‘Ooh, lovely.’ She wasted no time padding across the room and taking the proffered glass. ‘Special occasion, Auntie Melissa.’
She grinned, clinked her glass to his but remained standing. ‘Welcome to the world, Arabella Fleur.’ She sipped then said, ‘She’s got your ears. Nice and flat.’
He tasted the wine, then grinned back, chuffed with the idea that some tiny part of him at least was immortal. ‘You think?’
‘I do. This is nice.’ Another sip, followed by a long, slow swallow. Her brows arched over her aquamarine eyes as she glanced at the label. ‘But I still prefer the French variety.’
The bubbles fizzed on his tongue as he studied her. Their father’s death had left the three of them orphans. He’d been eighteen, Crystal thirteen, Melissa just six. She’d never known their mother, who’d died when she was two weeks old. When had that little girl become this sophisticated young woman? Too sophisticated. ‘You’re not supposed to be experienced enough to know the difference.’
‘Oh, pul-lease, I’m nearly eighteen.’ She swung away. ‘You sound like a father.’
Her accusation took the shine off. Twelve years ago Jared had taken on the role and responsibilities of both parents. And he didn’t regret it for a minute. But sometimes…
‘Maybe,’ he acknowledged. ‘But I won’t apologise for it. I love you, Lissa, and that’s never going to change.’
‘I know.’ Her voice softened and she shook her head. ‘But sometimes…’
Yeah. Raising Lissa had been the most challenging experience of his life. And he had a feeling the hardest part wasn’t done yet. The letting-go part.
‘Speaking of fathers…and babies and all…’ Twirling her glass, she pinned him with the same intense gaze. ‘When are you going to find some poor girl who’s willing to put up with your conservative ways and start a family of your own?’ And let me get on with my life, her eyes said.
To avoid her familiar rant, he picked up his phone again, flicked through his messages once more. ‘No hurry. I still have you to look out for.’
She made a noise at the back of her throat. ‘You were my age when Dad died. When are you going to get it into your head that I’m an adult, w—’
‘Not for another three weeks, you’re not.’
‘And another thing,’ she steamrolled ahead. ‘I’ve been…’
What the…? He blinked, refocused, Melissa’s protests fading into the background somewhere. His name was Jared, and this dream hottie could scorch her sheets any time he wanted—
‘Something wrong?’
‘What?’ He tore his eyes away momentarily to glimpse Melissa staring at him. He shook his head, whether in denial or to clear it, he didn’t know. ‘It’s nothing.’ Nothing he wanted to share, least of all with his baby sister who’d just accused him of being conservative. My snakeskin-print G-string melted away beneath the heat of his hand and my thighs fell apart as he— Whoa.
He threw back a mouthful of the bubbly but the liquid did little to soothe his suddenly very dry, very tight throat. He set the glass down with a clunk.
‘Bad news?’
‘Not exactly…’ Though what exactly this was, he didn’t know. Yet. But he intended finding out.
‘So, as I was saying, I’ve been giving it some thought, and—’
‘Sorry, Liss, I’m going to have to deal with this,’ he said, rising. He caught the frustration in her eyes but he couldn’t give her his full attention until he’d resolved the hot little matter currently burning a hole in his palm. ‘We’ll talk later, okay?’
He headed straight for his study and booted up his computer. Drummed his fingers on the desk. The attachment was titled with today’s date. No reference to Lygon.
He swiped his palms over day-old stubble, clicked the file open. The text flashed onto the screen. It was pink. Wild, colourful and erotic. Despite himself, he felt a smile tug the corner of his mouth. The more he read, the hotter it became.
The hotter he became.
He shifted on his chair to ease a growing pressure beneath the front of his trousers. The scene was so vivid he could almost feel the silky smoothness of her inner thighs, the budded nipple against his palm, her sultry heat as he plunged inside her.
When he’d finished, most of his blood had pooled in his lap. He leaned back, rolled tensed shoulders and shook his head to clear the images. He’d had no idea words alone could turn a man rock hard in less than a minute.
Man, he really needed to get laid.
Sophie Buchanan. Had he met her? He didn’t recognise the name, but then he didn’t always remember the names of women he’d slept with a few months after the fact. And it had been that long. His business and family made sure of that.