“Thanks.”
Elijah is beside me, loading up his arms with firewood. He glances at me and nods, then walks back toward the fireplace.
Guess he’s not going to help me. I brace myself against the cold and open the doors, and then sprint toward the building across the lawn.
2
Jesse
I knew that I’d be chopping most of the wood, with Dad’s bad back and all, but I hadn’t anticipated how sweaty I’d get. Thank fuck for hot showers. As soon as I stopped moving, the sweat had frozen against my skin. The steamy hot shower is just what I need to thaw out my frigid body. Once I’m clean and warm, I turn the shower head off and open the curtain, brushing my thick mop of hair back off my forehead.
“Ah, fuck,” I say under my breath. I forgot a towel. I’ll have to walk out into the cold living room and over to the linen closet now, freezing my ass off all over again in the process. So much for the warming effects of the shower.
When I open the bathroom door, the steam billows out in thick white swirls. The cold hits my damp skin and sends shivers straight through me. I jog down the hall to the linen closet, exhaling loudly as I try to ignore the freezing cold air.
I swing the linen door open and bend down to find a towel.
That’s when I hear it.
Rustling.
Rummaging.
Movement.
Someone is here.
I grab the first towel I see and wrap it around my waist. Then, I lean back and peer around the open closet door. My eyes widen when I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen standing near the kitchen sink.
Who. Is. That.
She’s got long brown hair—it’s almost black. It frames her face and gives her an ethereal look. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes are wide as she stares directly at me.
“I didn’t see anything,” she stammers, and I know that she did, in fact, see something. A blush stains her cheeks as her eyes drop down to my chest, and then she looks away.
“I’m just here for the first aid kit.”
“Is someone injured?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” She looks at the floor, and then the couch, and finally turns to the sink. “I got a splinter.”
Who is she? What is she doing here? One of my mother’s friends, perhaps? She seems too young for that. A friend’s daughter? I take a few steps toward her and let my eyes drift down her perfect figure. She’s wearing a thin sweater and skin-tight jeans, and damn, she looks good. I walk forward and she pointedly avoids looking in my direction.
“A splinter?”
She glances at me, then at my chest, then at my towel, and finally takes a deep breath. She nods.
“Well why’d you go and do that?”
Her eyes glimmer. “I could almost say it’s your fault. You chopped the wood, did you not?”
“I did,” I grin. I lean against the counter as I watch her fumble with the latches on the first aid kit. She inhales sharply, pulling her hand away and looking at her palm. I take another step toward her and take her hand gently in mine.
“Here,” I say. “Let me help.”
I ignore the ripple of electricity that passes through my arm when my skin touches hers. Did she feel it too?
She bites her lip and my cock throbs. She is hot. Her hand is small and delicate, and my palms feel rough against her soft skin. She’s staring at me with those big, dark eyes of hers, and I’m loving the way they keep drifting down to my body. I see her gaze drop to my arms and I automatically flex my muscles.
She takes a deep breath and pulls her hand away.
“It’s nothing.” She shakes her head.
“It’s about an inch long,” I say. “It must hurt like a motherfucker.”
She laughs, then, and her whole face lights up. She bites her lip, as if she’s embarrassed to be laughing, and finally nods.
“It does hurt like a motherfucker,” she laughs. “You’re right.”
Hearing such a pretty woman say something like that sends a thrill through my body. I wonder what she’d sound like if she were saying dirty, dirty things in my ear.
I shake my head, turning to the first aid kit. I flip it open and find the tweezers.
“You can… shouldn’t you get dressed? You’re still wet. Aren’t you cold?”
I look down at my body. It’s covered in goosebumps, and I realize that yes, I am cold. But I don’t want to let this woman out of my sight for a second, so I just shrug.
“I’m fine.” I find the tweezers and hold out my hand. When she places her hand in my palm, another thrill passes through me. She’s staring at my chest again, and she’s blushing. Why is that turning me on so much?
I shake my head and turn to her splinter. “Here, come closer,” I say, flicking on a light switch above the stove. She takes a step toward me, and I can smell the sweet perfume she’s wearing. My whole body feels like it’s pulled taut.
I bring her palm closer to the light, ignoring the heat that’s pooling at the base of my spine. My cock is rock hard, and suddenly I wish I was wearing more than just a towel. She makes a noise when I nudge the end of the splinter.
“Sorry,” I say, glancing up at her.
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’m a wuss.”
“You’re not a wuss,” I chuckle. “This thing would have me in tears. You ready?”
“Get that fucker out of me,” she grins. “Come on. Do it.”
God, that’s hot. I grin, loving the way her eyes are sparkling. She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut, and I turn to her palm. I grab the end of the splinter with the tweezers and pull it out in one smooth motion. She groans as it comes out, and then exhales. She pulls her hand away to cradle it against her chest. Her eyes are watering and she’s shaking her head.
“That was sore.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“That’s not what you said when you first walked in.”
She grins. “Well, you’ve redeemed yourself. Thank you for helping me.”
Her eyes linger on mine, and then on my lips. Her cheeks flush again, and I try to ignore the steel rod between my legs. I clear my throat.
