He had no intention of getting married anytime soon. He’d never even had a proper relationship. He’d tried, but it hadn’t held his interest.
“Depends on what she wants,” he said absently.
The “she” he immediately thought of was Emily Branson. He couldn’t help it.
You can have me. He’d nearly ravished her at those words.
I never got to be young and carefree. That was what had done him in.
She’d needed to act as a parent starting when she was twelve. Although her father was mostly better by the time she was fourteen or fifteen, it wasn’t the same as it would have been otherwise. Jay remembered her being the perfect student and well-behaved daughter who never got into trouble.
And if she wanted something different tonight, he wanted her to have that chance.
Better him than some other guy. He was doing Nick a favor and keeping her safe.
Not that Nick would see it that way if he ever found out, but that’s what Jay kept telling himself all night. He danced with many women, young and old, but he kept glancing at Emily. She never came onto the dance floor again. Instead she talked to various people while nursing a single glass of wine and looking utterly beautiful in that red dress.
Soon she would be underneath him. The woman who’d starred in his erotic dreams since he was twelve.
She had a birthmark on the left side of her chest. He’d seen the top of it a couple of times. And once, when she was seventeen, the door to her room had been open a crack, and she’d been standing in front of the mirror in jeans and a bra. The birthmark dipped below the edge of the bra.
He wanted to run his tongue along it.
He should probably not think about that when he was dancing with Diana’s aunt.
****
By quarter after twelve, he was in a cab with Emily, heading downtown.
“Your place or mine?” he asked.
“Yours.”
He gave the cab driver his address before reaching across the backseat for Emily. He was about to unbuckle his seatbelt and switch to the middle seat when she shook her head, then tilted it toward the front of the car.
Okay. She didn’t want to give the cab driver a show. Jay could wait. Even though it would be at least half an hour.
Few words were spoken on the long cab ride. Although Emily looked primly out the window, the air seemed to crackle between them. He fought the urge to touch her.
It was not easy.
Emily wanted him. He made her cheeks turn pink, made her breath shudder. He’d scarcely been able to believe it when she’d run her hand through his hair as they were dancing. Many women wanted him, but this was different. This was Emily Branson.
When they were almost at his place, he slid his hand to the middle of the seat between them. This time, she spread her fingers over his, and the simple touch demanded all of his attention.
It would be one hell of a night.
In the elevator up to his condo, he reached for her again and she pushed him away.
“Not yet,” she said, smiling.
Now she was just playing with him.
But as soon as they were inside his condo, he was on her.
“You little minx,” he said, backing her against the wall. She grinned. She seemed quite pleased to be called that. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
So Jay set his lips to hers, and they had their first kiss.
He devoured her. After so many years of wanting to kiss her, after telling himself over and over that this would never happen, after the torturous wait for the end of the evening … he was kissing her. And she was kissing him back. She met the strokes of his tongue, and he touched her everywhere he could.
Until she shifted away. “Crap. I meant to have a breath mint.”
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, grabbing her purse from her hands and tossing it on the floor. “You taste like wine. It’s…”
Intoxicating? God, he couldn’t think straight. But he liked it. He liked everything about her.
Jay brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and kissed her some more. He didn’t want to wait any longer, but he forced himself to have some control. This would be an amazing night that she would always remember.
He shed his jacket and vest—stupid tuxedo—as he kissed her, never taking his lips from hers. Then he swung her off her feet, took a few steps, and set her down on the couch. He flipped on the lights before climbing on top of her, the length of his body pressing down on hers.
“Be bad tonight,” he said. “Get into all the trouble you want with me.”
She parted her lips, waiting for more. Her cheeks were flushed pink, like delicate rose petals. He dipped his head to kiss her again, at the same time she rocked her hips against his. It made him painfully hard.
“You feel so good,” she said, and then he ran his hand up her leg, sliding her panties aside and pushing the tip of his finger inside her.
“What about now?”
“Oh,” she choked out. “Very good.”
Jay hissed. He slid his finger in and out of her in a slow rhythm, her wetness coating his skin. That feeling—it went straight to his cock. He yanked down her panties then continued to fuck her with his finger, loving the way she arched against him.
It was still wrong, horribly wrong, to be fingering his best friend’s sister.
But nothing had ever felt better.
He sat up, grabbed her ass with both hands, and pulled her onto his lap. Her naked pussy pressed against his pants, and maybe that was a bad idea—this was a rental, after all—but he didn’t stop her from rubbing herself against him.
God, he could probably come in his pants, if she shifted just a little.
He needed to be inside her. And he would have to go slow so it would last more than a minute. But first he wanted to see her breasts. He slowly unzipped her dress and slid it down her arms.
Oh, God. She was lovely.
Jay dipped his head and licked the edge of her elongated birthmark as he undid the front clasp of her bra. He cupped a breast with each of his hands, squeezing lightly.
“Tell me what you like, baby,” he said.
And she said the last thing he’d expected.
