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‘If Emily’s with you, yes.’ Dylan sounded aggrieved. ‘Didn’t you hear me yelling? What are you doing down there? Were you having a dip?’
Ethan raised a taunting eyebrow at Emily.
‘Don’t you dare!’ she whispered.
He threw back his head. ‘I was showing Emily the garden.’
‘Oh, you and your roses! Well, are you coming up…or do I have to come all the way down there and back up again?’
‘You make it sound like the north face of the Eiger,’ said Ethan. He continued with his raised voice: ‘Ready to make the ascent, Emily?’
‘Wait!’ she choked, grabbing his elbow and swatting at the tell-tale grass stains on his hip and flank, relieved to notice the tiny betraying patch of dampness had faded, along with his powerful erection. ‘What’s he going to think if he sees these?’
Ethan looked down at her, at the crushed rose-petals peeking out of the neck of her skewed blouse and stuck to the side of her neck, the pointed outline of her nipples poking against the soft cotton of her blouse, the reddened mouth, whisker-burned throat and feverishly bright eyes.
‘He’s going to think I’ve been doing a little gardening,’ he said blandly.
‘Oh,’ Emily accepted with a charming naïvety, then frowned in sudden suspicion when he turned away with a wholly masculine smirk.
‘He’s used to seeing me come in from the garden scratched and grubby,’ he said, crossing to the central row of stone steps that lead directly to the verandah.
It sounded perfectly logical, she had to admit. ‘I didn’t scratch you,’ she contested, trailing in his wake, brushing belatedly at the bottom of her own jeans.
‘Not where it shows,’ he said, with a dangerous edge in his voice that said he wasn’t as in control as he looked. ‘Now, if we go running up these stairs, it’ll explain why we’re all hot and bothered.’
‘I thought the gardening story was going to do that,’ she panted, trying to keep up with his long legs.
‘That’s my cover story,’ he said as they broke out of the cover of rose-covered arches to find Dylan standing on the verandah, his hands on his hips.
Slightly shorter than his brother, he had a similar physique, although his musculature had the pumped look of someone who spent more time sculpting his form in the gym than on actual physical labour. His ash-blond hair was fine and straight, artistically tousled to fall over one side of his smooth forehead. He was dressed entirely in white, setting off the golden tan that further distinguished him from his brother, at whom he was looking in veiled amusement.
‘Yo, bro—what took you so long?’ he jeered, dropping his hands from his hips as they walked up to join him.
‘Emily stopped to smell the roses.’
Dylan’s hazel eyes briefly shifted to Emily and returned for a slight double take as she ran a nervous hand through her hair and smiled a greeting, feeling a tiny sting at the corner of her mouth.
His eyes narrowed, some of his amusement fading, and he looked back at Ethan.
‘Was there some reason you wanted us, or were you just feeling bored?’ Ethan asked with fraternal contempt.
‘Actually it wasn’t you I wanted at all. Didn’t Emily tell you while you were on your little floral tour that I was taking her out to lunch?’
Ethan’s head snapped around and Emily found herself pinned by a sharply interrogating stare.
‘No, she didn’t.’
His tone painted her with guilt and Emily found herself floundering for the innocent explanation. As far as she was concerned it had been a passing mention rather than a firm invitation. Dylan had so far shown himself to be a font of unfulfilled ideas.
‘He—I—’
‘I thought she and I could have some fun together while you get ready for your hot date,’ Dylan interrupted. ‘Aren’t you taking the gorgeous and glamorous Carly out tonight?’
It was Emily’s turn to look askance, a hollow opening up in her chest as Ethan’s steady gaze flickered. Gorgeous and glamorous sounded distinctly ominous.
‘Carly?’ Her attempt to sound casual came out painfully flat.
‘Ethan’s girlfriend.’ Dylan was clearly aware he was throwing a spanner in the works and was enjoying it, his brown eyes mocking the stony cast to his brother’s face. ‘Hasn’t he mentioned that he’s been seeing one of Auckland’s leading female bankers for months? They’re off to the ballet tonight—Carly was a promising ballerina herself, until she got too tall…’
