The Wrong Sister

by Kris Pearson

  “With you in a minute, Christian. Meet you in the car.”

  He lounged against the hand-wrought iron banisters.

  “No hurry.” His eyes slid all over her, making her feel even more like a casual girlfriend being collected for an evening out.

  Oh why wouldn’t her damned nipples subside? Why was a new and enraging sensitivity spreading deep in her belly?

  She turned back into her room to replace the little mirror, and dashed in front of him to the welcome semi-darkness of the summer evening.

  She hoped the short car-ride would help, and pulled the seat-belt across her body. It closed with a loud click in the country quietness.

  “You’ll hardly need that,” Christian said. “We’re only going a couple of hundred yards, and not on a public road.”

  Fiona murmured agreement, but kept her arms clasped warmly around herself.

  “This feels all wrong,” she said, made braver by the darkness. “It’s strange me being with you when it should be Jan sitting here.” She glanced over at Christian’s profile. “Sorry,” she added. “But I’m no sort of replacement for her, if that’s what the champagne thing in the bath was about.”

  She sensed, rather than saw, his breath draw in...his lips compress...his whole body become tense.

  “The champagne thing was because I got carried away,” he said in a flat voice. “You’re not Jan Mark Two—you’re Fiona Mark One. God!” His tone flayed her.

  Fiona bowed her head and fought for a better explanation.

  “No, I didn’t mean that exactly. Just—it feels weird to be all dressed up and dining out alone with my brother-in-law. Like a date,” she finished lamely. Her cheeks started to flame with unease and embarrassment. Why ever had she said those last three words?

  “Some date,” he scoffed. “My wife’s been dead barely a month, we’ll have a couple of dozen other diners keeping an eye on us, and my daughter in the house.” Then he couldn’t resist adding, “And we’ll be in separate bedrooms. I’d manage something better if I was setting up a seduction.”

  “Good,” she muttered. “If you’re not thinking of it that way, I mean.”

  Christian felt his mouth quirking. So she thought it felt almost like a date? He hadn’t imagined it as such, yet was perversely pleased she had. It was years since he’d dated, but he still remembered the anticipation, the jubilation when things turned out well. Fiona, he thought somewhat bitterly, must be well used to the company of a variety of men. Did she flirt with the passengers? The officers? Did she have shipboard romances? On-shore liaisons he knew nothing about?

  The amusement died away and the slight smile faded from his lips as he eased the big car around a bend and onto the crunching gravel that fronted Pounamu Lodge.

  He drew up level with the impressive entrance and braked.

  “Go on in—I’ll park,” he said, watching as she scooted out and walked slowly up the shallow marble steps in the only pair of really smart shoes he’d seen her in—the high-heeled black Italian pumps she’d worn to Jan’s funeral.

  His speculative gaze followed the graceful sway of her hips under the shining fabric...her long slim legs above the tall heels. She entered the glittering reception area, still visible through the long windows. The chandeliers blazed down, highlighting her pale hair and the vivid turquoise dress moving fluidly with her body.

  Cursing under his breath, he pulled away. He knew he’d lost the long-fought battle with his conscience and his caution. Jan had gone forever. Fiona was here, and almost receptive. However apprehensive he was she might carry the same seeds of disease as Jan, she was now more beautiful and desirable than ever to him. His body burned. Even sitting in the darkened parking lot, he had no control over the heated pumping of his blood and the hardening of his flesh.

  Fiona tried to lose herself in the foyer’s works of art while she waited for him. The atmosphere in the car had turned so strange in the last few minutes.

  I shouldn’t have mentioned dates, she thought as she inspected a huge brooding landscape. Of course we’re not on a date; I’m being made use of as a surrogate nanny. End of story. I’ll be gone in a very few days and that’ll be the finish of things between us.

  Not that anything’s begun, she reminded herself severely.