“Stop.”
He immediately raised his hands. Emily crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes wide. She looked stricken.
He didn’t understand. Everything had been going well a moment ago, and now…
Jay glanced at her chest. She wasn’t covering her nipples, but the tops of her breasts and the skin above them.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “I want to see you.”
“No,” she cried, scrambling off his lap. “You can’t mean that. Not anymore. I’m…”
“Beautiful. I like the birthmark. It’s shaped like a flying saucer.”
He’d hoped she would smile, but she shook her head violently.
“It’s not just the birthmark,” she said. “It’s the acne. It’s awful. I can’t believe I thought I could do this.”
His instinct was to reach out and touch her, but he didn’t think she’d like that.
“What about … with other guys?” he asked.
“Sex is always awkward for me. But I forgot about that. Probably because I haven’t done it in three years. God, how could I be so stupid?”
She shoved him away and started straightening her clothes.
He stared at the wall, unsure what to do. How could he help her feel better when she didn’t believe him? She was a pretty woman with blemishes. They didn’t stop him from getting even more turned on when he pulled down her dress and bared her breasts.
There was something seriously wrong with a world that could make a woman feel this way about herself.
“I’m sorry.” She hurried to the door and grabbed her purse. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But it was nice to see you again!”
And before he could say anything
, she was gone.
****
Emily stared out the window of the cab and tried not to cry.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She’d practically thrown herself at Jay and begged him to take her home. And it had been going well until the clothing removal started. Actually, it had been going fine when he removed her underwear. The man was certainly talented with his fingers.
But then he’d wanted to see her chest—a natural thing for a man to want when he was making out with a woman—and she’d freaked out. He must think she was a head case.
And this was Jay Cheng, not a random guy.
She’d thought that would make it better, but no, that made it worse. Because someday she’d have to see him again. And what would it be like for him, the next time he saw Nick?
Emily wasn’t used to making a mess of things.
But dammit, she’d made a mess of this.
When he’d said it couldn’t happen, she should have left it at that. Should have just kept the happy memory of dancing with a man who made her heart kick up a notch. Or ten.
But her overwhelming desire for him had wiped out any rational thought. Made her forget that sex was never good for her, because she was ashamed of how she looked.
Twelve hours ago, after putting on her sexy red dress and spending an hour on her hair and makeup, she’d been happy with her appearance.
Unfortunately, pretty clothes couldn’t change how she looked underneath.
Why had she wanted Jay so badly? She blamed it partly on the fact that she hadn’t had sex in three years and her body was desperate. But she wasn’t like this with other guys. There was something about Jay Cheng… He was magnetic. He drew her in.
But it was nice to see you again!
What a great thing to say when she was running out the door after an aborted make-out session. Real smooth.
She wiped a few tears from her eyes, mascara coming off on her fingers, and tried to forget about Jay. It was her brother’s wedding day, and the wedding had been lovely.
But as she was dozing off at two in the morning, she couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to have his hands on her. And when he’d slid down her dress, he’d kissed her birthmark and proclaimed her beautiful.
Like he really, truly meant it.
****
Emily had just gotten home from work on Friday when her phone beeped. It was a message from Diana with a link to an online gallery. The photos from the wedding were ready.
She hurried to the computer and checked them out.
They were wonderful.
There were a few pictures of Nick and Diana sitting on a bench in the garden, arms around each other—those were her favorite. Nick was even smiling in some of them, and it was difficult to get Nick to smile for a picture. They looked so happy to be starting their life together.
Emily wanted to have that, too. She had felt like she was nearly ready, but after what happened the other day, it seemed impossible. She’d failed at having sex. She was…
No, no, no.
Emily shook her head.
She would not let herself think like this. Yes, her history of close relationships was not great, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have one.
She went to her bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse and threw it on the bed. She forced herself to look in the mirror, something she rarely did unless her shirt was buttoned up to the top.
The acne had started shortly before her parents’ divorce. Her mother had decided that she wanted a completely different life. She’d wanted a career and started law school at the age of thirty-five. Once she’d moved out, she rarely saw her children. Every other weekend was too much for her; they’d only seen her one Sunday afternoon a month.
All through Emily’s teen years, her mother had rarely bothered with presents for birthdays or Christmas, but when she did, Emily was assured of getting one thing.
Some sort of acne treatment.
At the next monthly visit, her mother would scrunch up her face and say that clearly Emily hadn’t been using the skin cream/facial/toner, or whatever it was. Because otherwise her skin wouldn’t look like this. She’d had acne on her face and back, but her chest was the worst.
Emily had never worn low-cut shirts, but her mother would always pull down the neckline and examine her skin. The disappointment on her face … it hurt so much. Although Emily had used the skin creams, etcetera, religiously, they never did any good.
Her mother strongly believed that you created your own destiny, and everything that happened to you was your doing. If you wanted something badly enough and did the required work, then things would turn out for you. There was no such thing as luck.
