The Wrong Sister (18 page)

As she patted on moisturizer she could once again feel his gentle touch on her bruised face; see his brown eyes dancing as he joked about the make-up task she’d given him.
 

And all the time, Jan had watched, smiling from her wedding photo on the bedroom wall.

Fiona stretched to push away the vivid recollections. She drew a deep breath and turned to blast a stern stare at herself in the mirror of the cottage bedroom.

No Jan—he’s yours.
 

At least this room lacked a happy wedding photo to taunt her. She shook her head, swamped with guilt for allowing Christian to continue with his bathroom flirtation. She’d encouraged him! Almost passed out from the pleasure of it. How was she ever going to turn back the clock now?

She deliberately chose a pair of unremarkable up-to-the-waist thin white silk panties, knowing they’d leave no tell-tale line through the bias-cut cling of her dress. She was pleased they looked so un-sexy—a further deterrent to undressing for Christian. For she knew without doubt she’d need every tiny wisp of determination to resist him tonight.
 

She opted for no perfume, only her most neutral lipstick and the lightest of eye make-up.
 

But she could do nothing about her super-sensitive breasts as she stepped into the sophisticated turquoise dress. She drew it up past her hips, slid her arms under the shoulder straps, positioned the bodice with its cascade of vivid peacock feather embroidery, and pulled the zipper closed. She had no strapless bra with her. The soft glossy fabric clung to her curves, highlighting her engorged nipples—not just with shape but with shine. She folded her arms, willing the heat to soften and disguise them as she heard Christian jogging downstairs, jingling keys, calling “Ready, Blondie?”
   

She moaned with annoyance at her tell-tale condition, then snatched up her lipstick and a small mirror, flattened a forearm over each breast and walked to her half-open door as though just completing her make-up.

“With you in a minute, Christian. Meet you in the car.”
 

He lounged against the hand-wrought iron banisters.

“No hurry.” His eyes slid all over her, making her feel even more like a casual girlfriend being collected for an evening out.

Oh why wouldn’t her damned nipples subside? Why was a new and enraging sensitivity spreading deep in her belly?
 

She turned back into her room to replace the little mirror, and dashed in front of him to the welcome semi-darkness of the summer evening.

She hoped the short car-ride would help, and pulled the seat-belt across her body. It closed with a loud click in the country quietness.

“You’ll hardly need that,” Christian said. “We’re only going a couple of hundred yards, and not on a public road.”

Fiona murmured agreement, but kept her arms clasped warmly around herself.
 

“This feels all wrong,” she said, made braver by the darkness. “It’s strange me being with you when it should be Jan sitting here.” She glanced over at Christian’s profile. “Sorry,” she added. “But I’m no sort of replacement for her, if that’s what the champagne thing in the bath was about.”

She sensed, rather than saw, his breath draw in...his lips compress...his whole body become tense.

“The champagne
thing
was because I got carried away,” he said in a flat voice. “You’re not Jan Mark Two—you’re Fiona Mark One. God!” His tone flayed her.

Fiona bowed her head and fought for a better explanation.
 

“No, I didn’t mean that exactly. Just—it feels weird to be all dressed up and dining out alone with my brother-in-law. Like a date,” she finished lamely. Her cheeks started to flame with unease and embarrassment. Why ever had she said those last three words?

“Some date,” he scoffed. “My wife’s been dead barely a month, we’ll have a couple of dozen other diners keeping an eye on us, and my daughter in the house.” Then he couldn’t resist adding, “And we’ll be in separate bedrooms. I’d manage something better if I was setting up a seduction.”

“Good,” she muttered. “If you’re not thinking of it that way, I mean.”
 

Christian felt his mouth quirking. So she thought it felt almost like a date? He hadn’t imagined it as such, yet was perversely pleased she had. It was years since he’d dated, but he still remembered the anticipation, the jubilation when things turned out well. Fiona, he thought somewhat bitterly, must be well used to the company of a variety of men. Did she flirt with the passengers? The officers? Did she have shipboard romances? On-shore liaisons he knew nothing about?
 