  She moved on to a trio of small exquisite watercolors of native birds. Their feathers look so soft and touchable...as soft as Nicky’s skin...as touchable as Christian’s hair.

  She shook that thought away and turned to the next piece—a sculpture of gleaming silvery fish amongst strands of waving titanium seaweed. They’re safe in their watery haven. So much safer than me.

  She’d somehow found the strength to walk away from him a month ago when he’d reached out in his grief and loneliness. She could do it again. Would have to do it again.

  At least now, it should be easier. They’d had a little more time to accustom themselves to losing Jan, time to blunt the sharp and appalling pain her death had caused them both, time to start living without her.

  Except—the champagne thing in the bathroom...

  Sure, he’d started it, but had she slapped him away with indignation? Had she acted outraged?

  No, she’d gone right along with it, tilted herself up toward him and practically begged for more. Some way to behave when you were trying to get rid of someone!

  She moved on to the next set of treasures—hand-blown glass bowls in wall-niches. A shadow appeared on the shining surface of one, then stopped. All her reactions screamed ‘Christian’. How could she become so acutely aware of him when he was still only at the door? She knew it had to be him the moment he re-entered the Lodge. A shadow was enough. Her skin prickled, the fine golden hairs on her arms rose up, her lips parted on a gasp.

  He strode up behind her and pressed a possessive hand against the small of her back to guide her toward the dining room.

  ‘Stop touching me,’ her conscience pleaded as she turned toward him and smiled.

  “Hungry?”

  ‘Hungry for you,’ her brain instantly supplied.

  “Not too bad,” she answered, feeling guilty for enjoying the sensual warmth of his long fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. They walked step for step across the travertine floor, past other beautifully dressed diners. Soft classical guitar music caressed the air, and the aromas of wonderful food drifted by as the maître’d showed them to a private table in a window nook.

  Fiona realized they’d be partly screened from the other diners by spectacular tall black taffeta curtains looped aside with tasseled ivory ropes. The snowy damask tablecloth set with crystal and silverware glowed under candle-light and chandeliers. It was undoubtedly special, but she’d hoped for a less discreet table. Here she’d be the sole focus of Christian’s attention. The power of his intense eyes and charm would be hard to resist.

  He dismissed the maitre’d with an easy smile and held the chair for her himself. Once he’d seated her, he bent and laid another soft kiss on her nape.

  Shivers shot down to her toes.

  He registered her tiny moan of anguish. Joyful satisfaction flooded his brain. Maybe she was feeling as frustrated as he was? He moved to take the chair opposite.

  “Problem, Blondie?”

  “Don’t touch me like that.”

  “Like what? Like I want you?”

  She gazed at him across the table; her agonized eyes beseeching him to stop his seduction. He had no doubt his expression would be as transparent as hers. His hunger to possess her must be written all over his face.

  “Yes—like you want me,” she murmured.

  “I’m finding it harder and harder to hide the truth,” he said, knowing he was really on the road to destruction now.

  He leaned across the intimate space and dropped his voice to a husky drawl. “So here’s where I stand; I’ve wanted you for years. You’re like a gift I’m not allowed to unwrap. Or a delicious meal I’ve been forbidden to eat.” He set his teeth together to stifle any further
admissions. But his eyes devoured her across the small table, and his hand reached across to enfold hers. He refused to relinquish it when she tried to pull away.

  Fiona shook her head in denial.

  “And Jan?” she demanded, sudden fierce fire in her eyes. “You loved her —of course you did. Not me.”

  “Yes, I loved her. I was thrilled when she agreed to marry me. I’d never met anyone I wanted more.”

  She nodded with apparent satisfaction at that.

  “Never met anyone I wanted more until I met you,” he added.

  “No!” she protested. “I didn’t try to steal you, or impress you, or anything. I was just my sister’s bridesmaid. You were marrying Jan.” Fiona shrugged as though truly puzzled.

  Christian enjoyed the lift of her smooth shoulders and the annoyed pout that accompanied her comment.

