Sister Dear

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  I thought about Lewis and shook my head. “Never going to happen, I’m afraid.”

  “Is he hot?” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Sun temperature.” I looked at her and we burst out laughing in our apparent shared relief to have moved on to brighter topics. “Honestly, he’s so perfect, we’re a million light-years apart.” I laughed again until I noticed she’d cocked her head to one side and tapped her lip with a finger.

  “Why are you looking at me all strange?” I said, sinking into my seat.

  “First of all, don’t sell yourself short about the kind of men interested in you,” Victoria said. “And second, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but that’s not your natural hair color is it?”

  “Uh, no.” I ran a hand through my mop, smoothed it back. “Home dye-kit disaster. I’ll have it redone properly at some point.”

  “I know a great stylist.” A sly smile spread across her face. “Rocco owes me a few favors since I introduced him to a local celebrity who shall remain unnamed. His Instagram following went bananas and he had to expand the salon. I’ll call him, if you’re game.”

  “What, now?”

  “No time like the present,” she said with another mischievous grin.

  I got the odd sense she was more excited than me as she pulled out her phone and dialed. She spoke in what had to be almost immaculate Italian, and I managed to pick up the sì, va bene and grazie I’d heard in movies.

  “You know Italian?” I said when she hung up.

  She gave me a slow wink. “Two summers of misspent youth with a very keen Venetian boyfriend. But never mind him.” She grabbed my hand and jumped up. “We’d better get going. Rocco can fit you in now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ROCCO’S SALON FELT PALATIAL, the kind of place I’d hurried past, too terrified to look in the windows. Elaborate lighting, a gleaming oversize espresso machine churning out one delicious-smelling frothy drink after the other, and busy stylists who might have belonged on Rodeo Drive or in Milan. I sat in the chair, my thighs and torso covered by the silky black-and-silver gown, drab hair flopping around my shoulders. Rocco stood to my left, Victoria to my right, both of them examining me as if I were a specimen under a microscope.

  “Sì, sì.” Rocco tutted as he ran his fingers through my hair, bunching it up a little at my nape. “Yes, we definitely have to go back to blond, and I will cut the layers, too. It will give more volume, d’accordo?”

  “Sure...?” I said.

  “I can tell you have wonderful curls,” Rocco said. “Why do you hide them?”

  “They frizz. Whenever the humidity gets to them, I look like a sheep.”

  “A sheep?”

  “Pecora,” Victoria said and Rocco laughed.

  “Not anymore, mia cara,” he said with a knowing smile. “I will show you what to do.”

  Victoria put a hand on my shoulder. “Rocco’s an absolute genius.”

  For the next few hours I let him and his bubbly assistant buzz around me, talking shades and cuts, bangs or no bangs, texture and length. Color was stripped away and added back. My hair washed and conditioned, scrunched with a paper towel before I was plopped under a heat lamp. I sat, mesmerized, watching my locks change into delicate ringlets. Victoria hovered in the background, chatting with Rocco and the stylists, sipping cappuccinos and reassuring me how much of a difference the color already made, how it had lifted my face.

  “Perfect,” Rocco said when he removed the lamp. “Time for the cut.”

  “You’re going to cut my hair dry?” I said, eyebrows raised.

  “Ah, tell me, you do not walk around with wet hair, do you?” Rocco laughed, picking up his scissors to continue his quest. “We cut it dry to see how each curl falls, then wet it and style.”

  Another hour later and he’d demonstrated how to add volume by lifting the wet roots with clips and showed me the proper use of a diffuser. He took a step back to inspect his work, made a few adjusting snips before holding up a mirror behind me.

  My mouth fell open. Not only were the gloomy mud-colored strands gone, replaced by a rich strawberry blond, but my hair bounced in gentle curls, grazing the back of my neck. It looked far shorter now than when it was straight, but the person in the mirror appeared younger. Happier.

  “Are you sure that’s me?” I whispered. “Am I dreaming?”

