why did I feel so helpless in his presence, like a puppet at the mercy of his strings?

"Oh, but you do," he said, a playful challenge in his tone, “I can practically hear your heartbeat.”

"My heart isn't racing that much," I retorted, but even as I spoke, I felt the truth fluttering within me—it was pounding in wild rhythms.

"I wasn’t talking about that heartbeat, cara." His voice was smooth, laced with a sultry edge that sent shivers skittering down my spine. The towel wrapped around me provided scant protection against the heat emanating from him, so close, yet so tantalizingly out of reach.

As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but admire his striking features. He was undeniably beautiful; his lips promised ecstasy, his eyes shimmered with raw desire, and his hair framed his face in an irresistible way. I felt a pull I couldn’t ignore.

"Please..." he pleaded softly, and something about the vulnerability in his voice made me ache to explore every inch of him, even as I waged a war to maintain my distance.

Tentatively, I reached out, my finger trembling as it brushed against his neck, tracing the vibrant ink of his tattoo. Up close, it was even more magnificent than I had imagined, a swirl of colors that made my heart flutter. I watched as his breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with each inhalation, an intoxicating rhythm that mirrored my own.

"Were you... jealous?" The question hung in the air, electrifying the space between us.

He held my gaze, those fierce eyes narrowing, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

"You are, aren’t you?" I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against his neck. He flinched slightly but then pulled me closer, his hands settling on my waist, warm and possessive.

"I'm not jealous...why would I be?" His words were a desperate lie.

"You tell me." I blinked, challenging him, but before he could respond, his lips crashed against mine in a fierce, consuming kiss. Different from Travis’s—rougher, more assertive—it felt like he was marking me as his own.

"Cara..." he murmured against my lips, each word a promise, his breathing quickening as his hands gripped my waist with an intensity that sent sparks racing through my body.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he whispered, his hands sliding down to my bare thighs. Without warning, he pulled me against him, eliciting a gasp from my lips as warmth enveloped me. I felt him shift beneath me, the weight of passion making it hard to think clearly. Each movement sent waves of heat coursing through me, a dizzying blend of excitement and confusion.

"You feel it, cara?" His breath was hot against my neck, his voice a pleading whisper.

"I..." I struggled for words, my senses overwhelmed by the closeness of our bodies.

"Tell me..." His insistence pierced through my haze, and I could see the raw need reflected in his eyes.

"I feel it... I just don’t know… what..." Yet even the slightest movement of my waist seemed to fuel the simmering heat between us.

Here I was, caught between two brothers, shifting back and forth between them, each interaction leaving me more tangled in emotion. Travis had been gentle, but John was a tempest—wild and untamed. I knew he wouldn’t be gentle, yet there was something magnetic about the danger he represented.

"Do you want me to...?" he offered, his voice low, almost rumbling. The urgency in his tone both scared and thrilled me.

"No, it’s... okay." I shook my head, feeling the weight of the moment. Despite the fire pooling in my stomach, I knew I had to keep my wits about me, at least for now.

"Are you sure?" His lips hovered dangerously close to mine, desperate and hungry.

"Yeah... I’m sure."

Clinging to my self-control was a battle, but somehow, I knew I had to hold on.