“No, that’s OK. I’d rather you not.”
“Fair enough. You’re enjoying your new job, then?” I asked.
She came close. An intoxicating cloud of vanilla and coconut drifted up from her body and around my head. The delicious smell made all my receptors stand up and take notice.
Fuck, they weren’t the only thing standing up, I thought as my cock thickened, straining against the tight confinement of my suit trousers. I only hoped to god she didn’t notice. If she were any other woman, I’d gladly be wanting her to dip her gaze down to my crotch, enjoying the moment when her eyes inevitably widened with lust and excitement as she saw the outline of my need for her. But this was Sara, my stepsister, and though it would no doubt turn me on to have her looking at me like that, well, it wasn’t ever going to happen, so why even think it? I’d have to make do with lookalike bartenders instead.
Her mouth opened again. She’d said something, and I’d completely zoned out.
“Harvey,” she smiled and nudged me back to life, “I need to you move, you’re in the way. I gotta get the knives and forks.”
I gladly strode away, coughed, and took the opportunity to readjust myself as Sara busied herself behind me in the kitchen.
I heard the oven door open and resisted turning back around, not wanting to give myself any more impure thoughts of her perfectly shaped bottom filing out those jeans. I almost groaned. I needed to distract myself.
“Need any help?”
I risked a glimpse back into the kitchen, and Sara was thankfully back at the countertop. She smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, but not tonight. Just go sit down on the couch and relax. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
I nodded, walked into the living room and let out a huge, pent-up breath.
9
Sara
“I hope you’re hungry,” I said to Harvey from across the heavy wooden dining table. He sat with the top two buttons of his work shirt undone, revealing a toned neck. He’d removed his light grey tie and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket, which was now draped over the back of his chair.
“Starving,” Harvey replied. Barely visible wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkled as his mouth turned upward into a smile. I couldn’t help but notice that he was looking at me more than usual. Studying me like an abstract painting he couldn’t quite understand. I caught him glancing up from his plate more often than not, causing me to squirm in my seat.
I couldn’t remember the last time we’d eaten a meal together alone. Come to think of it, I don’t think we ever had. There’d always been another person acting as a buffer—a family member, either one of our parents or Anita. It was new territory, and try as I might, I needed to remind myself constantly that it wasn’t a date. I supposed it would be good practice for the future, but god, Eric was barely cold in the ground. There was no way I could think of dating at such an early juncture. What would people think? And never mind that, who would even have me? When you hear the word widow, it conjures a withered woman in endless mourning, forever alone and surrounded by cats.
I raised my head, and our eyes met again across the silent table, our clattering cutlery the only sound in the room. Well, except the rapid thud of my heart, which I hoped he could not hear. His strong jaw moved as he chewed, a line of drop-dead sexy stubble darkened his thick neck. I held back a sigh. Even I knew that if I were ever ready to trust another man again, there would be no way I could get a guy like Harvey—full of confidence, with muscles that bulged and sultry eyes that always gave you their full concentration.
“This tastes so good. I didn’t know you could cook,” he said.
A hint of a blush blossomed onto the surface of my cheeks. “Thank you,” I muttered. Eric had never complimented me on my cooking, even though I’d studied countless recipes and attempted to perfect each meal, hoping one day he’d be pleased enough or satisfied enough to say something. I played with my food and grew restless.
“What’s bothering you, Sara?” Harvey asked a second later.
I sent him a sheepish smile. God, he was perceptive. I wasn’t sure if I liked having him in my head. It was an odd feeling, as if he were reading me, and doing a fine job of it.
“I was just thinking about Eric… the accident and the life insurance.”
He frowned and laid his cutlery down on the side of his plate, giving me his full attention. “What about it?”
“I can’t believe he killed himself. Not after that morning, it doesn’t make sense.”
“What do you mean? What happened in the morning?”