Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Sara’s voice breaks through, cheerful and oblivious. “Jason has gone up to wash, so come on, Amelia, I’ll give you a little tour of the kitchen before we sit down to eat.” She gestures toward the dining room, her smile wide and welcoming. I have to be honest, Sara has surprised me. The way she has welcomed Amelia is impressive and unexpected. She has gone up in my estimation. I never took her for a family person.
“I’ll go wash up too,” I say awkwardly. As I walk away, I can hear Sara pointing out the house’s features—the open kitchen, the skylights, the art on the walls.
In the mirror, my eyes glitter dangerously. No wonder Amelia gave me that look. I look almost feverish.
We settle at the dining table, a long slab of Marquina black marble that Sara fell in love with and had to have. Maria, our housekeeper, bustles in and lays out a rustic spread that fills the air with savory warmth. Garlic and herb-crusted chicken, rosemary roasted potatoes, and salad vibrant with greens and cherry tomatoes, and a basket of freshly baked rolls that steam when broken open. Dessert waits on the sideboard, a rich chocolate tart dusted with powdered sugar.
I watch Amelia as she takes a small bite of chicken, her lips closing around it, and a smile flickers across her face, full of genuine appreciation. She looks happy, lighter than she did at the funeral, and it warms my chest, a soft glow that spreads through me. She’s here, in my home, and for a moment, it feels right, like she belongs.
But fuck, I love her.
I love her so much it is a physical ache, like an infection that poisons my gut and makes me feel bad. My eyes trace her—the curve of her cheek, the way her hair falls over her shoulder—and every nerve in my body hums with want. I force myself to eat, to focus on the plate, the clink of cutlery, the familiar sound of Sara’s chatter, but it’s no use.
Amelia’s presence is a fire, consuming me, and I’m burning up in it.
Chapter
Ten
AMELIA
My senses have been completely hijacked by Max.
Joy bubbled in my chest the moment he stepped through the front door, a reckless spark that I tried to smother, but it was no use. He is here, real and overwhelming, and my heart leaped despite every warning I’d given myself.
He looked devastating—tall, all male, his suit jacket gone, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms. A glimpse of ink had peeked from under the fabric, a tattoo, and my breath had caught. Gosh, this was a bad idea, a daring one, and I was already drowning in it.
I forced my face into a calm smile and clasped my hands tight to hide how hard they were trembling. When he moved toward me, all my resolve crumbled. His hug engulfed me, his arms were strong and warm, and my knees very nearly buckled under the weight of the sensations that coursed through me. That close, his body hard against mine, he had smelled like cedar and spice, a scent that had pulled me back to that summer in the attic. His lips had brushed my cheek, a quick, searing kiss, and my pulse had skyrocketed, a wild and beautiful rhythm.
Now his steady gaze is on me, and I tell myself it’s only brotherly concern for the grieving sister. But every cell in my body is screaming that it’s not. It’s too intense, too heavy, and it creeps under my skin, making me shift in my seat, my thighs pressing together against the ache building. I’m wet, my clit throbbing with every stolen glance, and it’s so wrong, so shameful, especially with Sara here, her laughter so confident and utterly untroubled by any suspicion as she chats about Jason’s school. She’s so damn comfortable in the nest she has built, she doesn’t even notice the sexual tension blazing between her husband and the woman she has invited into her house. Still, her kindness is like a knife twisting in my gut. I hate how much worse it makes me feel to betray her, even in thought, in her own house.
The bread is warm, soft, and fragrant, and as I chew it, I notice the strange dynamic of the family. Max says almost nothing, and his son is even worse. He is so quiet and withdrawn he mostly keeps his gaze resolutely on his plate and throws the occasional shy smile in my direction if I directly involve him. Sara does all the talking. Not even a minute of pause or silence will she allow without immediately brightly launching into another topic of conversation. Her determination to keep the dialogue going is pretty impressive.
I survive lunch, forcing bites down, nodding at Sara’s never-ending stories and smiling at Jason, but it is a performance and I feel quite exhausted. When it’s over, I’m relieved, my shoulders loosening as Sara stands, her hand reaching for mine.