“Here,” I say, pulling out some alcohol and gauze. “We should clean it.”
Neither of us says anything as I clean the small wound. She inhales sharply as the alcohol touches her skin, leaning into me. I run the cotton ball softly over her injury as I cradle her palm in mine. Then, I take some gauze and tape and I cover the splinter wound.
“There,” I say, keeping her hand in mine. “All better.”
She’s blushing again, and I’m trying to ignore the throbbing between my legs. She smiles. We stare at each other for a few moments. I’m still holding her hand, and I don’t want to let it go.
“You want me to kiss it better?”
“You asking for a slap across the face?” She laughs.
Her eyes flick down to my lips and a sizzle of heat runs down my spine.
She points to my chest. “What happened here?” Her fingers just brush against my damp skin before she pulls them away. She drops her other hand from mine. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, wishing she was still touching me. Her fingers ran the length of the long, jagged scar that cuts across the left side of my chest from collarbone to sternum. “Happened when I was a kid. My brother and I were horsing around. It was an accident.” Or at least that’s what I always say. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops, as if she’s remembering something.
She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, I never introduced myself. You’re Jesse, right? I’m Farrah. I’m Elijah’s girlfr—fiancée.”
Oh. Fuck.
“Ah, of course! I thought you were a bit young to be a friend of my mom’s.” I try my best to cover my disappointment with a grin. I run my fingers through my wet hair. “It’s nice to finally meet you. We seem to keep missing each other at family events.”
“Yeah,” she smiles. She
shakes her head and mimicking my movement by tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. The movement makes her sweater stretch over her chest, and my whole body throbs.
Congratu-fucking-lations little brother.
“I should probably...” She points her thumb over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I gotta…” I gesture to my body. I’m still only wearing a towel, with freezing-cold drops of water covering my torso. Farrah laughs, her cheeks reddening again. She flicks those enchanting eyes up to mine again.
“See you in there.”
“I hope so,” I say without thinking. Her eyes widen and her blush deepens. A smile twitches at her lips and then she turns to the door. I watch her walk out, and then head to the window to see her jog across the yard toward the house. When she disappears through the patio doors, I let out a huge sigh.
Well, fuck. The first woman I’ve been attracted to in months also happens to be my brother’s new fiancée.
3
Farrah
I jog back into the house and close the door behind me. I lean against the door, letting out a big sigh as I close my eyes.
What the heck just happened? Why am I so flushed? Why does it feel like I’ve just run a marathon?
Why is my underwear completely drenched?
Who am I kidding? I already know the answer to those questions… and the answer lies in those deep, steely grey eyes and that incredibly broad chest. The way the water droplets ran down Jesse’s skin was doing crazy things to my insides. I can still feel his touch on my skin, and my heart is hammering against my ribcage.
Shit.
I’m attracted to my fiancé’s brother.
Oh my gosh, I’m a terrible person.
A terrible, terrible person. The worst kind of person.
I open my eyes again to see Bruce and Shannon sitting near the fireplace as Elijah builds a fire. I kick my boots off and take a deep breath. I press my hands to my cheeks—yep, burning hot.
How could I not be blushing? Jesse was like a six-foot-four wall of solid, glistening muscle. He was wearing nothing but a towel, for crying out loud! His shoulders were like two boulders, and his chest was so inviting. I just wanted to trace my fingers over every inch of rippling brawn.
And when he ran his fingers through that thick mop of brown hair—my lord. I just about melted.
My feet carry me over to the family even though my mind is still at the pool house. Shannon looks up at me and her eyebrows shoot up.
“How is the hand, honey?”
“It’s good,” I say, uncurling my fingers and showing my bandage. “Jesse helped me.”
Is it just me, or did Elijah stiffen? He keeps his eyes on the fire, and I ignore the feeling of dread creeping up my spine. I shake my head. I’m just paranoid…
… Because I’m so turned on that I can hardly think straight. By my fiancé’s older brother.
Did I mention I’m the worst kind of person?
Everyone turns their heads when the back door opens and Jesse steps through. The air rushes out of my lungs as his eyes meet mine. He glances at Elijah by the fireplace and shakes his head.
“Typical,” he laughs. “I do all the work and Elijah gets all the glory.”
Elijah stands up and grins. “You were always better at the grunt work than I was.”
They walk toward each other and wrap their thick, muscular arms around each other. It’s like two giants crashing into each other in the living room.
Now I understand why the ceiling is so high. It looks almost proportional with these guys filling up the space. Two NFL star quarterbacks need a lot of space—if not for their huge, muscular bodies, then for their egos.
My eyes drift to Jesse. I want to look away—I know it’s wrong to stare at him like this, but I can’t help it. He’s wearing a tight white tee-shirt and dark jeans. When he walks toward the living room, I can see the shape of his pecs through the fabric of his shirt. His nipples are hard, which for some reason is really, really turning me on.
Or, continuing to turn me on, I guess.
Jesse’s eyes flick to me. A smile twitches at his lips and my cheeks burn again.
This is so wrong.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this.
I should be a dutiful wife—fiancée. I should be all over Elijah, not lusting after his brother.
