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He was used to the effect he had on women, but it was unusual for a woman to stir those same feelings of powerless attraction in him. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to remain detached from almost any situation.
Helena was, of course, an example. Seven years his junior, he loved her almost as a daughter, rather than a sister. She had always been young for her age, and he bore boundless maturity brought on by the responsibilities that had dogged him almost from birth.
He listened as she read to the boys, her voice mesmerising and intoxicating in equal measure. The story was one he hadn’t heard; then again, why would he have? Even as children, no one had whispered sweet stories to them as they fell asleep. And as a grown man, he had little time or interest in books.
John was asleep before she’d finished, and Ian was not long behind.
Sophie finished the story though, and then gently closed the pages and stood. She kissed first Ian, and then John, before settling their sheets over their little shoulders.
He intentionally waited in the doorway for her, so that she’d have to brush past him. He didn’t know if she was involved with his brother in law, though he suspected it was highly likely.
The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted Sophie all to himself. For a while at least.
