Page 63 of Beautiful Sin
“All yours!” he chirped, completely oblivious to my impending nervous breakdown. “I left you some hot water. Maybe. If you can find it somewhere between the Paleolithic and Mesozoic eras.”
I dove into the bathroom like it was offering sanctuary from Wei’s knowing looks and the universe’s personal vendetta against my dignity. The steam enveloped me immediately, hot and thick against my skin, carrying the lingering scent of Nico’s body wash—something aggressively masculine with undertones of synthetic pine. I stripped quickly, avoiding my reflection in the fogged mirror. I wasn’t ready to see if last night’s activities had somehow marked me, changed me in ways that would be visible to everyone.
My shower ended up being a rushed affair of soap and prayers, but at least I managed to wash my hair without drowning myself in panic about last night’s… activities with Jaxson. Though the way my brain kept helpfully replaying certain moments wasn’t exactly conducive to maintaining normal blood pressure. The phantom sensation of his tongue against mine, the way his hands had mapped my body with such confidence, the deep rumble of his voice, all of it played on a loop in my head, my body responding with embarrassing enthusiasm.
As I rinsed off, I noticed that honey-sweet scent again, stronger when the water hit my skin, as if the heat was releasing it from my pores. It was getting harder to ignore—a mix of honey, cherry blossoms, and lilies that seemed to follow me everywhere now.
When I emerged, wrapped in a towel that suddenly felt more like a handkerchief, I made the tactical error of glancing down the hallway. The sudden silence was deafening, the kind that makes you wonder if you’ve accidentally stepped into a parallel dimension where sound doesn’t exist.
I clutched my towel tighter, painfully aware of how small it suddenly felt under five pairs of eyes. If there was ever a moment to develop spontaneous invisibility powers, this would be it. Droplets of water traced cold paths down my spine, raising goosebumps in their wake—or maybe that was the intensity of the gazes fixed on me.
What shocked me most was the way my three older stepbrothers reacted. Their pupils visibly dilated, nostrils flaring slightly as if catching a scent—my scent?—that affected them deeply. That strange warmth I’d felt with Jaxson last night seemed to expand, reaching out toward all three of them. I could almost see it, like golden threads connecting us.
Wei’s voice cut through the thick silence like a particularly amused knife. “If you’re trying to give our brothers collective heart failure, Shrine Maiden, I’d say mission accomplished. Should I call an ambulance now or wait until they remember how to breathe?”
I risked another glance up, immediately regretting it when I met Jaxson’s eyes. The intensity in them made my knees weak, memories of last night threatening to short-circuit my brain completely. The hunger in his gaze was unmistakable now that I knew what it meant, what it promised. Those amber-gold eyes seemed to glow in the hallway light, fixing on me with predatory focus. Who needed coffee when you had that kind of voltage first thing in the morning?
“Lan?” His voice did things to my insides that I refused to analyze, preferably ever. It was deeper than usual, rough around the edges like he’d swallowed gravel. “Hurry and get dressed.”
Right. Clothes. Those things normal people wear instead of standing in hallways having minor meltdowns while their stupidly attractive stepbrothers stared at them like they were either going to eat me alive or spontaneously combust. Though why they were all looking at me likethatwas beyond mycomprehension. It’s not like they hadn’t seen me in a towel before. Well, not since the other night, but—nope, not going there. My brain had enough problems staying functional as it was.
I retreated to my room, face burning hotter than Wei’s post-workout protein shake, the plush carpet soft beneath my bare feet. The only clean thing I could find was one of Jaxson’s old t-shirts—a worn gray one with HARD WORKER printed across the chest, though most of the middle letters had faded badly, leaving the remaining ones barely legible and distressed-looking. The cotton was soft against my skin as I pulled it over my head, carrying traces of Jaxson's scent—expensive cologne, fabric softener, and something uniquely him that made my heart race. It felt right somehow, wearing his clothes, like it connected us on some fundamental level that I couldn’t quite explain. Paired with my shortest shorts, I looked like an advertisement for… something that definitely wasn’t appropriate for family viewing. Or any viewing. Maybe I could just stay in my room forever? Build a blanket fort and become a hermit?
