The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson

she thought. No wife any more, and a daughter who’s a bundle of mischief. It won’t be easy for him, even with a nanny.  
    She levered the chunks of fruit clumsily up to her mouth, determined to manage on her own. Half an hour later she lurched back to bed, and lay there missing Jan, thinking of their childhood together, weeping quietly for all the future times they’d never share. Eventually she dozed—only to be woken by Christian at her bedroom doorway.
    “Amy’s there to watch Nic. Are you ready to have your hair washed?” He carried a dark green waterproof coat over one arm and an outdoor chair under the other. He still wore his white toweling robe.
    Fiona’s pulse-rate increased. The robe covered him decently, but now there was a palpable air of the bedroom about him. Her eyes roamed all the way up from his sinewy bare feet to his unshaven face and somewhat tousled dark hair.  
    “Don’t panic, I’m going to cover you up, not undress you,” he said, misreading her expression. He carried the chair through to the bathroom, returned with one of the hand-towels, and stood beside her.
    She pushed the covers back and dug her toes into the luxurious carpet. Christian held out his hands.
    “Up,” he said, grasping hers and lifting her carefully. He arranged the towel around her shoulders, taking care that none of her hair caught underneath. Fiona held her breath as his hands roamed over her neck, rescuing wisps of it.
    “I thought if we put my old fishing coat on you back-to-front we wouldn’t get any of your dressings wet. Or your nightgown, of course.”
    “The dressings are mostly supposed to be waterproof,” she said. “But okay.”  
    He shook the coat out.
    “Don’t worry—it doesn’t smell fishy.” His mouth kicked up at the corners into a slight smile.  
    Fiona raised her arms as far as she comfortably could, and slipped her wrists into the sleeves of the big garment. Christian drew it upwards, stepping very close and leaning around her to fasten the top buttons behind her neck.  
    Her face became almost buried against his chest. The same wonderful scent from the other evening swirled all around her. His scent. The enticing personal scent that her sister had been able to enjoy every day in their bed.  
    She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the shocking scenes that drifted under her hot trembling eyelids—Christian and Jan, twined together in this very room—making love as she so much ached to.
    “That ought to do it,” he said, moving behind her to fasten the last of the buttons. “You look a bit…unusual…”
    “But this isn’t a ‘usual’ situation,” Fiona said as she reached for her crutches.
    His grin became wider, and he tugged at the belt of his white toweling robe as he entered the luxuriously appointed en suite bathroom.  
    “Not quite ‘the emperor’s new clothes’, either.” He shrugged the robe off his shoulders and tossed it over a hook.  
    All of Fiona’s fantasies collided. Christian—tall, dark and damned near naked. Well, wearing perfectly respectable black swim-shorts she had to concede. But there was so much of him. Such long streamlined arms. Such broad shoulders. A beautifully-sculpted chest that took her breath away and positively encouraged her fingers to play in the dark hair that she’d glimpsed at the neck of his unbuttoned shirt the previous evening.  
    One of her hands rose and almost touched him—smoothing the air just a fraction away from the soft shining haze over his heart.  
    “Lucky Jan,” she gasped, snatching her hand back far too late. “Sorry.”  
    “You like me, do you?” he teased.
    “No—of course not. I mean...there’s a lot of you, isn’t there. You’re a bit...” she mumbled in confusion.
    “I’m a bit what?”
    “You’re a bit too much. To take in at a glance.” She found it impossible to tear her eyes away. She wanted more than a glance. She wanted to roam over him at her leisure, enjoying all