Page 14 of The Wrong Brother

My heart hammers in my chest, every beat echoing with the intensity of what just happened. I nod stiffly, accepting Zack’s quiet apology, though my mind is a whirlwind of disbelief and confusion. I’m still reeling from the feeling of his lips on mine, the shock of it… something I’d never expected, something I’d never thought I’d want.

He steps back, his gaze lingering on me for a heartbeat longer than it should. There’s an unspoken tension, a current running between us that leaves me breathless and unnerved. And then, without another word, he turns and leaves, his figure slipping out of the conservatory as if he’d never been here at all. I stand frozen, the silence closing in, my thoughts spiraling, tangling around what just happened.

A part of me feels robbed, wondering how it would feel to share something so intense with Brett, the person I’ve wanted for so long. It should have been him, it’s always been him in my mind… but now, with Zack’s kiss lingering on my lips, I don’t even know what to think.

The thought makes me shiver, filling me with a strange, almost painful longing. I close my eyes, imagining Brett instead, trying to replace the feeling, to picture his touch, his presence. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that Zack’s kiss has left… a feeling that refuses to fade.

Chapter

Ten

ZACK

Later that night, I head into my room, slamming the door behind me, but it’s like trying to lock out a storm that’s already raging in my mind. She’s there, etched into my thoughts…the look in her eyes, that red dress clinging to her like a challenge. Every calculated step she took tonight is burned into my memory, as if she’s been taunting me, daring me to come closer. Hell, she knew exactly what she was doing.

No bra. That much was obvious…the way her chest pressed against the fabric, nipples peaked and proud, practically demanding my attention. And she knew. She knew the effect she had, knew exactly how to fill the room with that defiant heat. Every curve, every line of her in that dress was a deliberate torment, something that’s now impossible to shake. Even as I stand here, I feel my body react, hardening in response, and I grit my teeth, furious at the power she has over me.

Damn her for getting under my skin this way, for making me feel so completely… unhinged. I can still see her there, holding her ground, pressing my buttons, her words laced with challenge. All I could think about was reaching out, pulling her close, proving to her exactly what she does to me, and then I'd lost myself. I had just intended to talk some sense into her.

I try to shake the image, but it’s impossible. My body’s reacting, hard and insistent, with the ache of it pushing me right to the edge. I grit my teeth, furious at her for getting under my skin this way, for winding me up so tight that my whole body feels like it’s on fire. She was standing there, pressing my buttons, her words spiking with challenge, and all I could think of was reaching out, pulling her close, feeling the heat between her thighs.

I breathe in sharply, fighting the pull, and turn on the shower, cranking the water to ice-cold. It does nothing to kill the tension, the throb of want that’s making it impossible to clear my head. I strip down and step under the water, but it only intensifies everything…every nerve is alive, hypersensitive, and her image won’t leave me.

My hand moves down, gripping my cock, every inch of it hard and pulsing as I stroke myself slowly, savoring the illicit thoughts of her. She’s so clear in my mind…her hips, the curve of her waist, the way her nipples pressed against the dress. She’s there, her body open, so close to mine, so soft. My hand tightens, pumping harder, faster, the tension coiling tighter. I let myself go deeper into it, imagining her under me, my hands on her, my mouth tasting every inch of her.

The sensation is unbearable, building, filling me, and I’m lost in it. She’s there in my mind, her lips parted, her breath catchingas I take her, feel her. My cock throbs in my grip, veins bulging as I pump, harder, faster, the pressure mounting until finally, it hits. I spill, the release hot and thick, her name slipping from my lips in a breathless whisper as I come, spilling everything, every thought of her, pouring out.

I stand there, the water pounding over me, her image still clear, still haunting. I dry off, my pulse still racing, her face and that damned look still in my head. I lie down, frustrated, the ache still there, and I know there’ll be no rest tonight.

Still, I try because I have the most hectic day ahead of me tomorrow, however my body remains alert and humming from the release.

The frustration only deepens, twisting into something more insistent.

