He handed her a glass and their fingers brushed for a split second, but Adria felt it. That same electricity that seemed to sizzle whenever her skin touched his.
Damning the fates, she sipped, scowled as the liquor hit the back of her throat, then tossed back the whole damned drink. Maybe the alcohol would dull her senses so that when she looked at him she wouldn’t feel this painful agony ripping through her heart, she’d forget the erotic feel of his hands on her, wouldn’t get lost in his gaze.
She held up her glass for a refill and he cocked an interested eyebrow. But his gaze was unreadable. “Getting drunk?”
“Maybe.
“Not a good idea.”
“Definitely not.”
“But you’re not going to reconsider.”
“No.”
“Adria, I don’t think—”
“Don’t lecture me, okay? I don’t need it from you or anyone else.” She marched to the bar and poured herself another stiff shot. Already she felt the mellow warmth of alcohol running through her blood and as she swirled another couple of shots in her glass, she felt bolder. “So what’re you gonna do now, Zach? You know, now that you know I’m your half-sister.”
“Run like hell.”
She laughed, but felt a secret longing, deep and forbidden, begin to uncoil and stretch within her. “You’re still here,” she observed.
“Because I’m not certain that there isn’t a murderer still on the loose.”
“I thought you believed your mother is the culprit.”
“I do…but there’s something that doesn’t ring true to all of it.”
“So now you’ re buying her story.”
“Just part of it.”
She decided to play devil’s advocate. “So because of this other threat—another killer—you’re going to what? Stick around me until he’s behind bars. Be my personal bodyguard?” She sipped a little more brandy.
“That’s the plan.”
“Maybe I don’t want a bodyguard,” she said, giving in to the impulse to say exactly what was on her mind. “Maybe I want a lover.”
“Then you’ll have to find yourself one, won’t you?” He downed his drink and ignored the urge to pour himself another. Getting shit-faced wouldn’t help the already volatile situation. Adria—no, London. Remember, she’s London. Keep that in mind!—was already losing control, not that he blamed her. They’d both been wound tight as watch springs.
But he wasn’t convinced the danger had passed. Something just didn’t seem right.
Or is that just an excuse to be with her? To be close to her? To hope that you’ll forget who she is long enough to make love to her?
His gut tightened as she regarded the bottom of her glass sullenly, then pinned him with her erotic blue eyes. “But I want you, Zach. Just you.”
He closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “You can’t. You know it’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
Finishing her drink in a flourish, she took a bold step toward him and shook her head. Black hair feathered around her face. “You want me, too.”
“Christ, Adria, don’t do this,” he said, his voice strained.
She didn’t stop until she reached him then stood on her tiptoes, ran her fingers up his chest, and pressed her full, anxious lips to his. “We’ve done it before.”
“Not when we knew—oh, God.”
She nuzzled his neck, then touched the seam of his lips with her tongue. His bones threatened to melt and with all the willpower he could gather, he grabbed her quickly by both wrists.
“Don’t, Adria!”
“Zach, please, 1 love you—”
“For God’s sake, you can’t! I can’t!” His brain argued with him. Why not? It’s not as though you haven’t stepped over this threshold before. One last time and then good-bye, adios, forever. Take her, take her now! Desire thundered like stampeding cattle racing through his blood and pounding at his temples. The pressure in his crotch was already hot and urgent against his zipper. He closed his eyes to block out the anxious, loving look shining in her eyes. “We’ll regret this,” he ground out, feeling like a powder keg ready to explode.
“Never,” and the pain in her voice broke through his hard shell.
Shoving her up against the wall, he kissed her, brutally, angrily. He pinned her hands above her head as his lips and tongue assaulted her. Her breasts were heaving, rising and falling beneath her jacket and he cupped one in his hands. “Is this what you want, London?” he said, forcing the furious words over his tongue as he wedged his pelvis between the “V” of her thighs, pressing hard against her mound.
Her eyes widened in horror. “I’m not—”
“You are! And you’d better face it!”
Inside he was shaking with desire, ready to throw caution to the wind and take her willing body. The barrier of their clothing was thin, easily destroyed, and then they would be naked. Alone. Man and woman.
Brother and half-sister.
No! If they didn’t stop this dangerous game, he would give in to the urges running rampant through his body and take her. Hell, if she didn’t stop looking at him like that—He kissed her again and this time the kiss wasn’t punishing, and he let go of her hands, dragging her body against him and losing himself in the wonder of her. He wound his fingers in the thick tangles of her black hair and felt her mouth open to him. His tongue explored, sleekly darting in and out, and she moaned so softly he barely heard it.
He reached for her breast, delving into her bra, feeling the tense little nipple, hearing the sound of want deep in her throat.
“I…I can’t,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I know.” He swallowed back his lust just as he heard it—the sound that was out of place—of leather against boards. His galloping heart stopped for a second.
They weren’t alone.
Hell!
Slowly lifting his head, he placed his hand over her mouth and motioned for her to be quiet. Over his callused fingers he saw her eyebrows draw together for a second, then shoot upward. She got the message. “Stay here,” he whispered against her ear.
“No—” she said against his hand, but he shot her a look that brooked no argument, motioned for her to go back into the cabin, and slowly, quietly, mounted the stairs.
Her heart pounding, she watched in mind-numbing fear. What if the person on deck was the murderer that he insisted still existed? What if Eunice wasn’t the killer? Who else could it be? Her heart pounded. She couldn’t let Zachary fight him alone. Quickly, she searched the salon for a weapon, found nothing, and took the stairs silently to the deck.
“—so it doesn’t matter if she’s your sister or not, you still want to fuck her.”
Jason Danvers’s voice whispered over the rush of the wind.
Adria’s skin crawled. What was he doing here? Had he followed them?
She eased up the stairs and spied Jason standing on the main deck, his back braced on the boom, the night wind causing his jacket to flap around his hips. Rain was beginning to fall heavily and yet he stood, bareheaded, his eyes trained on his younger brother.
Adria felt as if she were in the presence of pure evil. Was there a phone on board? Could she slide back down the stairwell unnoticed and make the call? Or would it be on the bridge? A radio of some kind?
“Christ, Zach, you never learn, do you? First Kat and now her daughter.”
Adria froze. “You were with Kat,” Zach said calmly, his back to the stairwell as he squared off with his brother.
“But I didn’t move on to London.”
“Probably because you were too busy killing Ginny Slade.”
“So you figured that out, little brother. Jesus, if you try a little harder you might just get some kind of Agatha Christie award or something. You and Adria—no, London—have become quite the detectives.”
“You didn’t need to kill her.”
“Didn’t want her to go shooting her mouth off. I knew about Mom. Knew that she was the one behind the kidnapping.” He grinned, his leer wickedly cruel in the darkness. “I figured I’d use Mom’s plans to get what I wanted. Just go a little bit further. I even knew that she’d killed Kat. I’m just surprised the police never figured it out.”
“They will now.”
“Too late. I’m just lucky Sweeny finally located Ginny. I’ve been looking for her for years.”
“To what end?”