Page 24 of The Wrong Brother

I lie there in the quiet aftermath, my heart still racing, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and a bucketload of shame.

I thought I hated him. I should hate him because, currently, he is standing in the way of everything I want. So why, then, is my clit throbbing once again at the very thought of him, needing more… hungry with need? Grabbing one of the pillows from my side, Islam it down over my head and resist the urge to scream with all my might into it.

Chapter

Eighteen

ZACH

The night feels endless. I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and I can’t get the image of her out of my head…Jenny, standing there, calm as you please, talking about that godforsaken hotel as if it weren’t a hellhole. As if the noises, the fights, the danger she was surrounded by were just an inconvenience.

She could have been hurt. Hell, she could have been killed.

I clench my fists against the memory of her voice when she’d called me, trembling but trying to sound composed. It had done something to me…an immediate, instinctive response I couldn’t stop. I’d leapt out of bed like a lunatic, my heart pounding so hard I could barely see straight. The sheer terror that something might happen to her had made me reckless. I’d called the police, fully prepared to unleash hell if I didn’t find her within minutes.

But she’s fine now. Of course, she’s fine. Probably asleep in her plush, safe suite without a care in the world while I’m here, losing my goddamn mind. I’m furious at her stubbornness, furious that she’s still so damn naive. And even angrier at myself for letting her get under my skin like this. She’s just a girl, I remind myself. A girl I’m supposed to be controlling, not obsessing over.

I don’t blame her though. Not really. How could I? She doesn’t realize the effect she has on people. On me. It wasn’t like this before. I’ve known her since she was a child, wild and free, running around the estate like she owned the place. Back then, I never thought twice about her…never allowed myself to. But there was always a softness, a quiet affection. I’ve spent years protecting her without her ever knowing. Stepping in when things could have gone wrong. Making sure she was safe, smoothing over the rough patches her father couldn’t fix on his own.

That was different. Simple. But now, it’s like she’s become someone else entirely…a woman. It’s difficult to handle. I feel lust for her, undeniable and consuming, but it’s not the same as romance. And that’s the problem. I want to indulge in it, to let myself feel it fully, but a part of me worries if I can ever truly remain detached. I’ve always been detached with other women; it’s how I’ve kept control. But Jenny isn’t just any other woman. And now, I’m not sure if I can let her be just another fleeting indulgence…or if I even want to.

My stomach growls, breaking the spiral of my thoughts. I skipped dinner in my irritation, and now it’s catching up with me. I throw the sheets back and sit up, running a hand through my hair. I’m still wound up, still restless, but hunger wins out.There’s a bottle of wine sitting on the small bar cart near the balcony. I grab it, twisting off the cork and pouring a glass as I step outside.

The night air is cool, carrying the faint hum of the city. Rome sprawls out before me, glittering and alive even at this hour. I lean against the railing, the wine glass dangling from my fingers, and let out a long breath. The view is stunning, sure, but it does nothing to distract me from the lingering knot of frustration in my chest.

And then I hear it…the soft click of a door opening beside me.

Jenny steps out onto her balcony. My first reaction is anger, a sharp spike of irritation cutting through the quiet. Of course, she’d be here. Of course, she’d ruin the brief moment of solitude I’d been desperate for. I don’t turn, don’t acknowledge her, hoping she’ll go back inside. But even as I try to ignore her, my body betrays me. Lust rises, unrelenting and immediate, like a fire catching on dry timber.

She hasn’t noticed me yet, and for a brief moment, I let myself watch her. She’s wearing the thinnest slip of a nightgown, the fabric whispering against her body, clinging in all the right places before it flows down over her frame. Her hair falls loose and tousled, as if she just rolled out of bed. And yet, she looks like she belongs in a dream…something untouchable, something I shouldn’t want but can’t stop craving.

My cock hardens instantly, throbbing in time with the heat coursing through me. The sound of her soft footsteps, the fainthitch of her breath, the way the air seems to shift around her…it all lights a fire under my skin.

My eyes drag lower, catching on the way the soft glow of the city outlines her breasts. Her nipples press against the fabric, two faint peaks that I can’t help but notice. My throat tightens, and my jaw clenches as my hands grip the railing. All I can think about is how she’d feel in my arms, the weight of her body pressed against mine, her breath hitching as I?—

Stop. For fuck’s sake, stop.

I drag in a sharp breath and force my gaze upward, but it’s no use. The damage is done. She’s invaded my thoughts again, and I know it’ll take hours to shake the images she’s burned into my mind. She’s trouble, I remind myself. Pure trouble. And yet, every time I’m near her, I’m torn between wanting to pin her against the nearest wall and walking away to preserve whatever’s left of my sanity.

She moves closer to the railing, still oblivious to my presence, and I feel the tension coil tighter in my chest. Her hand brushes the metal, her fingers delicate but sure, and I notice the slight shiver that runs through her as the cool night air hits her skin. It’s ridiculous how something so simple makes me want her even more.

And then she notices me.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and her hand flies to her chest, pressing against her breasts in a way that only draws my attention there again.

"Zack!" she gasps, her voice breathy and startled. "I didn’t realize you were out here."

I bite back the sharp reply on the tip of my tongue, my frustration barely leashed. "Yeah," I say, my tone clipped as I raise the glass of wine to my lips. Anything to give my hands something to do other than reach for her.

A long stretch follows as I wonder what she will do. Head back into the room, or be definitive and engage, and remain out here.

She of course chooses the latter like I expect.

I force myself to take another sip of wine. "Couldn’t sleep?”

She shakes her head slightly, her hand still resting on her chest, toying with the necklace against her skin. "No, I... I just needed some air," she murmurs, her tone quiet. There’s no defiance here, no sharpness. Just her, standing there, unsure of how to fill the silence.

I don’t reply, letting the quiet stretch between us. But my eyes betray me, dragging down once again to her breast.

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