Protective like a stepfather or jealous like a man?

Olise

The silence that followed my question was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Vincent stared at me, his dark eyes unblinking, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line. For a second, I thought I’d pushed him too far.

Then, he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest. The dangerous flare in his eyes was instantly masked by a cold, business-like detachment.

"Since you’re going to be staying under my roof for the foreseeable future, Olise, we need to establish some boundaries," he said, his voice smooth and empty of the heat from a moment ago. "I run a quiet household, and I intend to keep it that way. If you want to live here, you will abide by three simple rules."

He raised three fingers, ticking them off one by one with agonizing precision:

* No wild parties. This is a place of business and rest, not a nightclub.

* No strangers in the house. I value my privacy and security. Anyone who enters this home must be cleared by me first.

* My private home office is strictly off-limits. Under no circumstances are you to enter it or touch any of my files.

"Do I make myself clear?" Vincent asked, his gaze drilling into mine.

I swallowed hard, but I forced a sweet, innocent smile onto my face. "Perfectly clear, Vincent. I’ll be on my absolute best behavior."

He didn't look like he believed me for a second. He stood up, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked out of the room without another word, leaving me alone with my racing heart and a dangerously wicked idea.

The Test

By three o'clock that afternoon, I was bored out of my mind and itching to see just how far Vincent’s composure would stretch. I knew he usually stayed at his corporate headquarters until at least six, which gave me the perfect window of opportunity.

I pulled out my phone and texted Marcus.

Marcus was a guy I’d hooked up with a few times back in university. He was athletic, loud, incredibly confident, and always down for a distraction. He lived just twenty minutes away, and when I told him I was staying at a massive estate with a private pool, he didn't need any convincing.

An hour later, Marcus and I were sitting by the pool, drinking cold beers I’d raided from the fridge. Marcus was in his swim trunks, laughing loudly at a story about his boss, while I sat on the edge of a lounger, dangling my feet in the water.

"Man, your stepdad is loaded," Marcus said, looking around the sprawling backyard with appreciation. "How's it living here with him?"

"Tense," I murmured, taking a sip of my beer. "He’s... very strict."

"Yeah? Well, you always did have a thing for authority figures," Marcus teased. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping as he smiled. "Though, I gotta admit, I've missed you, Olise."

Before I could reply, the distinct sound of heavy footsteps on the stone patio echoed through the yard.

I looked up. My heart leapt into my throat.

Vincent was walking toward us. He had already discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was home early.

His eyes were fixed entirely on us, and they were cold enough to freeze water.

"Olise," Vincent said, his voice cutting through the warm afternoon air like a blade.

"Vincent!" I feigned surprise, sitting up. "You’re home early. This is Marcus, a friend of mine from school."

Marcus stood up, extending a hand. "Hey, man. Nice place you got here."

Vincent didn't look at Marcus's hand. He slowly lowered his gaze to Marcus’s other hand—which was currently resting casually, familiarly, on the bare skin of my waist. Marcus had reached out to steady himself as he stood up, and his palm was pressed firmly against my hip.

The temperature in the backyard plummeted.

Vincent’s eyes darkened, a muscle in his jaw twitching violently. I could practically feel the waves of possessive fury radiating off him. He took a step forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow over both of us.

"I believe Olise has some errands to run," Vincent said, his voice dangerously quiet, his eyes locked onto Marcus’s hand. "And I have a private business meeting in the main house. It’s time for you to leave."

Marcus blinked, clearly intimidated by the sheer, imposing presence of the older man. He quickly pulled his hand away from my waist, raising his palms. "Oh. Yeah, sure. No problem. I was just heading out anyway."

"Good," Vincent clipped out. "I’ll show you to the door."

The Confrontation

Ten minutes later, the front door closed, and the heavy silence of the mansion returned. I was standing in the kitchen, pretending to pour a glass of water, when I heard Vincent's footsteps behind me.

I turned around. Vincent was leaning against the kitchen island, his arms crossed over his chest. His chest was heaving slightly, as if he had just run a marathon.

"I thought I made myself clear, Olise," he growled, his eyes blazing. "No strangers in this house."

"Marcus isn't a stranger," I argued, crossing my own arms and matching his defiant stare. "I told you, he's a friend. Besides, we were just hanging out by the pool. We weren't breaking any of your precious rules."

"He was touching you," Vincent snapped, his voice cracking with a sudden, raw intensity that surprised us both.

I froze, my breath hitching. I took a slow step forward, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"Why do you care?" I asked, my voice dropping to a soft, provocative whisper. "Why does it matter to you who touches me, Vincent? You're barely ever here, and when you are, you pretend I'm invisible."

Vincent’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He took a step toward me, closing the distance between us until I had to tilt my head up to look at him. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and raw, masculine anger.

"I care because I am responsible for you," Vincent insisted, his voice gravelly and tense. "Your mother trusted me to keep you safe. I am only being protective."

I let out a soft, breathy laugh. I took one more step, bringing my chest inches from his. I could see the pulse throbbing violently in his neck. I leaned in, my eyes locked onto his lips, and whispered:

"Protective like a stepfather—or jealous like a man?"