The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson

attention back to the bowl of fruit. This time he speared a chunk of pineapple and lifted it toward her. Obediently Fiona opened for him. He slid the fruit over her full bottom lip and a glistening drop of juice trembled from the edge before starting its slow progress down her chin.
    Christian withdrew the fork and ran the pad of his thumb over her flesh, gathering up the droplet.
    “Lick,” he said, knowing his voice had turned husky with frustration.
    Fiona’s pink tongue ran over him and withdrew.
    Forget it , Christian commanded his stirring body . He plunged the fork into the bowl again and came up with a raspberry and another chunk of pineapple. Transferred them to his mouth and chewed with deliberation. Didn’t dare to look at her face for a while.  
    “May I have raspberries this time? We don’t often get them on the boat—they’re too perishable I suppose.”  
    “Jan was fond of them too,” he said, poking about and pushing the prongs through two of them. He shook them so there’d be no more juice to wipe away, no reason to touch her again. He raised the fork. One of the soft berries slipped off the tines, tumbled onto Fiona’s collarbone, and rolled the small distance into her scooped neckline.
    “Oops,” she said over his muffled curse.
    She raised her face toward the fork and took the other raspberry. Christian watched as the first one rolled a little lower with the movement of her body.  
    Great—how do I keep my hands off her now?
    “Stay still,” he growled, inspecting the front of her nightgown. A soft damned-near-transparent thing, which did little to hide her breasts. Thank God she’d rested her hands over herself so at least her nipples were hidden.
    “The buttons undo,” she muttered, looking embarrassed and vulnerable. “Let me try.”
    Christian shook his head. “Easier if I do it.” He slipped the first from its buttonhole. “Nearly.”  
    He undid the second. The raspberry rested neatly between her breasts. He hesitated, then lowered his head and nuzzled it up with his tongue and lips against her warm flesh.
    “Christian!” she exclaimed.
    “No mess this way,” he murmured, licking over the spot where the berry had been, eyes averted from hers. The scent of her floated all around him; the softness of her skin and the flimsy fabric of the nightdress ate at his resolve.  
    So far, he was doing a really good job of not touching, not kissing, and keeping well away from her! He allowed himself a brief exasperated grimace that Fiona had no chance of seeing, then drew back a little and inspected the extra bruises now exposed by the opened front of her nightdress. He whistled softly at the damage and shook his head. “God, Fee—I had no idea.”
    “Ugly,” she said. “Cover me up.”
    “Never ugly,” he countered. “But you took some big hits for sure. At least you’re fading from purple to olive-green and yellow.”
    “Lovely...”
    “Still very sore though, and I can see why.”  
    He finally gained enough control to raise his eyes to hers and reached for the small pearl buttons again.
    “The bruises aren’t too bad now,” she assured him. “It’s more the aches where I got wrenched about. My shoulders. My left knee.”
    Christian nodded as he fumbled the buttons back through the holes. His pants were shrinking by the second.
    Down boy, he pleaded, knowing there was damn-all hope of obedience.
    He changed his position on the bed, trying to hide the evidence of his painfully aroused body, and dug into the fruit again. Their turn-about lunch continued.
    “I feel like a baby bird,” Fiona said. “Being fed goodies in my nest.”
    “Worms and beetles?”
    She wrinkled her nose and smiled. “Stale bread and toast crusts, maybe.”
    “Enjoying your lunch are you, birdie?”
    “I was always a sucker for worms and stale bread.”
    He laughed at that, grateful to feel the atmosphere lightening a little. Then he stabbed two more raspberries, ensuring they were