The amusement died away and the slight smile faded from his lips as he eased the big car around a bend and onto the crunching gravel that fronted Pounamu Lodge.
   

He drew up level with the impressive entrance and braked.

“Go on in—I’ll park,” he said, watching as she scooted out and walked slowly up the shallow marble steps in the only pair of really smart shoes he’d seen her in—the high-heeled black Italian pumps she’d worn to Jan’s funeral.

His speculative gaze followed the graceful sway of her hips under the shining fabric...her long slim legs above the tall heels. She entered the glittering reception area, still visible through the long windows. The chandeliers blazed down, highlighting her pale hair and the vivid turquoise dress moving fluidly with her body.
 

Cursing under his breath, he pulled away. He knew he’d lost the long-fought battle with his conscience and his caution. Jan had gone forever. Fiona was here, and almost receptive. However apprehensive he was she might carry the same seeds of disease as Jan, she was now more beautiful and desirable than ever to him. His body burned. Even sitting in the darkened parking lot, he had no control over the heated pumping of his blood and the hardening of his flesh.
 

Fiona tried to lose herself in the foyer’s works of art while she waited for him. The atmosphere in the car had turned so strange in the last few minutes.
 

I shouldn’t have mentioned dates,
she thought as she inspected a huge brooding landscape.
Of course we’re not on a date; I’m being made use of as a surrogate nanny. End of story. I’ll be gone in a very few days and that’ll be the finish of things between us.
 

Not that anything’s begun,
she reminded herself severely.
 

She moved on to a trio of small exquisite watercolors of native birds
. Their feathers look so soft and touchable...as soft as Nicky’s skin...as touchable as Christian’s hair.
 

She shook that thought away and turned to the next piece—a sculpture of gleaming silvery fish amongst strands of waving titanium seaweed.
They’re safe in their watery haven. So much safer than me.

She’d somehow found the strength to walk away from him a month ago when he’d reached out in his grief and loneliness. She could do it again. Would have to do it again.
 

At least now, it should be easier. They’d had a little more time to accustom themselves to losing Jan, time to blunt the sharp and appalling pain her death had caused them both, time to start living without her.

Except—the champagne thing in the bathroom...
 

Sure, he’d started it, but had she slapped him away with indignation? Had she acted outraged?
 

No, she’d gone right along with it, tilted herself up toward him and practically begged for more. Some way to behave when you were trying to get rid of someone!

She moved on to the next set of treasures—hand-blown glass bowls in wall-niches. A shadow appeared on the shining surface of one, then stopped. All her reactions screamed ‘
Christian’.
How could she become so acutely aware of him when he was still only at the door? She knew it had to be him the moment he re-entered the Lodge. A shadow was enough. Her skin prickled, the fine golden hairs on her arms rose up, her lips parted on a gasp.

He strode up behind her and pressed a possessive hand against the small of her back to guide her toward the dining room.
 

‘Stop touching me,’
her conscience pleaded as she turned toward him and smiled.

“Hungry?”

‘Hungry for you
,’ her brain instantly supplied.
 

“Not too bad,” she answered, feeling guilty for enjoying the sensual warmth of his long fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. They walked step for step across the travertine floor, past other beautifully dressed diners. Soft classical guitar music caressed the air, and the aromas of wonderful food drifted by as the
maître’d
showed them to a private table in a window nook.
 

Fiona realized they’d be partly screened from the other diners by spectacular tall black taffeta curtains looped aside with tasseled ivory ropes. The snowy damask tablecloth set with crystal and silverware glowed under candle-light and chandeliers. It was undoubtedly special, but she’d hoped for a less discreet table. Here she’d be the sole focus of Christian’s attention. The power of his intense eyes and charm would be hard to resist.
   

