The Wrong Sister(12)

There was no point in returning to Auckland to drift around her parents’ home for the rest of her leave. She drew in a deep breath of resolve. She’d have to make the current situation work somehow.

While she waited for her hair coloring to be completed, she again imagined delicious Christian stretched out on the sand for Nicky. Or for her.

His T-shirt had outlined broad shoulders, and the summer tan on his olive skin made a glorious contrast to his flashing white smile. But the rest was all guesswork.

She pictured him again mending the toaster that morning. She’d been surprised he’d bothered. But he’d been competent. Assertive. Expecting to succeed. His hands belonged to a rich man, but a rich practical man. And his arms were beautiful—with strongly-defined muscles and soft dark hair.

Would his chest be smooth or hairy. Dark-nippled anyway, because of his olive coloring. She shifted her hips in the chair, trying to relieve the insistent aching pressure in her lower body.

He’d be long in the torso, she decided—probably with iron-hard abs and a smooth sweep of skin right down to where his swimsuit sat low on his narrow hips. Or would there be a fine trail of dark hair down to his navel and beyond?

Get him out of your mind, half of her instructed.

Imagine how beautiful he must be, the other half insisted.

And remember you can’t possibly have him, her guilty conscience added.





CHAPTER FOUR





Desire started to eat at her again, sharpening her appetite, blunting her resolve. He was Jan’s. Had always been Jan’s. And therefore couldn’t be hers. It was all very well deciding to make the best of the situation; carrying it off was something else again.

Only for five and a half weeks though, her churning brain reminded. Until the third week of January. Surely I can manage that?

A timer dinged and her stylist returned. He poked about in her sticky hair and nodded with satisfaction. Fiona relaxed as his strong hands kneaded her scalp and massaged the shampoo and conditioner through what was left. He might be whippet-thin, but he was certainly no weakling.

“You’ll make me purr,” she said, smiling, hoping he’d continue for a little longer. Anything to take her mind off Christian.

A few minutes later, a shorter-haired blond inspected her from the mirror. Her hair was attractively tousled and casual, feathery with lifting layers on top. She looked like she’d spent summer by the ocean, and the wind and sun had tossed and bleached and relaxed her.

“Great!” she exclaimed. For it was. Even to herself she looked almost a stranger. She needed a little more eye make-up maybe, but with her brighter new clothes she’d now look so unlike Jan it must surely make things easier for Christian.





“What the hell have you done to your hair?” he exploded as soon as she returned to the house. His hands came up as though to tangle in the thick mass that had hung past her shoulders only a couple of hours before. Then he grimaced and dropped them to his sides again.

“I wanted a change,” she said, stung by his unflattering reaction. “I wanted to not feel like a copy of Jan.”

“You’re no copy,” he muttered. “You’re the original. I always thought Jan took her lead from you.”

This was news to Fiona. Jan was older. Jan set the standards, surely? Being two years younger, Fiona had loved and admired her sister, envying her, just a little, her handsome husband, her luxurious home, and her lively daughter.

So had she reacted by forging off in her own direction? Creating a different style? Making the most of her independence and free-wheeling life? Christian seemed to think so.

He raised his hands again and clamped them down onto her shoulders. He swung her from side to side, inspecting her with savage dark eyes. She glared back at him. This wasn’t fair—she’d done it for him, and now he was making it plain he didn’t like it. She huffed out an angry breath.

“Sets off your cheekbones,” he said brusquely and released her as though she was red-hot. And in truth she was. Burning at the touch of his fingers. Melting under his eyes. Sparking along every nerve. When he was this close, she felt in danger of dissolving into a puddle at his feet.





With a huge effort, Christian stepped back. The woman was magic. Totally transformed. He’d thought Fiona beautiful before, but now she was temptation itself. Her slender neck was barely covered. His fingertips itched to touch the tiny wisps of newly sun-kissed hair that lay close to her vulnerable nape...to continue the caress out over her shoulder. To lay his lips there and taste her skin, breathe in her fragrance.

He wanted to frame her fine-boned face with his hands...emphasize her femininity with his dark masculine grip...tilt her mouth up to his for a hot passionate exploration until she breathed faster, grabbed at his arms to pull him closer, spiraled out of conscious control with him.