I shouldn’t have been listening.
But the second I heard the low, rough groan through the half-open bathroom door, my feet stopped moving and my pulse slammed between my legs like a fist.
It was past midnight. The rest of the house was dark and quiet—Mom and my stepfather already asleep downstairs, the guest room empty. Only one light was on: the soft amber glow spilling from under the master bathroom door that connected to my stepbrother’s room.
Liam.
Twenty-eight. Six-foot-three of pure, arrogant muscle. The same Liam who had walked into my life three years ago when our parents got married, looked me up and down like he already knew every filthy secret I kept, and never quite stopped looking.
I told myself I only stopped because I thought someone might be hurt. That was a lie. The so