He dismissed the
maitre’d
with an easy smile and held the chair for her himself. Once he’d seated her, he bent and laid another soft kiss on her nape.

Shivers shot down to her toes.

He registered her tiny moan of anguish. Joyful satisfaction flooded his brain. Maybe she was feeling as frustrated as he was? He moved to take the chair opposite.

“Problem, Blondie?”
 

“Don’t touch me like that.”
 

“Like what? Like I want you?”

She gazed at him across the table; her agonized eyes beseeching him to stop his seduction. He had no doubt his expression would be as transparent as hers. His hunger to possess her must be written all over his face.

“Yes—like you want me,” she murmured.

“I’m finding it harder and harder to hide the truth,” he said, knowing he was really on the road to destruction now.
 

He leaned across the intimate space and dropped his voice to a husky drawl. “So here’s where I stand; I’ve wanted you for years. You’re like a gift I’m not allowed to unwrap. Or a delicious meal I’ve been forbidden to eat.” He set his teeth together to stifle any further admissions. But his eyes devoured her across the small table, and his hand reached across to enfold hers. He refused to relinquish it when she tried to pull away.

Fiona shook her head in denial.
 

“And Jan?” she demanded, sudden fierce fire in her eyes. “You loved her —of course you did. Not me.”

“Yes, I loved her. I was thrilled when she agreed to marry me. I’d never met anyone I wanted more.”

She nodded with apparent satisfaction at that.

“Never met anyone I wanted more until I met
you,
” he added.
 

“No!” she protested. “I didn’t try to steal you, or impress you, or anything. I was just my sister’s bridesmaid. You were marrying Jan.” Fiona shrugged as though truly puzzled.

Christian enjoyed the lift of her smooth shoulders and the annoyed pout that accompanied her comment.

“Of course I was. And happy to be. But you’re a far more vivid version of her. Everything about you is wound up a notch or two. If I wanted Jan, how could I not want you?”

He watched as her breasts rose and fell in a furious frustrated sigh. Her green eyes snapped up to meet his again, challenging and serious.

“You mustn’t think like that, Christian.”

“That’s the way it is, Blondie. You crept up on me over the years.”

“Not possible,” she said, making another attempt to retrieve her hand from his grasp.

He shook his head, refusing to let her go. “So there’s my guilty confession. Yes, I wanted your sister. And I want you even more.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“No...” Her brows drew together.

Was that a touch of uncertainty he detected in her tone and her expression? Time to go for broke, he decided.

“I’m itching to see you really turned on again,” he whispered. “So mad for me you’d forget the proprieties and just go for it—the way you grabbed me in the bathroom at home after I’d washed your hair. You know as well as I do there’ve been sparks between us. As the years passed, I hardly dared look at you when Jan was in the room.”

“You were never there. You mostly seemed to be away.”

“Hated going, Blondie. Knew I had to though.” He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’ve been trying so hard to resist you. It was incredible when you finally touched me. We’d be explosive together. You know we would.”

Her eyes hadn’t left his, but her expression definitely now showed her frustration. His heart rejoiced.

“Explosive maybe. But only for five or six days,” she said. “I’m booked to fly back to Rome on Tuesday. That’s all the time we have left.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it again, and Christian watched her gorgeous breasts rise and fall against the richly embroidered fabric.
 

Five or six days? She’s leaving me so soon?
 

“I couldn’t bear to start something that had no future, so this is
not
going to happen,” she added.
 

Five or six days? After the euphoria of finally being in her company again, it was like being doused with iced water. He sat stunned for a few moments, absorbing the disappointment, struggling through the morass of problems that kept them apart.

One of the staff approached their table and Christian somehow managed to flash Fiona what he hoped was a casual grin. As he loosened his clasp on her hand, the intensity of the atmosphere changed and he felt her slipping even further away.
 

Then the waiter began to acquaint them with the sumptuous feast to follow.

“Rome on Tuesday?” he asked once they were alone again.