Wet: A Brother’s Best Friend Romance

by Aria Ford

  “Okay,” I sighed, half-standing. My head was spinning and I suddenly couldn’t think straight, so I sat back down. “I think there’s something I need to say,” I began as they looked at me expectantly. “Marriage has to come from both sides. And, because of a thing called culturally-ingrained sexism, which I won’t discuss now, the man is the one who asks for there to be a marriage. So, you see, I can’t make your daddy marry me. Or anyone else. I just can’t.”

  “But why?”

  Cammi sounded truly upset. She came and leaned on me and I wrapped an arm around her, feeling a sudden chill in my heart. I couldn’t stay here. I just couldn’t. With the kids, seeing some future based on me—a future I would never be able to give them—and Alex, with his switching his temperament between affectionate and cold, I was hopelessly confused. I screwed up.

  That was all I could think of just then. How canonically and entirely I had screwed up. I should never have interfered. So what if Alexander Carring was a cold, miserable father? That was his problem, not mine. My job was simply to supervise the kids, make sure nothing happened to them in his absence. Not to try and be their mother. Or to seduce Alex.

  I sniffed, feeling a tear prick at the edge of my eyelid. I would start crying now, and really confuse the poor kids. I looked at the ceiling, willing myself to become more cheerful. What the heck was my problem?

  “Emma?” Jack asked quietly.

  “Yes?”

  “We know you’re only here for a month. Father explained that,” he said carefully. I nodded, impressed by his maturity. He was only nine, and yet he had guessed at least part of my concern. I inclined my head to him, inviting him to continue.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, we know you’re not here for long. So we were thinking maybe we could help? Like, do something to make things simpler? Father might listen to us?”

  What? I felt broadsided for the second time. Did they mean they were planning to persuade their father to marry me?

  “Jack, no,” I said. My voice was level and soft. I had to appreciate the sentiment of what he had said: Effectively, they were inviting me into their family. I couldn’t possibly be cross.

  His face fell and I reached out, laying my hand on his shoulder. “Jack, look at me.”

  He looked at me. His hazel eyes were dry, but very solemn. They regarded me with the beginnings of uncertainty. Soon, he would learn to mistrust me. Good, I thought harshly. Better that than betray him later.

  “Yes?” he asked tentatively.

  “Jack, I appreciate that. What you and Cammi has said has really touched me.” Dammit, was I crying? I smoothed over a tear with my fingers and started again. “But truly, no. If you did, that would make everything harder. It would make everything worse. Trust me. Your daddy doesn’t want to marry me and I wouldn’t make him happy. I promise.”

  “Really?” Cammi was looking at me with extreme doubt.

  I sighed and nodded. “Truly. I promise.”

  Jack didn’t comment for a long while. At length, all he said was, “Okay.”

  I sighed out a long breath. “Guys,” I said after a while, “I really love you both for thinking of me like that. I really do. But it can’t happen. Can we just have breakfast now?”

  Jack looked down, but whispered a soft agreement. Cammi sat down next to me, giving me a sharp-eyed glance.

  “Yes,” she said, as Jack settled into the chair opposite her slowly. “But only if you tell us a story.”

  I smiled, chuckling under my breath. “Okay.”

  I told a story and we finished our meal. I had little appetite and less imagination that morning, but I did my best. We sat there in a sort of cloud of shared melancholy. Even the sky outside looked somber and scared.

  After breakfast, the kids went out to play. I followed, taking a book to read. The day passed until lunchtime in a sort of haze and I was pleased when lessons followed, it being a Thursday. When the night finally arrived, I fled up to my room and packed. I would be leaving the day after tomorrow. I had decided.

  Chapter 7

  Alex

  I came home from work around seven pm. And when I did, it was quite surprising. That was because I walked into a silent house. It was a surprising change, even though it had been more or less normal until this.

  Where are the kids? Where’s Emma?

