Read The Wrong Sister for Free Online Page A

house. His hands came up as though to tangle in the thick mass that had hung past her shoulders only a couple of hours before. Then he grimaced and dropped them to his sides again.
    “I wanted a change,” she said, stung by his unflattering reaction. “I wanted to not feel like a copy of Jan.”
    “You’re no copy,” he muttered. “You’re the original. I always thought Jan took her lead from you.”
    This was news to Fiona. Jan was older. Jan set the standards, surely? Being two years younger, Fiona had loved and admired her sister, envying her, just a little, her handsome husband, her luxurious home, and her lively daughter.  
    So had she reacted by forging off in her own direction? Creating a different style? Making the most of her independence and free-wheeling life? Christian seemed to think so.
    He raised his hands again and clamped them down onto her shoulders. He swung her from side to side, inspecting her with savage dark eyes. She glared back at him. This wasn’t fair—she’d done it for him, and now he was making it plain he didn’t like it. She huffed out an angry breath.
    “Sets off your cheekbones,” he said brusquely and released her as though she was red-hot. And in truth she was. Burning at the touch of his fingers. Melting under his eyes. Sparking along every nerve. When he was this close, she felt in danger of dissolving into a puddle at his feet.

    With a huge effort, Christian stepped back. The woman was magic. Totally transformed. He’d thought Fiona beautiful before, but now she was temptation itself. Her slender neck was barely covered. His fingertips itched to touch the tiny wisps of newly sun-kissed hair that lay close to her vulnerable nape...to continue the caress out over her shoulder. To lay his lips there and taste her skin, breathe in her fragrance.  
    He wanted to frame her fine-boned face with his hands...emphasize her femininity with his dark masculine grip...tilt her mouth up to his for a hot passionate exploration until she breathed faster, grabbed at his arms to pull him closer, spiraled out of conscious control with him.  
    But she was so far out of bounds that even imagining such a scene was absurd.  
    Obscene.
    His shoulders tensed with the effort of not touching her again. His nails bit into his palms as he clenched his hands into hard fists.  
    He thanked God for the loose black T-shirt hanging over his jeans. Hopefully it disguised the fact he was ramrod-stiff with lust...desperate to bury himself deep in her warm slick body and slide and plunge until they both tipped over the edge into ecstatic oblivion.  
    His beloved wife had been dead eight days. The shame and shock of his inappropriate reaction ran through him like needles of super-sharp glass. And still his body twitched and pulsed, barely restrained.  
    This woman...this woman...  
    A jolt of self-disgust shot through him. Maybe every time he’d made love to his wonderful Jan, Fiona had been buried somewhere deep in his subconscious, intensifying the pleasure-waves?  
    God, how sick!
    He found the strength from somewhere to step away. Being alone with her was the purest hell. He needed a diversion, fast.
    “Will you come to the barbecue this evening?” he demanded hoarsely. “There’ll be several families. I’ll be taking Nicky. Will you join us?”
    He watched as Fiona relaxed just a little. The atmosphere had been electric until that instant. He felt tense as a tiger. Ready to snarl and prowl and spring on any danger.  
    And she was the greatest danger, far from welcome in his home and his life. She’d show him up for what he really was—weak-willed when he’d somehow stayed strong these last wrenching months. Predatory, because he could barely keep his hands off her now. Less than the man he’d always tried to be.
    “Fine,” she said. “Good. That would be nice. Should I get a salad together or something?”
    He nodded, hands still bunched into hard fists at his sides. “Yes. Great.