Page 11 of You Don’t Kiss Your Brother's Best Friends

“It’s an old family recipe,” Andre said charmingly. “You can thank my great-grandmother.”

“Or, alternatively,” scoffed Kayden, “you can thank Sara Lee.”

He pointed back toward the kitchen, where a familiar-looking box with a bright red logo rested on the countertop. Bishop laughed through his nose.

“Next time, you should throw the box out,” Kayden smiled, picking up a fork. He cut himself a piece of cake and nodded approvingly. “Still damn good, though.”

We tore into the cake together, as the three of us so often did. Dessert was a big thing back home. None of us ever passed it up.

“I thought you were going to market for supplies,” said Andre. Turning to face me, he added his most panty-dropping smile yet. “Neither of you told me you were bringing the most beautiful woman in Mykonos back here, to go swimming.”

“Where’d you pick this guy up again?” Kayden squinted at his friend.

“Syria,” Bishop mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Can you take him back there?”

“Not without an air escort, no.”

Andre ignored them. He leaned forward into the table, flexing a pair of forearms bigger than most women’s legs.

“Next time you bring women back here, make sure you bring enough for everyone,” he grinned. “But for now, I’ll take this one.”

He extended an arm, but I ducked deftly beneath it. The pool looked amazing, and I wanted to feel that warm water engulfing my body. Plus, I was getting a little self-conscious standing there, only half-dressed. Potentially with cake on my face.

“Wait a minute,” Andre snapped his fingers. “Hang on.”

He ran off, through the kitchen and back into the house. He returned just as quickly however, his long legs taking himright past the stone benches and across the Italian pavers of the beautiful atrium.

Dangling from one hand, he was holding a yellow string bikini.

I set my hand on my hip. “What’s that?”

“A bikini.”

“Someoneelse’sbikini,” I balked. “Not mine.”

Andre laughed, and even his laugh was beautiful. “Are you kidding? Did they even show you the house?”

“Well, no, actually. The kitchen, maybe. But—”

“She was really hungry,” Bishop offered.

“Well, the kitchen isn’t the only place in this mansion that’s fully stocked,” Andre explained. “The manor has twelve bedrooms, and fourteen baths. Whole closets full of unworn clothing, all ready for new guests.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Andre repeated. The way it rolled off his tongue in four distinct syllables sounded exotic. “Look here. It’s still got the tags on.”

He handed me the bikini. Sure enough, it was new with tags.

“Were there any bathing suits bigger than this one?” I quipped, holding it up.

“Are you accusing me of choosing the tiniest possible bikini, so we could get the very best view of your spectacular body?” Andre said, trying to sound accusatory.

His use of the word ‘we’ sent a flare of heat through me.

“Well…”

---