Viciously she latches on, occupying every thought, taking up more space than I’d ever intended to give her. My mind drifts, unwillingly, through memories of the estate, moments I didn’t even know I’d stored, flashes of her from over the years.

I recall seeing her, even when she was younger, always moving, never at rest. She was a part of the estate as much as the land itself - climbing trees, picking apples from the orchard, working in the gardens with dirt smudged on her cheeks, her hands scratched but determined. She was never, never content to sit quietly like her father, always filling the space with some energy that couldn’t be contained. And even then, even when she wasyoung, I could see the defiance in her, the need to prove herself, the resilience that made her push past her limits.

I was only 22 when I saw her dragging a basket of tomatoes across the garden, stubbornly refusing any help, despite her knees scraping against the rough earth. I remember her falling, the basket tumbling from her hands as she wiped at her bloody knees with a grimace. Her father had been watching, not with concern but pride, as if that struggle, that dirt on her hands, was somehow proof of her character. I couldn’t understand it then, the satisfaction her father took in her resilience. But maybe it’s because he knew, even then, that she was strong in ways the rest of us weren’t.

But now… now that same resilience is turning her into a problem I can’t ignore. If Brett doesn’t snap out of this infatuation, it will completely ruin this arrangement with Elizabeth and all that the family can get from it.

I know my brother…he’s weak, easy to sway, led by every new fascination. If I can just keep her away from him, distract her long enough, he’ll go back to Elizabeth willingly, marry into the family that will secure our position, and all this chaos will finally settle.

I sit up, my mind buzzing with the beginnings of a plan. If I give her something that holds her attention, something she can focus on, I can steer her away from Brett. It’s not as if she’d ever sit still…she’s spent her life working, moving, even when she didn’t have to. The house staff dotes on her, but she’s always found away to stay busy, as if she’s afraid to sit still, afraid to let herself stop. Maybe it’s that drive I can use, that hunger for purpose.

A modeling job. She’s spent all this time in Paris so surely she’s ready to build the foundation of her career.

I know just the people who can make this happen. And it’s not just about getting her away for a day or two; no, if I play this right, she’ll have to go somewhere…Rome, perhaps…for a while. If I offer her something big, a brand that she can’t say no to, she’ll be out of Brett’s reach. Out of my reach, too, for that matter, and maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.

I reach for my phone, dialing my assistant, and instruct her to contact one of our associates in Rome. A high-end brand, maybe Tod’s, something that would turn her head, something she can’t resist. The thought of it…of watching her disappear into that world, completely engrossed, too far away to interfere with anything here…settles the anger buzzing under my skin.

But as I sit there, waiting for my assistant to confirm the arrangements, a thought claws its way to the surface. It’s not enough. Just getting her to Rome isn’t enough to keep her away from Brett. She’ll return, just as she always does, and nothing will have changed. But what if… what if I make her focus on me instead? She’s young, impressionable, and if I show her what real attraction, real desire feels like, she’ll be too entangled in that to think of Brett. She’ll be chasing after me instead, lost in the thrill, and by the time I step away, she’ll be so consumed that Brett won’t even be a thought in her mind.

I tell myself that this is just a means to an end, a way to handle a problem that’s spiraling out of control. And yet, the memory of her against me, her lips, her body, the warmth radiating off her… it’s something I can’t push away, something I can’t deny. I’ll take her to Rome, charm her, make her see that Brett isn’t worth her time. She’ll be out of his reach, wrapped up in a game she won’t even realize she’s playing until it’s too late.

I know it’s calculated, ruthless, but I tell myself it’s necessary. There’s no room in my life for women, for romance, for any of this mess so I know that at the end when my goal with Brett has been achieved then I can withdraw my attention from her. My only focus is the family, the legacy, the business. This kiss with her… it’s a distraction, a mistake, nothing more. But if I can use it to keep her away from Brett, then at least it serves a purpose.

I settle back into bed, the plan forming clearly in my mind, and finally, I feel a sense of control settling over me.

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