Betting on the Wrong Brother(4)

By: Cathryn Fox

She wiggled to free his hands from her panties, and when she did they slid over her back. Her flesh burned where he touched, a fine shiver making her hyperaware of her reaction to him. The elevator finally stopped moving, but she held back a hallelujah. She wasn’t going to make that premature mistake again.

Nolan shifted, his warm, strong hand sliding farther up her back. Her face rested against his neck, and she breathed in his scent. It was different than before, more sophisticated, refined, and she cursed her weak, sex-deprived body for responding to it. She breathed in again, and sorted through the tones. She had no idea what kind of cologne he was wearing, or even if he was wearing any, but his aroma was manly and provocative and probably held magical properties. Oh yeah, one sniff of him and poof, no more panties.

Hands on the floor, she started to move. How the hell was she going to get up if he continued to hold her like that? She wigged, and shifted, desperate to put some well-needed distance between them. She hated this man. Hated how her traitorous body was reacting to him all these years later. Damn you, libido. Damn you, Nolan.

“You might want to stop that.”

“Stop what?” She shifted again, trying to get up without having to straddle him, then instantly stopped. Wait! Was that…? “Oh.”


She pushed up, but all she managed to do was press her groin harder against his erection. And oh, what an erection it was: hard, long, thick…ugh. Cripes, she’d just bet there was nothing premature about him. He could probably go for days on end.

Get it together, Andi!

He groaned, but when her eyes met his it wasn’t agony she caught there. She tried to push away. “I need to get off.”


Shit! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I mean…” Oh, Jesus. “I need to get off you.”

“Here let me.”

His callused fingers slid down her arms and closed over her wrists. He gave a little tug, pulling them away from the floor, and she collapsed back on top of him. He pressed her arms to her sides, and rolled, until he was on top of her, his big body pinning her down hard. If the elevator never moved again, and she died like this, that too would be A-okay in her books.

Her skin burned, sizzled like bacon in a hot pan. His scent, his looks, his mere presence did the most delicious things to her insides, but she’d rather give up her weekly brownie than let him know it. Better for him to think she was mad than aroused.

Don’t sound breathless. Don’t sound breathless.

“This is your idea of helping?” she snapped, sounding breathless. Shit!

“No, this is.”

He pushed to his knees, hovered there, looking down at her for a moment before rolling effortlessly to his feet. Dammed if the view from her vantage point wasn’t a nice one. As his presence swallowed up the small space, her gaze started at his ankles and traveled upward, stopping when she reached his crotch region. Oh, how those worn jeans hugged his body so nicely. Whoever said good things come in small packages wasn’t talking about Nolan. Her nipples tightened, making her fully aware of the embarrassing state she was in, as she lay half naked at his feet. That still didn’t stop her from admiring the view in a very unlady like fashion, undressing him with her eyes, until his jeans and T-shirt were a thing of the past—much like her dignity. But, my how he’d grown. Gone was the thin teenage boy she’d fallen for. In his place was a man. One who oozed sex in a way the young, high school boy never had.

Her glance moved back to his face, to the smirk that told her he knew she’d been checking him out. Damn him.

She came up on her elbows and made a move to get up, but he bent forward, grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. Her body bumped his, and a slow, unsteady breath left his lungs. His warm, sweet scent washed over her face, and her lips were so close to his, all she had to do was lean forward if she wanted to kiss. Which she didn’t…she didn’t think.

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