Page 24 of The Wrong Brother

I lean back in my chair, studying her flushed face and tangled curls still messy from running through downtown Santa Barbara. “You continue sounding surprised that I know how to behave like a gentleman. Do you forget where we first met? Who I am?”

Emma’s eyes narrow again, sharp, reiterating what I’ve slowly come to believe: she isn’t just a tourist. Not just some girl walking the Californian coast.

“I don’t think you’re who you claim to be. And you threatened me at a bus station.”

“Yet I still pulled your chair out before you sat down.”

She stares at me for a second, head tipped to the side. Then, despite everything, her lips twitch.

I drag my gaze toward the window briefly, calming myself before I lose patience again—or my composure. The old instincts keep prowling beneath my skin today, sharp and restless. I do not like how easily Emma drags them out of me, or how badly I want to lean forward and capture that hot mouth with mine.

Finally I look back at her.

“Enough games,” I say quietly. “Tell me about Andrei. How do you know him? Why did it look like a slap in the face when you saw him on television?”

Every trace of humor disappears from her face.

There it is.

The wound.

Emma lowers her eyes to the foam swirling in her cappuccino. For a moment I almost think she’ll lie again. Then she takes a deep breath.

“I dated him.”

There’s a slight hesitation before the statement. That’s what I should be focusing on. Instead, a searing rage travels up my spine, down my arms, to my fingertips. I set down my coffee and flex my hands.

“For how long?”

“Not long. A few months.” Those eyes flick up again. “Six.”

My jaw tightens.

“Then,” Emma continues bitterly, “he dumped me. So you can imagine that it was a bit of a… shock to find out he was engaged so soon.”

I study her quietly. Pain lives deep there. Not fresh heartbreak exactly—can you fall in love with someone in six months? I doubt it. No, Emma’s frown is tinted with humiliation. I’m willing to bet she’s less devastated that Andrei moved on and more devastated that she misjudged him completely.

That I understand intimately.

“How do you know him?” she asks abruptly, pushing her half-finished coffee away. She still hasn’t eaten the pastries, but she should. I see the way her hand goes to her belly, likely trying to calm a growl. Hard work, running from aPakhan.

“I can’t tell you that.”

Her eyes narrow. “But you’re clearly a…”

A slow smile crawls across my lips when she doesn’t finish the sentence. Leaning back, my chest flexes as I cross my arms. “Awhat,Emma? A criminal?”

She flushes slightly. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“…Yes.”

A genuine laugh escapes me this time, low and dark enough that she shifts in her seat.

“Good,” I say softly. “You should.”

Emma goes very still at that. Smart girl.