  Even during the brief week that she had been here, I had become accustomed to arriving late from work to a house of raucous laughter and fun, with Emma playing upstairs with the children, making them shriek with giggles. Their bedtime was at seven, but I usually caught the tail-end of their fun and games, the sounds echoing through the house as she played with them before she took them to their rooms and supervised bedtime and sleeping.

  I really liked that. I wonder where they’ve got to?

  I walked through to my office and put the bags down, then I flipped open my notebook and tried to work. I stayed there for about two minutes just scanning my mail. Then I couldn’t stand not knowing anymore.

  It was seven o’clock at night, and I had to find out what was going on. I felt worried, with Emma not being there, with no noise. It was unnatural.

  I felt myself hurry through the hallways, heading for the stairs. The playroom, which had been until recently the site of their revels, was clean, shiny. Entirely devoid of life. Where were they? Heart thumping, I felt a wave of panic course through me. I knew I was probably being stupid, but I couldn’t help it. It seemed so sinister, so wrong. I closed the door, feeling a pang of sadness. I didn’t realize until now how I had come to enjoy and expect the flushed, happy faces and the childish laughter.

  I was also starting to get worried.

  I walked briskly along the hallway, pausing outside Cammi’s door. I heard nothing. I opened it a crack, but all but the pink lamp on the dressing-table was off. I peered in, nervous to switch on the light in case I woke her, but I had to know. Where was she? I switched on the light. There was no one in the bedroom. I shut the door as quietly as I could. I was walking up to Jack’s room, really scared then, when he heard the sound of running feet. It sounded like children running, which was a relief. Still, I grabbed the handle, opening it with some force. Inside, I saw Jack sitting in bed, gazing at me. His eyes were round and he looked about as scared as I felt.

  “Son?” I asked quietly. Jack said nothing, but he was looking away from his father, across the room. Following his gaze to the wardrobe, I saw Cammi emerge from the door.

  She froze when she saw me and Jack cleared his throat. “I can explain,” he said.

  I suddenly wanted to laugh. They sounded so deadly-earnest. Like they had been caught in some terrible crime. A week ago, I noted with some amazement, and some shame, I would have acted as if they had been. Not sticking to bedtimes would probably be the worst thing I could imagine, the worst act of disobedience and disrespect. Now, I just thought it was funny.

  “Go ahead,” I said to my son, keeping my voice neutral. Probably better if he didn’t know just how funny I thought it was.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Cammi couldn’t sleep. She was having nightmares.”

  “Oh?” I was surprised. Not only because I was fairly sure the kids had only just gone to bed but because I had never known Cammi had nightmares. Heck. How bad a father was I?

  Of course she does, Alexander. You’re not the only one who lost someone four years ago.

  I felt fresh shame that I had not thought of it before now. Wondered how much the kids had kept secret from me, how much I had failed to help them when they needed me so badly. I had shut myself in with my own grief and it had been wrong.

  “Yes,” Jack said, finishing somewhat-lamely. “She does.” Cammi, not to be outdone, crawled out of the cupboard and ran to me.

  “Yes, Daddy! Horrible big bad-dreams, about things with teeth…”

  “Okay, okay!” I said, laughing as he bent to embrace her, then lifted her up. “Come on, then.” I turned to Jack, who was watching his sister and I
from the bed. “You okay to go to sleep now?”

  “Yes,” Jack said levelly.

  I nodded, noticing, perhaps for the first time, how quickly my own son was maturing. Nine years old, going on thirty-five, he thought wryly.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “Then I’ll just go and put Cammi in bed and go downstairs. Nighty.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  Grunting as I hefted Cammi up to ride on my shoulder, something that I hadn’t done in years, I went through the hallway and the pink room.

  When Cammi was settled, I went to my office. I closed the door, looking at the ceiling as I leaned back on the headrest. The one place I hadn’t been to yet was Emma’s room. It was very unlike her to just put the children to bed. Sometimes when I was here earlier from work I heard her telling them a bedtime story. I hope there was nothing bothering her.