  “You look incredible,” Victoria said, as she walked up behind us. “What a difference. God, I’d murder for those curls, let me tell you. They’re stunning, absolutely stunning.”

  “Bellissima,” Rocco declared, beaming. “Beautiful.”

  I bit my lip, tried not to cry as I looked at myself. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “You are most welcome,” Rocco said. “And call me or come in if you have any styling questions, okay? Victoria’s friend is my friend.”

  I paid the bill, trying hard not to visibly recoil at the amount despite the twenty-five-percent discount Rocco generously applied. A week ago I’d have scoffed at the self-indulgence, reminded myself looks weren’t everything, or anything. But the way I felt walking out of Rocco’s salon—confidence buoying each step—was as alien as it was undeniable. Could a new haircut make such a difference? Or was it simply the effect of being around Victoria?

  “Thanks for a lovely day.” She sighed, turning to me. “I’m so glad you said yes.”

  “Me, too. I mean...my hair. I can’t believe it. Rocco really is a genius.”

  “He is. You look amazing.” She smiled, her emerald eyes sparkling. “But, well, what I meant was I really enjoyed your company, too.”

  “Oh.” I looked at her, a warm feeling prickling my belly. “I enjoyed yours. Very much.”

  “Isn’t it strange how we’ve only know each other for a few days but it feels as if it’s been forever? This might sound weird but I don’t think I’ve felt this kind of connection with a friend so fast, and—” she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear “—oh, no. Oh, shit!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve lost my earring.” She felt around her collar, shook out her jacket and looked at the ground. “Maybe I dropped it inside. Back in a sec.” She dashed into the salon, but returned empty-handed, her head bent. “It’s not there.”

  “Maybe at the spa?” I said.

  “Of course. You’re so smart. I’ll go now. Hugh gave them to me for my birthday and if I don’t find it, he’ll be so—” her eyes darted around “—disappointed.”

  “But it’s just an earring.”

  “It’s not just the earring, though,” she said, giving an almost imperceptible shudder. “I lost my engagement ring a couple of weeks ago, too.”

  “Oh, gosh,” I said, forcing myself not to break her gaze. “That’s...horrible.”

  “I’m such an idiot, always losing things and breaking stuff. A real Calamity Jane.” She gave a tight smile. “Hugh was furious when I came back without the ring, and now this, too? I have to go. I’ll call you soon, okay? Thanks again for today.”

  She fled before I could answer, practically jogged down the sidewalk in the direction of the spa. A part of me wanted to run after her, blurt out I knew where her ring was—snugly wrapped up in a tissue and stuffed away in my bedside table—but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not because I was a wicked half sister who still wanted to rub my hands with glee and make Victoria’s life a little less perfect. That desire had been replaced by more compassion and empathy today, and there was no longer a hint of envy or disdain.

  I tried reminding myself I was supposed to be jealous of her, angry she had everything I’d ever wanted, but it wouldn’t stick. I liked Victoria, and she was right about the connection, I felt it, too; it was as if we’d known each other for years. What the hell was I going to do about the ring, though? And when?

  Back at my building, I tiptoed past
Mrs. Winchester’s door although I needn’t have bothered because she had American Ninja Warrior on full blast, and closed my apartment door behind me. Once I’d prepared a small green salad and some grilled chicken with lemon, I settled down at the kitchen table, planned on researching Hugh’s first wife, Natalie. As soon as I opened up the browser on my laptop, there was a soft knock on the door.

  “Eleanor?” Lewis’s voice floated toward me. “Are you home?”

  I hesitated, heard another knock, decided my apology was still outstanding. When I opened the door and saw Lewis standing there in jeans and a black shirt, with a jacket slung over his shoulder, I tried not to stare. God, he was a beautiful, beautiful man. So handsome, it almost hurt to look at him.

  “Wow.” He raised his eyebrows as his gaze swept over my curls. “You’re gorgeous.”