  “Of course I was. And happy to be. But you’re a far more vivid version of her. Everything about you is wound up a notch or two. If I wanted Jan, how could I not want you?”

  He watched as her breasts rose and fell in a furious frustrated sigh. Her green eyes snapped up to meet his again, challenging and serious.

  “You mustn’t think like that, Christian.”

  “That’s the way it is, Blondie. You crept up on me over the years.”

  “Not possible,” she said, making another attempt to retrieve her hand from his grasp.

  He shook his head, refusing to let her go. “So there’s my guilty confession. Yes, I wanted your sister. And I want you even more.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “No...” Her brows drew together.

  Was that a touch of uncertainty he detected in her tone and her expression? Time to go for broke, he decided.

  “I’m itching to see you really turned on again,” he whispered. “So mad for me you’d forget the proprieties and just go for it—the way you grabbed me in the bathroom at home after I’d washed your hair. You know as well as I do there’ve been sparks between us. As the years passed, I hardly dared look at you when Jan was in the room.”

  “You were never there. You mostly seemed to be away.”

  “Hated going, Blondie. Knew I had to though.” He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’ve been trying so hard to resist you. It was incredible when you finally touched me. We’d be explosive together. You know we would.”

  Her eyes hadn’t left his, but her expression definitely now showed her frustration. His heart rejoiced.

  “Explosive maybe. But only for five or six days,” she said. “I’m booked to fly back to Rome on Tuesday. That’s all the time we have left.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it again, and Christian watched her gorgeous breasts rise and fall against the richly embroidered fabric.

  Five or six days? She’s leaving me so soon?

  “I couldn’t bear to start something that had no future, so this is not going to happen,” she added.

  Five or six days? After the euphoria of finally being in her company again, it was like being doused with iced water. He sat stunned for a few moments, absorbing the disappointment, struggling through the morass of problems that kept them apart.

  One of the staff approached their table and Christian somehow managed to flash Fiona what he hoped was a casual grin. As he loosened his clasp on her hand, the intensity of the atmosphere changed and he felt her slipping even further away.

  Then the waiter began to acquaint them with the sumptuous feast to follow.

  “Rome on Tuesday?” he asked once they were alone again.

  “That’s the end of my leave.” She angled her chin at him as though challenging him to disagree. “I seem to remember you couldn’t wait to get rid of me a few weeks ago.”

  “You were too dangerous. It was too soon.”

  “It’s still too soon,” she insisted.

  “And you’re still too dangerous. But maybe this is the only chance we have—away from the world and all its petty conditions and condemnations.”

  He fell silent as the wine waiter arrived to pour the first of their wines—a Marlborough Sauvignon Gris—and listened impatiently to the description, wanting the man gone so he could return his attention to Fiona. He’d chosen most of the contents of the Lodge’s cellar himself, for God’s sake.

  “Yes, it’s the rest of the world we have to worry about,” she replied once the man had bustled off. “For all sorts of reasons we’re an impossible combination.”

  “And for all sorts of other reasons we need each other.”

  Her eyes whipped up to his and she sent him a long very candid stare. Finally she shook her head.

  “We can’t, Christian. It was bad enough leaving you before Christmas. That was after just a few days, and for most of them I was very sore and hardly knew what I was doing.”

  His masculine pride rebelled at that. He didn’t want to let her hide behind her injuries—not when he’d been so lost in grief his composure and resolve had been ripped to shreds. He’d laid down his heart for her to walk all over, taken the risk, and gambled to win.

  “Did you know what you were doing in the bathroom when you reached out for me?” he demanded.

  Had he been mistaken after all? Was she so concussed and confused that he’d misread her intentions entirely? He waited for her answer, hardly daring to draw breath.

  “Yes, I knew what I was doing then.”

  Her voice sounded barely above a whisper, but it was enough to allow him to breathe again.

