The Wrong Sister (11 page)

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 his masculine hardness and strength, his warmth, his smoothness, his roughness.
 

She had a too-fast glimpse of his taut golden belly and long thighs before she subsided into the chair. Christian put her crutches aside and stepped behind her to turn on the water. She sat there overcome with embarrassment and longing.

“This might have been a very stupid idea,” she heard him say. She heard the small soft curse as well. What was he really thinking? That they’d be close, wet, and far too private? That was exactly her take on it.
 

He moved about, whistling softly to himself as he adjusted the temperature of the water. She kept her eyes resolutely turned away. Then she caught sight of him in the big mirror on the side wall. His wet black shorts clung close against his hips, emphasizing the long line of his back and the tight curve of his butt. The increasing weight of the water in the fabric made the shorts sag a little lower. They hung across his hipbones in a gentle arc.
 

Fiona itched to touch him. His thighs shone as the water streamed over them, flattening his body hair, defining the shape of the strong muscles that flexed under his golden skin. Higher, his chest-hair seemed sprinkled with glittering diamonds as the overhead lights caught the water droplets.

If she stretched a little, she could see herself as well. She looked totally ridiculous. His huge green waterproof coat dwarfed her. Her unwashed hair sat flat against her head. She’d rarely felt so unattractive. What was she thinking of—spinning daydreams about a man as gorgeous as Christian when she looked such a pathetic frump?

This is Jan’s husband. You cannot have him.
 

“Tip your head back,” he instructed, cupping her jaw in his hand and tilting her until she rested against something warm and resilient. She turned her eyes upward and found her head pillowed against his belly with a view of his body in reverse...up to his impressive chest and shoulders and hungry handsome face.

“Close your eyes.” He raised the spray-nozzle to wet her hair. “Keep very still. I’ll try and avoid the dressing over your eye.”

The warm water trickled over her scalp and down over his big body. Fiona sighed as the fingers of his other hand smoothed through her hair, directing the water, shielding her face. He turned the nozzle off and reached for the shampoo.

“Tropical Creme”, he murmured, reading the label as though to fill the sudden silence.

“It’s something the salon recommended.” She kept her eyes resolutely closed.

Christian drizzled shampoo over her hair and started to massage it in, kneading sensuously but softly, careful to avoid her injuries. The fruity fragrance surrounded them both. He bent a little lower, enjoying the closer view of her face. One side was entirely undamaged. Her skin was smooth and so much paler than his hands. Her dark lashes lay golden-tipped against her high cheekbones. Her lips were full and soft.
 

You are my wife, yet not my wife...
 

He supported Fiona’s head in one big palm and massaged behind her ears, down to her nape, then up to her crown.

“That’s heaven,” she murmured, giving him the excuse he needed to keep touching her. He continued running his fingers over her scalp, working the lather into every strand of her hair. The slippery soapy sensations coursed through his big body, finding their mark all too easily. He gritted his teeth.
 

Down boy...
 

It shouldn’t be possible for this drowned-rat of a woman, totally concealed in his old waterproof coat, to have such an outrageous effect on him. And yet, whenever he’d been in her company through all the years of his perfectly happy marriage, she’d lit sparks that smoldered and refused to be extinguished.
 

Even the one swift kiss he’d given her as a ‘welcome home’ from hospital had got way out of hand.

This was so wrong. Nothing could ever come of it. No matter how much Fiona invaded his dreams—and his daydreams—she 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 pressed herself against him more firmly. Her arms wrapped tighter. Her lips hovered only a breath away from his barely-covered erection.
 

“Just holding you, Christian. That’s all. And I’m sure the concussion’s not what’s doing it. You’ve been confusing me and disturbing me for days.” She rubbed her cheek over his navel. “For years really.”

He stood frozen for several more long seconds, silently blessing her and cursing her by turns. Then he began to dry her hair again, imprisoning her head against him with one hand, slowly rubbing the towel over her with the other.
 

They held each other quietly until Fiona turned her face and feathered her soft lips against his belly. His resolve finally shattered. He hurled the towel away and dropped onto his knees, cupped her face in his hands and pulled her close.
 

Their mouths melded in a passionate slippery exploration. Years of denied attraction sprang unleashed into a long deep kiss that left them both breathless and way past any thought of restraint.

Fiona’s world imploded. She recognized only his lips, his tongue, his warm questing hands, his intoxicating animal scent. Incoherent husky groans ripped from both their throats as they writhed against each other, tongues stroking, lips sliding, teeth nipping. The urge to explore and enjoy was fierce and primal, and finally would not be denied.

He wrestled with the buttons down the back of the waterproof coat, and she rocked further forward so he could undo them. She wanted...she wanted...wanted this beautiful man who’d been out of reach for so long.
 

She struggled to her feet and Christian followed her up, peeling the stiff crackling fabric away.

“Skin to skin,” he said hoarsely, reaching for her nightdress as she stood there consumed by flames.

His long fingers slipped the mother-of-pearl buttons aside until her breasts were exposed. He cupped her up in his big hands before bending to each nipple in turn, licking and sucking until she groaned with pleasure.