And so Emily had felt that her skin—even her birthmark—was a bad reflection on her as a person.
A part of her had even believed it was her fault that her mother had walked out of their lives. Maybe if she’d been a better daughter, her mother would talk to them more than once a month. Wouldn’t just hand her twenty bucks and walk away when Emily told her how much they were struggling.
She’d felt like she was the cause of nearly every problem. It was frightening.
She’d also felt unlovable. Her mother was gone, and her father had disappeared into his own world. Surely someone who was lovable wouldn’t have two parents desert her.
Emily had tried to work on her issues in the past couple of years. She knew she was a worthy person, and she knew she was capable of love. She was no longer terrified of it.
But in focusing on those issues, she’d ignored her other scars.
Her discomfort with her skin hadn’t faded. She did not have the soft, smooth, satiny skin that a man would wish for. Although it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been when she was a teenager, her skin was still scarred, rough, slightly red.
The right guy would understand, though, wouldn’t he? He’d like her even though the tops of her breasts were covered in red spots and she’d never be able to show off any cleavage. He’d still want to have sex with her—without a shirt on—and tell her she was beautiful.
Of course, she first had to find this guy. And even with his reassurances, it would take her a long time to truly be comfortable with him and with the way she looked.
But she was thirty-one years old. She was supposed to have her shit together by now. She wanted to solve this problem—or at least get a start on it—before she began dating.
She needed to become more confident with how she looked with her clothes off. The first time a man unbuttoned her shirt after a romantic evening, she didn’t want to run away screaming.
She also wanted to know what it was like to actually enjoy sex, wanted to figure out what she liked in bed. Her experience was rather limited, and she’d prefer not to seem clueless.
Emily put on a T-shirt and made herself a cup of coffee. When she returned to the computer, she couldn’t help staring at a picture of Nick and Jay.
God, he was handsome.
He had a broad smile in the photo, but when he’d been on top of her on the couch, he’d been intense, totally absorbed in her. And she’d been lost in him until he’d unzipped her dress.
Suddenly, she had an idea.
She considered telling Liz about it but quickly dismissed that plan. It was too embarrassing to talk about this any more than she needed to.
No, she’d go straight to Jay.
Chapter Four
Tuesday after work, Emily headed east from her office to Ryan’s bakery in Leslieville. A long walk, but the weather was perfect for that. It was a beautiful summer’s day. Hot, but not stifling. Partly sunny.
She smiled, a bit of a spring in her step.
She was trying to forget how nervous she was.
Not about seeing Ryan, of course. This was her Tuesday routine—and Emily was all about routines. Every Tuesday after work, she visited her brother and tried whatever creation he’d prepared for her.
No, she was nervous about what came after seeing Ryan. Something th
at was definitely not part of her regular routine.
Ryan was talking to a customer when she came in, an older woman who seemed thoroughly taken with him, as almost everyone was. Because yeah, he was good-looking, and she didn’t just say that because she was his sister.
He’d been adorable as a kid, too. A handful, though.
After the divorce, her father had been a wreck. He’d gone to work every day, but other than that, he’d just lay on the couch in the basement, drinking Diet Pepsi—no beer, thankfully—and watch mindless TV in the dark.
Emily had been twelve, her brothers nine and seven. She’d been the one who kept everything going. Her father had given her money, and she’d bought all the groceries and cooked all the meals. She would bring a plate down to him every night and hope he’d eat, but more often than not, he wouldn’t. She’d cleaned and done laundry. She’d looked after her brothers, made sure their homework was done. Nick would entertain himself by reading or playing videogames, and Jay often came over after school. Ryan had been more difficult, however. He’d always been up to some sort of trouble.
Until she’d figured out how to occupy him.
“Em!” He waved at her. “I’ll be just a minute.”
She sat down at her regular table along the back wall, and he soon joined her, carrying a cup of coffee and a plate with two cookies.
“Chocolate chip,” he said.
“That sounds too boring for the likes of you.”
“With cherries.”
She ruffled his hair when he sat down, though she had to reach up to do it. Her “little” brother was over six feet tall now.
Emily bit into a cookie and groaned. “Oh, my God.”
“You sound like you’re having an orgasm,” said Lauren, who was wiping down the table next to them.
“Shut up,” Ryan said. “This is my sister you’re talking about.”
“I know.” Lauren grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.
“It’s similar to Grandma’s chocolate chip cookie recipe,” Emily said after she’d demolished the first cookie.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “I modified it a little. I’m glad it’s so good that it practically gave you an orgasm.” He shuddered.
Although their maternal grandmother had died two decades ago, she lived on in her recipes. Their mother had inherited her recipe book, but when she’d walked out the door, she hadn’t taken it with her. One day after school, when Emily had been at her wit’s end, having no idea what to do with Ryan, she’d pulled out the book and asked him to help her bake cookies, hoping the lure of sugar would be enough to get him to behave for a time.
His Best Friend's Older Sister Page 3