  “And it just about killed me having to leave you after those strange magic days,” she continued. “I couldn’t do it again. Don’t ask me to repeat that pain.”

  Christian bowed his head for a moment at the raw honesty of her words.

  “What are we going to do, Blondie?”

  He watched as she lifted her glass and took a sip of the superb wine, buying time to consider her answer.

  “Nothing,” she whispered. “We’re going to do nothing at all. We’ve no other option.”

  Fiona felt the blood leave her face as she forced the hopeless hateful words out between her lips. Yes, nothing was the right thing. Nothing was the best thing. But it was the coward’s way out. Christian had lost his beloved wife. Nicky had lost her adored mother. She could assuage the hurt for both of them, even if only for the next few days. But it would be at a terrible cost to herself.

  She knew she must look pale with dread and strain after her cruel refusal.

  But she was right. She knew she was right. However much Christian attracted her, he was Jan’s recent husband and nowhere near free to take up with his sister-in-law. He was forbidden.

  It was a huge relief to see the waiter arriving with their first course. Finally she had the excuse to look down onto the food instead of having to avoid Christian’s dark gaze on the other side of the intimate table.

  She took another sip of her crisp wine, sampled the mini-tapas, and couldn’t stop a groan of appreciation as the flavors exploded on her tongue.

  “They’re seriously good,” she exclaimed, glancing up at him again.

  “So our guests continue to tell us.”

  “They beat anything from the chefs on the boat.”

  “Bulk catering.” The twist of his lips told her what he thought of that.

  She settled back in her chair and looked across at him once she’d finished her small but delicious portion. His expression was curiously serene for a man whose attentions had just been rebuffed.

  “At least you don’t look offended,” she said with relief. “I hope I didn’t sound too sharp.”

  “Live for the moment,” he replied with a barely discernable shrug. “After Jan became so terribly sick I decided I’d go after everything I really wanted. And tonight I wanted dinner with a view of you across the table. Anything more is a bonus.”

  “Which you won’t be getting.”

  He smiled, still with apparent good humor. “Live for the moment, as I said. We’ve several more days here. You might change your mind.”
<
br />   Fiona shook her head, hating herself for doing it.

  “Don’t bet on it,” she said, pleased to see their next course arriving to provide a distraction.

  Morsels of the most delicious foods New Zealand had to offer followed each other in a leisurely progression.

  “Bluff Oyster Consommé en Croute,” the waiter announced, setting down small white ramekins of thin seafood soup topped with a golden pastry crust.

  “Prime Fillet of Angus Beef on Anna Potatoes with Onion Marmalade.” Fiona cut into the juicy pink meat and marveled at its tenderness. Sipped the rich ruby Shiraz that accompanied it, and knew she was close to heaven.

  “Pan-fried Snapper Fillet with Tomato and Red Wine Beurre Blanc.” She flaked the moist fish apart with her fork and closed her eyes to appreciate the delicate flavor.

  “Asparagus on Mint and Green Pea Cream.”

  “Breast of Poussin on Risotto with Capsicum Couli.” She scraped up every last grain of the delicious risotto and sighed with bliss, then noticed Christian’s indulgent expression.

  “It’s all just so good,” she lamented. “I could eat a lot more of that last one.”

  “Then order it for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Could I? What have you got planned?”

  He shook his head slightly. Fiona watched the light and shade move across the strong planes of his face.

  “Nothing at all. We could take Nic down to the beach. It’s a good flat sandy walking surface—if your knee’s up to it?”

  “It’s fine now,” she said, basking in the warmth of his eyes, and wanting more than ever to reach out and touch him. His earlier comment about changing her mind meant it would be just so easy!

  “Grilled Figs Wrapped in Prosciutto with Honey, Truffle and Blue Cheese Sauce,” their attentive waiter announced.

  “Truffles,” she murmured once he was out of earshot. “I’ve tried them in France, but not often.”