  Emma. I felt my body tense at the thought of her. The ride in the car the other day had been…special. I had tried to date after Ada, but had never met anyone who had felt special, like she had.

  I wanted to spend time with her. Wanted to talk to her, to find out her little secrets, and tell her my own stories. My story. I wanted to kiss her.

  Wanted more than just to kiss her. I wanted, if I was honest with myself, to peel back the shirt she wore and kiss those firm, hard nipples. I wanted to touch them.

  Someone knocked on the door. Feeling irritated at having my reverie disrupted, I called out a little sharply.

  “Hello?”

  The door opened and Emma came in.

  Oh my. The heat of my body rose to flush my cheeks. The fact that she had appeared like that, just as I was dreaming about her, feeling the beginnings of arousal for her, was both awkward and lovely.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  I looked at her where she stood. Her body was firm and hard under her shirt, her jeans tight over her form. Her butt was pert and rounded, her legs long. Her lips were damp and I wanted in that moment, more than anything, to kiss her. To do everything else too. But at least to kiss her first.

  “Sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Carring,” Emma began quietly.

  “Alexander,” I corrected woodenly. “Why the formality?” I felt stung.

  Emma sighed. “Mr. Carring, I…I wanted to tell you. I’m leaving.”

  I stared at her. Panic shot through me first, surprising me. It was turned, almost instantly, to confrontation.

  “What?” I stood up, faster than I should have done. My head throbbed. “Emma! You can’t! Have you forgotten our contract? Have you…how dare you?”

  Emma took a step back. She was looking at me with frightened eyes and I instantly regretted his harsh words. If I wanted to keep her that was clearly not how. “Sir, I…” she started.

  “Use my name like you have done for days. And you can’t just…I’m sorry,” I finished lamely, seeing her back away. “I’m overreacting badly.” I sighed, subsiding into my leather seat. I waved her to the seat before the desk. “I’m sorry.”

  Walking hesitantly over the carpet, she took it.

  “Alexander,” she said. The way she said my name sent tingles down his spine. It made me want to grab her and cover her with kisses.

  “Yes?”

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows heavily on the desk in front of her. She didn’t say anything for a while. Her hands were in her hair, gripping the blond roots. Her eyes were downcast.

  “Tell me.”

  “I have to go.”

  Her gaze met mine, her hazel eyes looking deep into my dark ones. Wordlessly, I slid my hands across the polished wood of my foolishly-expensive desk, reaching for hers. She let me take them and I held them, feeling the cold flesh against my own warm fingers.

  “Why?” I sounded desperate. Even I noticed that. But I had to ask.

  “Because,” she said, then sighed, clearly frustrated. “It’s the kids. Can’t you see? They…like me too much.”

  She looked genuinely distressed. I burst out laughing.

  “Emma, forgive me,” I said between chuckles. “But I really don’t see how that is a reason for leaving. If they didn’t like you at all, then maybe there would be grounds. But they adore you. You have to stay. I’m asking you to stay.”

  Emma stared at me. Something in her eyes changed from sadness to a kind of cold resolve.

  “You’re asking?” she said, and there was an edge of scorn to the words.

  “Yes,” I said, feeling confused. Why had she suddenly changed so much, so quickly? What had I done wrong?

  Emma leaned back, removing her hands from my grasp. I let her. I had no idea at all what was going on. “You think you can ask me to stay. Have you absolutely no idea what you are doing to me?” She sounded furious.

  She tried to stand, but I stood too.

  “Emma, please.”

  “No! No please!” she was shouting now, her hair whipping about her face as she made a gesture to her side, vehement and angry. She had stood and she was halfway to the door, addressing me from there, eyes flashing. “You think you can confuse me, treat me two different ways on two different days, when it suits you. You think you can keep me guessing, play with me, when all the while you love someone else?”

  I felt as if he had just walked into a sheet of glass I hadn’t known was there. I staggered, and sat down, holding the table.