  I don’t know what did it. My need to distract myself from the ring and the shift in my allegiances to Victoria, the new haircut bolstering my confidence or that Lewis was the first man to call me gorgeous and sound like he meant it. Maybe it was a mixture of it all. Whatever the reason, I grabbed his hand, pulled him inside my apartment and pushed the front door closed.

  Without saying a word, my hands went over his arms, gliding across the bulk of his muscles, the breadth of his shoulders, finally coming to rest around his neck. His gaze didn’t waver, his eyes stayed on mine as I stood on my tiptoes, my lips nearing his. When they touched, I felt his warm breath, tasted the mix of mint and coffee on his tongue. Within a moment I was lost in an embrace so intense, I felt my legs give out from underneath me. So much time had passed since I’d let a man touch me—since I’d felt the need to be touched—but I wanted to feel Lewis with every square inch of me. My body ached, yearned for his weight to be on top of me, for him to be inside me, for us to become one.

  “Are you sure about this?” he whispered as I pulled his shirt over his head, taking in the smooth skin and acute definition of his abs.

  I silently took his hand again and led him to my room, where we sank onto the bed. He undressed me slowly, one piece of clothing at a time, running his hands over my thighs, my stomach—the parts of me I’d always detested, but didn’t want him to stop touching. He kissed and stroked, gently murmured as his lips slid over my skin, his fingers teasing, caressing, playing.

  I didn’t want to wait any longer. Pulling him to me, I moaned softly when he finally slid inside, and wrapped my legs around his, urging him deeper still.

  Maybe this was a mistake, something I’d regret come morning, but I didn’t care. Right then, the beautiful Lewis Farrier was who I wanted, what I needed, more than anything. For whatever short time it would turn out to be, Lewis was mine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE BEDROOM WAS STILL dark when I opened my eyes. As the remnants of sleep slowly dissolved around me and my senses returned one by one, I froze. I could hear slow breaths that weren’t mine. Someone was in my room. Lying next to me. My heart sped up and I almost jumped out of bed until my brain kicked in, recalling the events of the night before. I let out a small sigh of ecstasy-filled relief as I remembered Lewis’s hands on my body, my nails digging into his back as I pulled him closer, searched for his lips with mine.

  We’d made love again, less urgently than the first time, and he’d kissed my neck, lingered on my breasts, taken his time as his mouth traveled over my middle. I’d gasped when his head settled between my legs, arched my back as he ever so gently, ever so deliciously, pushed me over the edge without letting go of my hand. Our bodies moved with such familiarity, it was as if they’d been destined to be together, made for each other. Afterward we lay with our legs entwined, my head on his shoulder, chests heaving.

  “That was a surprise,” he said, stroking my hair. “I only stopped by for a cup of sugar.”

  “No, you didn’t.” I whipped my head up, searched his face. “Did you?”

  He held an innocent expression for as long as he could before laughing—a deep, rumbling sound that made my heart do a few spins. I ordered it to hold still, reminded myself not to get attached. I fully expected what had happened between us to be a half-night stand. Lewis would be gone by morning, slip out the door while I slept. But not now, not yet.

  “No sugar, I promise,” he said, running his fingers across my shoulder, turning my skin into goose bumps underneath his touch. “I came to apologize.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. To say I’m sorry for trying to tell you what to do about your sister.”

  “It’s okay. I was rude and—”

  “No, you were right. It’s none of my business and I was talking out of my ass. I’m sorry.”

  “You made up for it.” I kissed him again before settling my head on his chest. “Twice.”

  He pulled me closer, enveloping me in the discreet scent of soap and aftershave. “I aim to please. I’ve been having increasingly naughty thoughts about you since I first saw you at the mailboxes, and then in the basement, clutching your polka-dot underwear—”

  I snorted. “No, you haven’t.”

  “I swear,” he whispered. “Scout’s honor. It’s been driving me crazy, knowing you’re down here, poring over your keyboard being all smart and techie. It’s hot. You’re hot.”

