God, he was hot. Really hot.

I forced my mind off him, back onto the conversation, and shrugged. “Can’t help that. Genetics will get you in the end.” I gave him a once-over. “It certainly got you. You look…different. More colorful, though that part isn’t from genetics, of course.”

“Hmm.” He lifted my chin and turned my head to the left slightly. His rough fingers on my skin sent a long, powerful tremor of memories and old feelings racing through my veins and mind. “You don’t. You look the same as you always did.”

I laughed uneasily, not fighting his hold on my chin, still aware of the feelings his touch triggered. “I beg to differ. Last time you saw me, I had braces and frizzy hair, and I barely had any breasts.”

He choked on a laugh. “Jesus, Lilly.”

“It’s true. I was a late bloomer.”

He stared at me. “All I see when I look at you is the same kid who always did as she was told.” One of his long fingers caressed my throat ever so slightly before it froze, and my stomach trembled in response. “You still that good little girl?”

There was something in his voice, and the way he held me, that said he wasn’t as unaffected by me as he wanted me to think. And rebelliously, I latched on to that. Just like I had that day at the pool. “What do you think? Do I look good to you?”

I felt, more than saw, his attention roam my body. Though he hadn’t moved even a fraction of an inch, my nipples tightened in silent reply. Squeezing my thighs together, I tried my best to ignore the desire he brought to life within me. I might be trying to dirty up my halo, but I was still very much a novice at being a bad girl.

Even if I still wanted to be bad with him.

Seven years hadn’t changed that.

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked.

Yes. No. Maybe. “What do you think?”

His nostrils flared, as if he sensed my thoughts, and he stepped closer to me. His fingers tightened on my chin ever so slightly before he let go, almost reluctantly. “Look, I’m gonna be completely honest with you. I’m drunk as hell, and probably not the best person to test your flirting skills out on this time around. Don’t get me wrong.” He studied me, and I shivered despite myself. “If you weren’t, well, you, I’d go home with you. Truth is, you’re beautiful. If you were anyone—literally, anyone—else, I’d take you home, fuck you, and make you come so hard you’d never feel clean again. But you’re you, and I’m me, and we’re supposed to be brother and sister, so, really, that can’t happen.”

I crossed my arms, ignoring the rush of warmth his words brought out inside my belly. Jackson Worthington, all grown-up and talking dirty, was a sight to behold. But I refused to let him see how deeply his words shocked me. “First of all, I’m not your sister, and you’re not my brother. Second of all, I never said a thing about sleeping with you. I’m simply offering to bring you to wherever you’re staying because you’re drunk.”

He frowned. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” I pointed to my red car. “So get in, shut up, and tell me where you’re staying so I can take you there. Or…I’ll tell your mom you’re home.”

For a second, he gaped at me, as if he couldn’t believe I’d dared to issue an order to him. Clearly, I surprised him. But then he laughed, and I couldn’t look away because he was beautiful, in a rough, manly, dangerous way. He had dark brown hair, and a five o’clock shadow that was stark against the pale white skin that covered his slightly crooked jawline. He had tattoos under the neckline of his shirt, and every muscle on him looked hard as a rock, but still.

He was beautiful.

Always had been.

“Damn, you grew claws while I was away, little girl.”

“It’s called growing up.” I shrugged. “You should try it sometime.”

I headed for my car, unlocked it, slid into the driver’s seat, and buckled up. He shut the passenger door behind him, settled into his seat, scratched his head, and opened the window all within ten seconds of sitting down. It was July in Arlington, Virginia, so it was still hot, but the breeze felt good. He didn’t buckle his seatbelt, so I didn’t move.

After a few moments, he turned to me. “What?”

“Buckle up.”

He leaned closer, and I caught my breath. He was even more attractive this close, and he smelled good. Too good. Like Calvin Klein and the beach. It was intoxicating. “Seriously, little girl?”

I blinked at him, annoyance heating my cheeks and making me flush despite my best attempts to ignore his goading of me. “Do you even remember my name? Sometimes I wonder. Or maybe you call all the women you meet in bars ‘little girl,’ so you can send them on their way without having to forget their names afterward.”

Laughing, he watched me.

When I didn’t join in, his laugh faded, and a moment passed between us where, for once, he wasn’t hiding behind his cocky, aloof, “I don’t care” attitude. And for a second, just a second, I thought I saw the real him.

The one I’d known, and loved, all those years ago.

But when I saw what hid in his eyes—pain, regret, fear, and passion—it literally took my breath away. My heartbeat thudded loudly in my head, so loudly I almost missed his soft words, and I held my breath. He rested his elbow on the center console, his breath fanning out over my cheek. “Lilly. Your name is Lilly Hastings.”

“Yeah.” I sucked in a deep breath, filling my starved, stinging lungs. Even though I knew we were too close to one another, and that I should put some space between us, I couldn’t move away. It was as if some sort of magnetic force held us together, and there was no breaking it. No breaking free. “Jackson…”

With a softly muttered curse, he did what I couldn’t and broke the moment, rubbing his jaw and turning away, facing the window. “I don’t wear a seatbelt, so go ahead and pull out.”

Ignoring the tension between us, I didn’t do as told.

He’d notice soon enough. Which he did.

“Lilly.” He leaned in till our noses were practically touching, his chest rising and falling rapidly, getting way too close yet again. He smelled like whiskey and man. Pure man. “Listen, and listen well. I’ve faced insurgents, bullets, and bombs. I’ve held my friends in my arms as their blood turned the earth red, and somehow lived to tell. So if I want to face a road without protection, then it’s my right, and nothing you do will stop me from claiming it.”

Oh. Ooooh.

So that was why he was the way he was. It explained so much. It explained so many of the changes I’d seen in him. But he wasn’t about to die on my watch, not if I had anything to say about it. “It’s the law. You’re supposed to.”

He looked less than convinced. “Do you still always do what you’re supposed to do?”

Yes. No. Maybe. But I was trying to fix that, thank you very much. And he was helping me there, because for some reason, it was so easy to say no to him. “You could be injured.”

He shrugged. “No one would give a damn.”

“That can’t be true.” I started the car with trembling hands and pulled up to the intersection. “Someone would care. Your mother, for starters. My father.” And me.

“Your father hates me, and you know it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Turn left at the light.”

I did as instructed this time.

The whole time, the questions I wanted to ask most ran through my head. Did you use me? Did that kiss mean anything to you? Do you even remember it? Did you even want me, or did you only do it to hurt my father? Why didn’t you write me back?

I held the wheel so tight, my knuckles ached. Jackson Worthington, all grown-up and hardened, was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed before. Something about him was reckless and untamed, like how he refused to wear a freaking seatbelt, of all things. But at the same time, I felt as if he never really let his control go. Actually, not wearing a seatbelt was kind of remaining in control. He didn’t want to wear one, so he didn’t. And nothing I, or the law, said would make him budge.