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She laughed, pressing her body to his again, fingers once more tangling in his hair. “In that case…” She took possession of his lips with hers.
Groaning, he surrendered to the wild kiss, grabbing at her arse through her costume and hauling her hips to his again.
His erection sprang to attention once more. He’d have to do something about it soon. But not yet. Right now, he was happy to lose himself kissing Bria.
Fuck, she knew how to kiss. Wild wasn’t the word. Fierce. Fearless. Hungry. Sensual. Hell, all of those were the word.
Her tongue tangled with his, and he groaned, pulling away.
She stared up at him, her breaths shallow. “What’s wrong?”
“I think we need to take this somewhere—”
Someone hit him. Whacked him on the arm. Hard. Really hard. “You fucking prick bastard!” a female voice shouted over the music.
He yanked his hands from Bria, spun around to face the assailant, and let out a sharp breath. “Seriously, Tilly? What the hell?”
His sister glared back. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Owen shot Bria a look, ready to apologize for Tilly’s interruption and to make the introductions, when his heart sank.
She was gone.
“Crap,” he muttered.
Tilly whacked him on the arm again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He swung back to her, just in time to narrowly miss being struck by her phone as she shoved it way too close to his face.
“What the hell, Tilly?” he repeated, plucking her phone from her hand. He’d left his reading glasses in her apartment, but he didn’t need to have them on to see how angry she was.
“Chondrosarcoma?” she shot back. “In your brain?”
A low groan tore at the back of his throat, and he sighed. “Who texted you? Mum or Mick?” He squinted at the blurred text on her phone. Nope. No idea.
Only two people apart from his doctor knew about the biopsy results he was waiting for: his mum and his younger brother, Mick. His mum had promised not to say a word to anyone, and he’d honestly thought Mick would stuck to the whole patient-doctor-confidentiality rule, even if Mick wasn’t his doctor per se. Although did the worried-twin-sibling rule override it? Tilly and Mick almost had the same brain sometimes.
The fact Mick had been the doctor-in-charge of the emergency department the day Owen had first collapsed at school with a killer headache and had been subsequently rushed to hospital had been…bad timing.
He’d rather no one knew what the hell was going on with his brain until he knew himself, but what was he going to do? He came from a small town in Australia where almost everyone knew everyone else. And there were very few secrets in his family. Hell, Mick had told them all over dinner the night he’d lost his virginity, and Tilly had filled their mum in on how to administer a blowjob after their mum—a widow of fifteen years—professed to not having a clue.
He squinted at Tilly’s phone again. Bloody family.
“Mum told me,” Tilly said, snatching it back. She glared harder at him as she shoved it into one of the pockets of her super-sexy scientist’s coat. “She said you’ve ignored her texts for twenty-four hours, and so she’s worried. I asked why.”
Owen groaned. Because his phone went flat, their mum blabbed. Great. “And she told you?”
Tilly rolled her eyes. “Of course she did. She said I wasn’t to tell you she told, but you’re waiting to find out if you have chondrosarcoma in your brain.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help himself.
“Hey!” Tilly slapped his shoulder. Hard. “She’s worried. And now I am. Who gets chondrosarcoma in their brain? Only you would do something so odd.”
“Thank you.”
“What the hell are you doing here at a party?”
“You dragged me here.”