  Glowing heat spread across my cheeks. I was acutely aware I was naked now, lying next to a hulk of a man who was about ninety percent lean muscle mass while my soft stomach pressed into his side. Panic ensued. At some point I’d have to get up and use the bathroom, but my clothes were strewn somewhere on the floor, out of reach. I couldn’t take the entire duvet and wrap it around me like a cocoon, making a chaste escape one hop at a time. That left sneaking around in the dark as soon as he fell asleep, providing I didn’t stumble and wake him.

  What on earth had come over me? I was no sex goddess—although judging by the groans Lewis had made earlier, he’d enjoyed himself at least as much as me—and I certainly wasn’t the kind of woman who proudly paraded around naked.

  “Are you okay?” Lewis said, his voice drowsy, indicating sleep already had a good hold on him. “You seem a bit tense.”

  “No, not at all. I’m fine.” I yawned, hoping it would mask how freaked out I was.

  “No regrets then? About what happened tonight, I mean.”

  “Not one,” I said, thinking, Not yet, anyway. “Do...do you?”

  “How could I?” He let out a relaxed sigh. “Can I stay for a while?”

  “Of course. As long as you want.”

  He had, and here he was, still in my bed, at almost five o’clock in the morning, lying on his back, peacefully asleep. I rolled onto my side, careful not to disturb him as I studied his face in the dim light from the window.

  His lips, full and soft, were slightly parted, and I pulled back my hands to stop myself from reaching out and touching them with my fingertips. His hair had fallen to one side, making him appear to be a Roman god, or a merman, perhaps. It made no sense to me why he was here, not when I knew he could have his pick of a hundred prettier, smarter women.

  As I looked at him, and the more perfect he appeared, my heart hardened, a thicker shell forming around it. No feelings for him would make their way inside. I’d made that mistake in my past and it wouldn’t happen again. I didn’t need to wonder too hard why he was in my bed. I’d thrown myself at him and he’d gone with it. Why not? I’d been an easy lay. He’d even chucked in a few compliments at the end for good measure, stealthily leaving the door open for future encounters. Neighbors with benefits.

  I rolled onto my back, decided to focus on the day ahead rather than the night before. My alarm was set for six, but I’d get up now, shower and prepare for my first day working at Bell Hops. Hugh had warned we’d spend the morning going through HR paperwork and training, and geting me set up on the systems, said I should enjoy my first day because it would be the most relaxing one I’d have in a while.
Good, because I’d need the distraction to stop myself thinking about Lewis.

  I slipped out of bed and sneaked to the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth and showered, letting the water run over my body, blushing as I washed my breasts and between my legs, all the places Lewis had touched. My senses responded and I blushed some more, felt incapable of washing without aiming the showerhead in strategic places. What had he done to me?

  I didn’t have time to find the answer because Lewis pulled back the shower curtain. Naked Lewis. Perfect, naked Lewis, who, judging by his body’s reaction, wanted me again.

  “Good morning,” he whispered. His gaze swept from the top of my head to my feet, making me instinctively want to either disappear down the drain or reach for a towel, except his smile stopped me. Fascinated by how he seemed to truly see me, I stood still, letting him stare.

  “You’re beautiful, Eleanor,” he whispered.

  I tried to believe it, made a desperate attempt to convince myself for this single moment I shouldn’t—wouldn’t—care about my paunch, my thighs or the size of my butt. And so, instead of grabbing a towel to cover myself with, I reached for Lewis’s hand, led him under the water, pressed my naked body against his, feeling the walls I’d built around my heart crumble.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “WILL I SEE YOU AGAIN?” Lewis said after we’d dried off. I watched him retrieve his boxers and jeans from the bedroom floor and pull them on, his muscles rippling. The definition of his arms was something else, and I planted my feet onto the floor to stop myself from dragging him back to bed like a famished cavewoman.

  “Of course you will,” I said, forcing a laugh. “You live upstairs.”

  “I’d hope we’re a bit more than neighbors now,” he said, a hint of another smile playing on his soft lips. When I nodded, he added, “Will you let me take you out again? On a proper date where I don’t piss you off and you leave? How about dinner or a movie one night?”