The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson Page A

securely on the fork before raising it. He watched her mouth fall open and couldn’t resist rubbing them over her bottom lip as he inserted them.  
    She opened a little wider for him and instantly Christian found it all too easy to imagine slanting his mouth across hers in a passionate open-mouthed kiss. All the air around him fogged thick with heat and desire again, and he hardened from clay to concrete as he pictured her sensual surrender.
    “Did you do this a lot for Jan?” she asked, with impeccably bad timing.
    He withdrew the fork and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then prodded at one of the rosy grape-halves and slid it into his mouth, crushing the fruit so the juice spurted tart and cool.
    “Yup. Quite often near the end.” He barely trusted himself to speak.
    “Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked.”
    Christian shook his head. “We have to talk about her. My wife. Your sister. Nicky’s mother. She’s part of our lives.” He shrugged and drew a resigned breath. “Do you like mango?” He poked around in the bowl to find some for her, desperate to get his mind onto something else. Anything but Jan who was gone and Fiona who was way off limits. Anything at all.
    “Love it. I suppose it’s imported?”  
    “Probably,” he agreed, concentration still shot to pieces.
    “You need to eat more than that,” Fiona said as he finally clattered the fork down into the empty bowl.
    “I’ll make a sandwich. One for you?”
    She shook her head slowly, grimacing at the pain it caused. “Just my pills and the water, thanks. I’m going to stagger to the bathroom in a minute and then see if I can get some sleep.”  
    So now I have to leave her.
    He stayed watching her for a few moments, then uncoiled from the bed and lifted the tray away. Once again he was acutely aware of the darker shadow at her groin through the fine cotton.  
    He turned to set the tray aside and find the pills. Fiona moved a hand down to cover her lap.
    “I’ll get rid of this old nightgown soon,” she added. “I usually sleep in long T-shirts. Not so pretty, but not so see-through, either.”
    Is she winding me up on purpose? She’s doing a fine job of it, whether it’s intentional or not.  
    Suddenly he pictured her breasts snugly outlined by stretch-knit fabric, her nipples peaking against the softness. Which for some reason seemed even sexier than being able to half-see them through the folds of gauzy cotton she currently wore.
    Wordlessly he poured a tumbler of water and passed it to her, then loosened the top of the pill bottle and shook several of the painkillers into his palm. Fiona grunted as she reached toward his hand and picked out two.  
    Christian’s pulse quickened as her pretty nails scraped over his skin. Again his imagination conjured up her fingers clutching his shoulders as she writhed in pleasure beneath him.  
    Fiona and Jan. Jan and Fiona. My lovely sunflower and my exotic orchid. And dammit, I can’t have either of you.
    To escape his bitter reflections he turned away and walked across to the big windows to adjust the blinds against the sun.
    “I’ll give you ten minutes to get to the bathroom,” he said in a voice that felt rough and raw. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortably back in bed before I go and collect Nicky. Do you need a hand?”
    Fiona shook her head. “I’ll just take these,” she said, slowly pushing the pills into her mouth, raising the glass, and gulping at the icy water. She swallowed and handed the tumbler back.  
    Christian watched the small movement of her throat, and a sudden fierce yearning to bite her just there struck him. To nuzzle at her soft skin and trail a line of slow kisses down to the warm valley between her breasts which might—just possibly—still hold a hint of raspberry fragrance.
    “Amy Houndsworth will be here soon if you need anything,” he said hoarsely, reaching to retrieve her robe from the foot of the bed. He held it up as a modesty shield as she