Page 10 of The Wrong Brother

The need has grown steadily throughout dinner, and it becomes difficult to focus on anything else. Every time she laughs, every time she pushes curls behind one ear, every time that dress shifts against her skin, restraint slips another inch.

The kitchen sends up chocolate mousse layered with dark cherries and shaved chocolate. Emma makes an embarrassingly soft sound after the first bite.

I go still.

Her eyes widen slightly. “What?”

“You should not make noises like that in front of men.”

Color floods her cheeks instantly.

“Especially not in front of me.”

She points her spoon at me accusingly; the wine having loosened her up, but there’s still a spark of sharp awareness in her eyes. “You say wildly inappropriate things so casually.”

“I am restraining myself tremendously, Emma.”

That shuts her up for a second.

Before she can recover, I lean forward slightly and drag my fingertip through a streak of chocolate near the edge of her dessert plate.

Then, holding her gaze, I smear it slowly across the upper curve of her breast, just above the neckline of the dress.

Emma inhales sharply.

“You—” she starts breathlessly.

I stand before she can finish. Then bend slowly over her, catching the sweet-salt scent of her skin. My hand settles lightly against her throat, not squeezing, simply holding, as I lower my mouth to the chocolate on her skin.

Emma shivers hard beneath me.

The mousse tastes rich and bitter.

She tastes warmer.

I lift my head just enough to meet her stunned gaze over the rim of my glasses.

And realize with absolute certainty that this night is about to become a very bad idea for both of us.

Chapter 3

Emma

The heatof his tongue lapping over my skin wakes something in me I didn’t know existed.

My back arches away from the chair as I reach up, tangle my fingers in his hair, and draw his head closer. Russ growls, the sound muffled against my breasts as he buries his face deeper, licking and nipping now.

Every one of my senses is heightened. I can smell the chocolate, taste the cherries on my tongue, feel the graze of stubble as he drags his face higher to pull my head back and suck on my neck.

A whimper slips out.

I should be embarrassed, but judging by the brush of his iron-hard erection against my arm, it’s another sound that Russ likes.

Fingers tightening, I give a firm tug and pull him away.

Our eyes lock.

We’re both breathing heavily, dinnerware ajar on the table from our reckless movements. And then the moment breaks.