Read Online The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson - Free Book Online Page B

don’t. I’d do anything for clean hair. They washed me, but not my hair—not with the big dressing over my eyebrow.”

    Christian navigated a corner into the hallway, careful not to bump her legs against the stair banister. Her hair smelled fantastic as far as he was concerned. The salon must have put some sort of fruity mousse or gel on it. He detected oranges, strawberries maybe—warm sexy woman. He sighed, then inhaled again and cursed his body’s unmistakable reaction to her scent.  
    “I’m used to engine oil and auto-paint,” he countered, hoping to keep things neutral. He felt Fiona’s faint laugh against his ribs, and then her groan of pain. Her hair feathered against his lips as he walked slowly and carefully into the airy marble-tiled entrance lobby. Fierce waves of desire rolled through his body, and the softness of her warm braless breast pressed against his chest.  
    The huge swell of protectiveness rising in his heart almost demolished him.
    “Where are you taking me?” A note of caution entered her voice.
    “To my bedroom.” He continued walking steadily, still holding her across his body.
    She muttered a small protest.
    “Am I hurting you?”  
    “I’m fine,” she whispered.  
    “Think about it,” he said. “Big comfortable bed. En suite bathroom right there. No stairs.” He turned sideways, directed her feet through the doorway, and stepped from the glossy sand-colored marble onto the bedroom carpet. He proceeded across the vast space with its floor-to-ceiling windows, bent over as he laid her down, then sank to his knees beside the bed. Finally, he loosened his grasp.  
    “Okay?” His eyes were only inches from hers, his lips far too close to her mouth. He began to slide his arms from underneath her, desperately hoping he wasn’t pressing on bruises or dragging at dressings.
    His whole body surged with wanting. His big heart thundered, his knees quivered against the floor. Blood pumped south to stiffen his unwelcome erection even further. Anguish and guilt ripped right through him as he eased his arms away. This was Jan’s room, Jan’s bed. No way should he be feeling this way about her sister, here of all places.  
    He looked up at the bank of family photos on the wall behind the bed and felt even worse. Jan and Nicky smiled down at him. There he stood with his arm around Jan. Nicky played with a Sesame Street toy. They’d been a family unit, safe and secure, his to protect, but now the unit was blown to pieces.  
    That was where his life was and where his heart had to stay. It was way too soon to be having the thoughts Fiona inspired, and she was the least suitable woman to have them about.  
    How could he push her out of his reach forever?
    “Okay?” he repeated, daring to glance at her again. She looked pale and distressed. There were tiny beads of sweat on her brow. He watched her eyelids fluttering down over her green eyes.
    “Yes!” she gasped, impossibly close.
    Christian remained kneeling beside the bed. He’d hungered for the sight of her—three days without her in the house had seemed like a year. However much he’d tried not to think of her, she’d danced incessantly through his thoughts.
    She was forbidden. His wife’s sister. His dead wife’s sister. His very recently dead wife’s sister. And she stirred feelings in him that even Jan hadn’t. He laid a hand on her forehead, avoiding the dressing over her eye. Fiona flinched and drew a sharp breath. Slowly, tenderly, he stroked her hair, unable to leave her alone.
    “Should I stop?”
    “No, it’s nice,” she conceded, eyes still clenched shut. “But my hair must be awful.”
    “We could wash it tomorrow...”
    He saw her brow wrinkle with enquiry.
    “...if you want to,” he continued.
    “I’d love to, but how?” Her eyes remained closed, and he was grateful because it meant he could stay right there watching her, his aroused body hidden against the side of the bed.
    “You’re