The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson Page B

wasn’t attracted to him in return. Politely stand-offish, more like.
    Why would I expect her to be? I’m her sister’s husband. Her sister’s choice of man, not her choice.  
    But if things were different...if the timing were otherwise...would there be a chance? He compressed his generous mouth and sighed.  
    He had to accept she lived a glamorous life on the other side of the world, which suited her to perfection. She wouldn’t relinquish it for a second-hand man with a ready-made family—especially one who couldn’t decently make any move toward her for months yet.  
    He reached out for the spray-nozzle again and tilted Fiona’s head to pillow it against his belly, hoping she wouldn’t feel what lurked so close below. The water cascaded over her hair and down his aroused body.  
    He rinsed until her hair shone clean and bright.
    “Shampoo again or conditioner this time?”  

    Fiona felt his deep voice reverberating through the back of her head and opened her eyes to find him bent over her, dark pupils big enough to drown in, his face   only inches away.
    “Conditioner please.”
    He turned for the bottle, and the firm tip of his erection nudged along the side of her neck. It was gone in a second or so as he swiveled back, but she knew without doubt what she’d felt.  
    So he wanted her too?  
    She flushed as hot waves of desire shot through her body yet again, inciting a riot in her whole nervous system, burning with deep unsettling heat that tingled in her nipples, fluttered in her clit, and ached between her thighs. She’d never felt so inappropriately lustful, so overwhelmed with wanting. She lay back against him, helpless, agonizing over what she could do to resist him.
    She was sure he’d been long and hard. Hard for her? She nestled her head a little more comfortably against his belly but could make no further contact.

    Christian groaned to himself and eased his hips away as he concentrated on squeezing the fragrant creamy liquid onto her hair. He set the bottle aside and once again cradled her head in his palm as he resumed the sliding gliding massage, thinking it was heaven to touch her and hell not to be able to take things further.  
    He rinsed her hair clean, squeezed out the worst of the water, and reached for one of the big fluffy towels. He draped it over her head, and began to rub her hair gently dry. The angle was difficult. He moved around in front of her, careful to keep his body hidden by the towel.
    And was astounded to feel Fiona’s hands reach out toward his hips as though to steady herself.
    He tried to move back, knowing he should jerk free. But she slid her hands further around him, and in truth he wanted to stay right where he was.
    He dropped the towel far enough to expose her face. She gave a breathy sigh, leaned forward, and laid her cheek against him.  
    The thin shorts disguised nothing. He flinched with embarrassment and tried to pull away from her again.
    “Let go,” he growled, fearful of hurting her if he pushed too roughly.  
    With her head bowed, he couldn’t even warn her off with his eyes. The burning-hot wave of wanting shimmered the entire length of his body.  
    Who was he kidding? He was fully aroused and she was the only female present. She had to have noticed and known he wanted her.  
    Fiona shook her head, and the movement of her skin against his made the burn even hotter and more intense.
    “Is it just sex, or is it me?” she asked hesitantly.
    He felt a ridiculous rush of relief.
    “It’s you.”  
    “Oh thank God. It’s you, too.”
    There was another small silence, then all the air exploded out of his lungs. With a supreme effort, he tried to make himself push her away but his hands were no longer his to command. His whole body had rocketed out of control. He tried one final time to discourage her. “You’re concussed. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
    Long-suppressed feelings sparked loose like fiery Catherine-wheels as she