When I emerged again, I nearly tripped over my own feet, which was impressive considering I was standing still. “Um.” I tugged at the hem of my—Jaxson’s—shirt, suddenly feeling like I’d shown up to a fashion show in my pajamas. “Did I miss the memo about this being a formal mall trip?”
Because seriously. Who told my stepbrothers they needed to dress like models for shopping? The way those jeans fit Jaxson and how his dress shirt hugged his shoulders while the rolled sleeves showed off his forearms was just… illegal. It had to be illegal somewhere. I made a mental note to look up international fashion laws later.
Colt looked like he’d walked straight off a runway in his crisp button-down and designer jeans, while Xander’s trendy black V-neck probably cost more than my weekly paycheck. Times ten.With overtime. The way the fabric clung to his chest should have required a permit.
“Is this some kind of intervention?” I asked, trying to hide behind my still-damp hair like it was a shield against their collective fashion assault. “Because if you’re all staging a ‘Lan needs fashion help’ intervention, this seems a bit excessive. Did you raid aGQphotoshoot on your way to breakfast?”
“Speaking of fashion help”—Wei’s smirk grew impossibly wider as he read my shirt—“that’s an… interesting choice of words you’re wearing, Little Fox.”
I glanced down, horror dawning as I realized the worn letters now basically screamed ‘HARD…ER’ across my chest. Perfect. Just perfect. Maybe I could still make that blanket fort? The flush that had started at my cheeks was rapidly migrating south, warming my neck and chest in a way that was painfully visible against my pale skin.
That honey-sweet scent surged around me, growing stronger with my embarrassment. I noticed how it affected my three older stepbrothers—Jaxson’s nostrils flaring, Colt’s jaw clenching, Xander’s eyes darkening. They could smell it too, I was sure of it now.
“I can change—” I started to retreat, but Xander’s hand on my shoulder stopped me with all the subtle force of a velvet-covered steel trap. His palm was warm through the thin fabric, his fingers curling slightly around my shoulder in a way that felt more possessive than casual. The moment he touched me, that strange warmth flared between us—not as intense as with Jaxson, but undeniable.
“No time,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement that should be classified as a lethal weapon. “We’re already running late.”
“Late for what?” I squeaked, hyperaware of his touch, of how close he was standing. “The Milan Fashion Week?Because you all look like you’re auditioning forNext Top Stepbrother. Complete with smoldering looks and—oh God, did you coordinate your outfits?”
“Lan,” Colt cut in, his voice tight enough to tune a guitar. “Let’s go.”
Getting five ridiculously attractive stepbrothers—plus one equally attractive but demonic half brother—out the door should have been a simple task, like herding cats. Through a maze. While they’re all high on catnip and dressed for a photoshoot. In the dark. During an earthquake.
I made it halfway to Jaxson’s car before Colt’s hand shot out, blocking my path to the front passenger door with the kind of dramatic timing usually reserved for soap operas. His palm was warm, almost hot against my sternum, and I could feel my heartbeat quicken under his touch. That same strange warmth I’d felt with Jaxson flared at the contact, different somehow—sharper, more electric.
“Back seat,” he declared in that tone that brooked no argument, the same one he used when someone failed to use a coaster on the coffee table. “Nico gets carsick in the back when he plays.”
“But I?—”
“He’s right.” Xander’s voice came from directly behind me, warm breath tickling my ear in a way that should be illegal. When had he gotten so close? Did they teach ninja skills at his bar? “Besides, we have things to discuss about your wardrobe needs.” His hands landed on my shoulders, steering me toward the back door with the kind of smooth efficiency that would make professional choreographers jealous and possibly sue for copyright infringement.
“I can walk by myself,” I protested, but somehow ended up sliding across the leather seats anyway, the cool material a stark contrast to my overheated skin. Xander followed right after likethis was all perfectly choreographed. Colt claimed the other side faster than Wei claims the last protein shake—and I’ve seen him parkour across the kitchen for those—effectively sandwiching me between them.
“My, my.” Wei leaned against his own car, looking far too amused for someone who regularly talks to his biceps. “Quite the escort service you’ve arranged, Spirit Magnet. Try not to break them before lunch—I’m meeting you all at the mall food court later.”