But when Jesse spreads his arms with a grin and gives Elijah a quick hug, all I can look at are the way his biceps bulge. He turns to me and my heart starts racing.
“Nice to see you again.” His arms spread out again and he wraps me in an awkward, not-very-brotherly hug.
God, he smells good.
The image of him wearing nothing but a towel with his skin glistening with water pops into my head. Jesse pulls away and drags his hands down my arms. He takes my hand in his.
“How’s the palm.”
“It’s good,” I choke. My voice is gone. I clear my throat. “Thanks for your help.”
“Don’t mention it.” He winks at me and drops my hand. I take a few steps over to Elijah and put my arm around his waist. Is it just me, or is he more tense than usual? I squeeze my arm around his waist and then he pulls away, grabbing his drink from the mantle.
My chest stings.
Can he tell?
He’s been distant lately. And in the car, he was completely ignoring my requests to slow down. Have I done something to upset him? My head is going a million miles an hour.
Mr. Moose jumps off the chair where he was dozing, and comes bounding toward me. He circles my legs and then sniffs at Jesse suspiciously. Jesse drops down on one knee and starts scratching his ear and talking nonsense to him.
My heart swells.
Elijah never touches Moose.
Jesse sits down on the floor and Moose climbs on top of him. Soon the two of them are rolling around. Jesse’s laughing, his perfect, pearly white teeth sending a thrill down my spine. He picks Moose up and holds him against his chest, then glances at me.
“Your dog?”
I nod. “His name is Mr. Moose.”
Jesse laughs. I take a step closer to him as Moose nuzzles into Jesse’s neck.
“He likes you.”
Jesse’s eyes meet mine for a second, and the energy between us is heavy and intoxicating. I don’t need any mulled wine when he’s close. I’ve never been drunk before, but I imagine this is what it feels like.
I jump when Maria’s voice rings out behind us. “Dinner is ready,” she announces. Her eyes meet mine and I smile at her. She seems surprised, her eyes flicking between Jesse and me. Then, she nods and smiles back. A knot forms in my stomach. I follow the family into the dining room, doing my best to keep my distance from Jesse.
We walk down a wide hallway and my eyes widen. Anyone who calls this place a ‘cabin’ is definitely living a different reality than I am. We step through tall double doors into a huge room, dominated by a long, hardwood table. There are candlesticks lined up along the center, with a thick white tablecloth and fancy place settings. There are about twice as many utensils as a reasonable person could possibly need, and I’m pretty sure the chandelier cost more than my college degree.
I should be used to all this by now—Elijah and I have been together almost two years. He makes more money than I could imagine, but I didn’t know he came from money, too.
I take my seat next to Elijah and glance at Mrs. Matthews.
“This is a lot more than I was expecting for our first meal. I thought we’d be having sausages roasted on the fire, or something,” I grin.
She laughs, and then waves her hand toward a bottle of wine. Jesse hands it to her, and then he looks at me. His gaze lingers on my eyes.
My cheeks are on fire. Warmth blooms in my stomach, and I quickly look away.
This is so, so wrong.
“So, Jesse,” Elijah says gruffly. I know that tone of voice, and I don’t like it. “How are you feeling about the rest of the season?”
Jesse shrugs. “Team’s doing pret
ty well.”
He’s being modest. I know that Jesse’s team, the New England Patriots, is vying for a spot in the Super Bowl. The way things are shaping up as the playoffs come nearer, it looks like Jesse and Elijah might play each other.
“Could be a Matthews family Super Bowl,” Elijah says. I can hear the challenge in his voice. If both teams do well in the playoffs, the biggest game of the year will have the two brothers going head-to-head.
“I’m aware.”
“You think you can outplay our defense? It’s ranked the best in the league right now.”
Jesse’s grip on his wine glass tightens, and Elijah is sitting stiffly beside me. Underneath the polite voices, there’s tension that betrays years of competition.
“Let’s not talk about work at dinner,” Jesse says. “Plus, I’m sure your beautiful fiancée is sick of hearing about football.”
“What, because women aren’t into sports?” I say before I can stop myself.
Jesse’s eyes gleam, and Elijah chuckles.
“She doesn’t mind,” my fiancé says.
“Let the woman speak for herself.” Jesse watches me as he sips his wine.
I hold his gaze, playing with the base of my water glass. I tilt my head to the side and grin. “I wouldn’t be marrying Elijah if I wasn’t into football. Been watching the Giants play since I was three years old.”
“Ah,” Jesse grins. “So you’d never cheer for the Patriots, then, would you?”
“Urgh,” I say, side-eyeing him. Jesse’s mouth stretches wider.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“There is one redeeming thing about you playing for the Patriots,” I say, taking a sip of water.
Elijah turns to me with an eyebrow raised. Jesse leans forward, and I can see Mr. and Mrs. Matthews hanging on my words. I put my glass down, raising my eyes back to Jesse.
“At least you don’t play for the Jets.”
Bruce bursts out laughing, smacking his meaty palm on the table and pointing at me. He lifts his wine glass up toward me and winks.
“Well said, Farrah.” Bruce laughs. “Elijah, you’ve done well.”
Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series Page 19
