Page 54 of The Wrong Brother

The rest of dinner passes politely enough for observers. Anyone watching us would see a wealthy couple sharing wine and low conversation beneath soft lighting.

Only we know every smile hides teeth tonight.

* * *

Back at the hotel suite, the tension worsens.

Emma disappears into the bedroom almost immediately after kicking off her heels. I loosen my tie slowly near the windows, forcing myself not to follow her right away.

Space. If I push her too far, she might crack. And we’re only at the beginning of my plan.

From where I stand in the hallway, I can see clear through the bedroom. Then the bathroom door opens briefly. And I look up at exactly the wrong moment.

Emma stands framed in warm bathroom light with one hand reaching for the shower controls, dress unzipped halfway down her back. Smooth skin flashes beneath dark curls before she disappears fully inside.

My body reacts instantly. I exhale slowly through my nose and close my eyes.

Close quarters are becoming a serious issue.

The more distance Emma tries creating emotionally, the more violently aware I become of her physically. The scent of her shampoo lingering through the suite. Bare feet against the hotel carpet. The sound of her moving around only one room away.

I could test how serious she is about those boundaries. Slip into the bedroom, wait for her…wait to see the water glistening on her skin.

The shower starts running.

I remain exactly where I am while tension coils tighter beneath my skin.

Four more days. And then my focus will shift; I’ll forget this woman, her softness, her sharpness. Revenge will consume me again.

Chapter 13

Emma

The next morning,Denver looks deceptively peaceful. Sunlight spills across the sidewalks outside the hotel, warm enough to make people linger over breakfast tables and stroll through the streets without jackets. But every time I step into a shadow, the chill finds me immediately.

Fall is coming.

I wrap my jacket tighter around myself and continue down the block, thinking of Kate and wishing half-heartedly that she were here. There’s something endearing about the girl, even though I find it hard to reconcile “Uncle Russ” with the man practically holding me hostage.

Technically, I wasn’t forbidden from leaving the Four Seasons. Ruslan had simply assigned two security men to trail me from a distance. I was informed, in that infuriatingly calm voice of his, that wandering off would be “unwise.”

Which was somehow worse.

So now I’m marching toward a coffee shop three blocks from the hotel, fuming.

I should be home. Or unemployed. Or figuring out my life.

Instead, I’m playing fake girlfriend to a criminal while helping him execute what appears to be an increasingly elaborate revenge scheme against my ex-boyfriend, for reasons unknown.

Fantastic life choices all around. How the hell did I get here?

The smell of coffee practically drags me toward the shop, making my senses tingle. Then butter pastries. Ugh, what I wouldn’t give for a croissant and a latte right now.

And five uninterrupted minutes where nobody threatens anyone.

Then a white SUV pulls to the curb beside me just as I reach out for the door handle. I barely register it, distracted by a young family trying to get a troupe of kids out the door. Denver is full of expensive white SUVs.

The rear door opens. A hand shoots out.