  “Love someone else? Emma? What are you talking about?”

  To my surprise, all the anger seemed to drain out of Emma. She sat down on a chair by the door, shoulders shaking. I realized, with some alarm, that she cried.

  “Emma?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” she said between gasps. “Now I really do have to leave!” she chuckled, but it was somehow a sad sound. “Now I’ve told you and…and now I really have screwed up.”

  “Emma!” I found myself laughing, feeling strangely lighthearted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She stared at me. “You mean…you mean you don’t mind if some crazy woman bursts in on you and confesses that she’s falling for you?”

  I stared. “You what?”

  She flushed pink. It was spectacular. I grinned at her. She shook her head vigorously.

  “Oh, now look what I’ve gone and said,” she said, looking everywhere except at me. She shook her head, hands twisting the skirt she wore. Her long hair bounced on her shoulders.

  “What?” I asked, more gently this time.

  She still would not meet my gaze. “I…How could I have said that?”

  “What?” I asked gently. I knew, but a little part of me—a naughty part—wanted to hear her say it again.

  She looked up at me. Those beautiful eyes met mine. She didn’t say it—then again, she didn’t need to. The love was written in her eyes.

  I looked into hers, and my heart started to beat faster. I moved closer and, keeping her gaze, sat down on the low table so that I could look into her eyes.

  “You don’t need to feel bad about saying that,” I said gently. “I feel the same way.”

  “Oh…” Emma’s hand flew to her cheek. She looked confused, then delighted. That did it. I leaned forward and, gently, kissed her lips.

  She made a little sighing sound and leaned against me. I felt my loins tense and I breathed in, letting the scent of her wash over me. She smelled of flowers and freshness and I felt my heart thumping as I held her against me. I had slid off the table now and half-knelt before her.

  We broke the kiss, and I looked into her eyes. I reached up and stroked her soft, shiny hair. It was something I had wanted to do for ages. She smiled, and I had to kiss her again.

  Her lips parted sweetly under my tongue, their moist warmth closing around me. I was in heaven, my tongue sliding and gliding over hers. My heart pounded, and I had never felt such a tenderness, such a depth of wonder in a single kiss. I had loved Ada with all my heart, respected her with my mind. But this was another level of closeness, and it surprised me.

  I was also gasping when we broke the ne
xt kiss.

  “Should we…”

  I hadn’t finished the sentence when she grinned. It took my breath away, the naughtiness in that smile.

  She nodded. I felt my throat tighten with wanting. We stood tentatively and kissed again. Then, laughing shakily, we walked out of the room and into the hallway.

  Heading upstairs to my bedroom.

  Chapter 8

  Emma

  I followed Alexander with a pounding heart. I could barely believe it was true. That this was really happening to me. Can it be true? Am I really going up the stairs with the sexiest man alive?

  We kissed in the doorway again and I felt my heart thumping and a wetness begin between my legs as he drew me against him. His mouth was sweet and he slid his tongue over mine with a practiced ease that made me feel as if I would melt.

  He stopped, gently stroking my hair. I sighed and we embraced, nestled close in one another’s arms. I could feel his erection pressing against me and the feeling excited me. I moved against him and he pressed against me, our bodies moving in a natural rhythm that made me ache with longing.

  He opened the door and we half-fell in, our arms wrapped around each other.

  “Whoops!” he said, grinning at me.

  I giggled and wrapped my arms around him. We stood in the middle of the room and our mouths devoured each other. Then he went to switch on the light and draw the curtains.

  I glanced around. The room was decorated with the best of everything, but it was plain and striking: white walls and carpet and bedspread and yellow-wood furniture. Everything was of the most amazing quality, but understated.

  Then I had no time, for he was upon me. His arms wrapped around me and, lifting me, he carried me gently to the bed.

  “Alexander! No! Put me down!” I giggled, keeping my voice a soft whisper just in case the rest of the household heard it. He grinned and kissed me.