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“Oh, shut up!” She pushed at me. I grabbed her wrist, pulled her to me. Her chest was already rising and falling with excited breaths. I covered her mouth again, her arms laced up behind me, holding me close to her. “I’ll see you later,” she said, pulling away. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”
“I’ll be waiting,” I said, reaching down, adjusting myself. I couldn’t help feeling smug when she groaned in frustration and turned to walk to her car.
A knock at my door a couple of hours later made me smile. I knew she’d be back. I smiled my sexiest smile as I opened the door to welcome my greedy little vixen.
The face in front of me was not the one I was expecting.
Matthew Allan Blaire. My little brother. In the flesh.
He stood there casually, not a care in the world, with hands in his pockets, looking around at the vast property that was now part of our empire.
“What the hell?” My arm shot up to the doorframe, blocking his entrance, refusing him an invitation inside.
“Hello to you too, big brother.” He tried to peer inside, scope the place out. My fingertips gripped the back of the frame, clamped down harder for leverage. “So, this is your humble abode?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Business, man. Dad called me the day before yesterday. Told me to get my ass out here. Help you close this deal.”
“What deal?” I asked, already knowing what he meant.
“The winery.”
I took a step forward, forcing him back down a step. “Not gonna happen.”
“What?” His shocked expression was laughable.
I moved forward another step. “I said, Not. Gonna. Happen.” I trailed him down the steps, pushing at his chest.
“What the fuck, Mikey. Why all the hostility?”
“You have the nerve to ask me that?”
“I don’t get you. All I’m trying to do is help.”
“Stay out of it. I don’t need your help.” My voice dripped with contempt.
“That’s not what I heard.” His childish words reminded me of when we’d fight as kids, squabbling over action figures or who was going to get the last of the chocolate ice cream.
Siena’s words were like a boomerang, thrown out and coming back to smack me in my face. “You’re just a fuckin’ little errand boy,” I told him. I was taunting him, poking him where I knew it would hurt.
“Fuck you,” he snarled.
“Fuck yourself,” I snapped back.
“Jesus. What the hell is your problem?” He took a step closer.
“Back off,” I warned him.
“Or what?” He took another step, eyes narrowed. I saw that same gleam I’d seen countless times when we were younger flash in them, challenging me.
“Or else.” My words were childish, and I knew they were weak, but at the moment, I didn’t give two shits.
“Dad said—”
That one syllable—Dad—and I lost it. My fist came out, an automatic reflex, connecting with his jaw.
His fist flew back. I ducked my head, avoiding the initial blow, but he came back with a left hook, catching me squarely in my eye.
