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It’s a good question.
I think about that. Then, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m your sister’s sister-in-law and uh, you’re my brother’s brother-in-law. Something I bet you hate. Actually you both hate that but that’s not what we’re talking about.” I shake my head. “Anyway, maybe you’re my…”
What?
Yikes.
No.
Please tell me I wasn’t going to say the B word here. No actually, please tell me he didn’t catch my drift.
“I’m your what?”
But of course he did.
And I have a feeling that he isn’t going to let it go.
Still, I reply, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It kinda does.”
“It’s not important what you are to me.”
“It is.”
“What’s important is that we’re family now and —”
“Answer me.”
“We shouldn’t fight no matter how much we hate each other.”
I feel something hitting my spine and I realize that it’s my Chevy. Although it’s a mystery to me how I got to my car when I know for a fact that I was standing at least four paces away from it.
But more than that, how is it that he got to my car as well?
How is it that there’s hardly any distance between us?
How I went from looking at him from a respectable distance to him leaning over me, my neck craned up, his eyes, his crazy dark hair, his crazy beautiful face, filling my entire field of vision.
Despite myself, my fingers tingle with the need to touch it.
Touch his stubble.
I know I’ve denied it in the past, this urge to touch his stubble, trace it with my fingers. I’ve denied its existence every time we’ve seen each other and I’d notice that stubble covering his killer jawline.
But tonight, denying it is much harder.
Probably because he’s closer to me than he’s been in a long time, and it’s potent, his closeness.
So much so that even though I’m standing still, I still teeter on my six-inch heels.
And when I do, he’s there to catch me.
His fingers wrap around my arm and I lose my breath at his touch. The first one in a year.
Thirteen months to be exact.
Don’t go there, Tempest. Not now.
Not when he’s so close and you’re especially fragile tonight.
“Still don’t know how to walk in heels, do you?” he murmurs, his fingers squeezing my arm.
“I know how to walk in heels,” I protest, even though my voice sounds breathy.
His eyes flicker down to his grip on me for a second before he says, “I beg to differ.”
“Well, whatever.” I twist my arm, trying to get free from his grip. “You can let go of me now. I’m fine.”
“Not until you tell me what you were going to say.”
I swallow. “Why are you pushing this?”
“Because I can.”
I exhale sharply. “Fine. Brother. I was going to say that you’re like my brother now.”
His grip on my arm tightens. “Like your brother.”
I blush. “Yes. But clearly that was a mistake. So can we just forget about it please and —”
“No.”
Blushing harder, I try to jerk my arm out of his hold. “Let me go. You said you’d let me go if I told you.”
“I lied.”
Asshole.
I pull and jerk my arm again. “Let me go or I swear I’ll —”
“Uh-uh.” He tsks, shaking his head slightly. “Can’t threaten me, remember? We’re family now.”
“You —”
“Besides, I’m like your brother, aren’t I?” he says in a lowered voice. “Surely I’m allowed to touch you a little.”
A shiver runs down my spine at how he says ‘touch.’
Like touch isn’t just an innocuous word but something very, very dirty.
“Actually, no,” I tell him, swallowing. “You’re not allowed to touch me. It’s highly inappropriate.”
He hums. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
His thumb moves then. In a repeated up and down motion.
As if caressing me.
Good thing the dress that I’m wearing has full sleeves or I’d be feeling his scrape-y touch on my bare skin.
“How about now?” he asks. “Is this inappropriate?”
“Yes,” I reply, my breath starting to come fast. “And you’re not supposed to be standing so close to me either.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” My breaths break for a few seconds when his thumb makes a particularly long swipe on my arm. “Personal space, okay? You’re supposed to respect my personal space, not fuck with it.”
That was absolutely the wrong thing to say.
Because now he’s latched on to it, his eyes flashing. “But I do so enjoy fucking.”
I clench my teeth, fighting against another shiver. “See? This is what I’m talking about. You’re not supposed to say these things to me.”
“You mean, if I wanna be a good brother.”
“Yes. It’s rude and vulgar and just… inappropriate.”
“Clearly I know nothing about being a good brother.”
“No, you don’t. So why don’t you take my advice and step away?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head slightly. “I think I’ll stay right here and soak in all the knowledge.”
“I —”
“So what else shouldn’t I do?” he asks, his eyes sweeping all over my face. “If I want to be a good brother.”
