Page 26 of The Wrong Brother

I watch her, my gaze heavy, lingering on the curve of her lips, the line of her throat as she swallows. Her lashes flutter briefly, and she sets the glass down on the edge of the bar cart. Her eyes meet mine again, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.

The memory of our kiss in the conservatory flashes through my mind. The taste of her, the way her body had felt against mine, soft and warm and yielding. My chest tightens as the desire to take her again claws at me, stronger now, almost unbearable. But I can’t. Not yet. Not like this.

I step back, needing the space to breathe, to think. My hands move automatically, unbuttoning my shirt as I force myself to calm down. The cool air hits my skin as I shrug the fabric off,tossing it onto the bed. She watches me, her gaze flicking briefly to my chest before darting away, her cheeks flushing faintly.

"You should sleep," I say finally, my voice rough but steady. "It’s late."

I sit on the bed and start to take off my watch. Next goes my belt, and I wonder just how audacious she is…whether she’ll remain in that spot and watch me.

To my amazement, and perhaps a bit of relief, she doesn’t.

Instead, she just watches me for another moment before turning and slipping back toward her room. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone, shirtless, and still painfully hard. I drag a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath.

This trip is going to destroy me.

Chapter

Nineteen

JENNY

The morning sun streams through the sheer curtains of my hotel room, casting golden light across the polished floors. I blink at the brightness, feeling a mix of grogginess and a faint excitement bubbling under my exhaustion. Today is the fitting at Tod’s…a place I’d never dreamed I’d set foot in, let alone as part of their campaign. The thought brings a flicker of pride, but it’s quickly smothered by self-doubt.

Am I here because of me, or because of Zack?

The question lingers, heavy and unwelcome, as I rub my eyes and stretch. I toss the blanket aside, the weight of last night pulling me back. Tossing and turning, my mind had refused to quiet, replaying the same scene over and over. Zack. The way he’d looked last night, standing on the balcony with that quiet intensity, his shirt slipping off his shoulders, revealing musclesthat moved like liquid steel beneath his skin. It wasn’t just his body that haunted me, though…it was his presence, the way he commanded the space around him without a single word.

And then there was the kiss.

The kiss from the conservatory has been etched into my memory, vivid and consuming. It wasn’t just any kiss…it was my first. My very first. And it wasn’t from Brett, the man I thought I wanted for so long. It was from Zack, the man I wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about.

It had been overwhelming in its intensity, a force that pulled me under and left me gasping. The way his lips moved against mine; the way his hands gripped me like he couldn’t let go... It had made me feel alive in a way I didn’t understand. A way that scared me.

And now anytime I look at him it’s nearly all that I can think about, I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away as I pull on a simple but comfortable outfit…a fitted blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans. Stylish enough for Tod’s, but not so much that I’ll draw unnecessary attention. As I glance in the mirror, I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

This morning isn’t supposed to be about Zack. It’s about proving I belong at the fitting, proving I’m more than just the girl handed an opportunity because of someone else’s influence. But even as I pull on my clothes and run a brush through my hair, I can’t stop wondering if I’ll see him.

He’s in the room next door. The thought alone sends my heart racing. Will I run into him when I leave? Will I catch him stepping out, impeccably dressed, his usual commanding presence impossible to ignore?

I hesitate for a moment, staring at the door, my pulse pounding in my ears. The idea of facing him again makes my chest tighten, but it’s not dread. Not entirely. There’s something else, something I don’t want to name.

When I finally step out into the hall, I glance toward his door, half-expecting it to open. It doesn’t. I breathe a sigh of relief as I make my way downstairs, my heart gradually settling.

But as I enter the dining area, the relief vanishes instantly. He’s there.

Zack sits at a table near the window, bathed in soft morning sunlight that catches the sharp angles of his face. He looks flawless, as always, his suit perfectly tailored, his posture confident and relaxed. My stomach twists painfully, and for a moment, I consider walking away, pretending I haven’t seen him. But it’s too late. His eyes lift from his phone, meeting mine with a calm intensity that makes it impossible to look anywhere else.

I have no choice now but to head over and it severely annoys me that suddenly and unnecessarily my knees feel wobbly.

As I sit down, I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, his focus still glued to his phone. His brow is slightly furrowed, his posture relaxed yet commanding, as though evenhere, in this casual setting, he exudes control. He doesn’t glance up at me, not even once, and it twists something in my stomach…part frustration, part something else I can’t quite name.

My nerves bubble under the surface, making it impossible to sit still. The silence between us feels oppressive, heavy with things unsaid, so I push my chair back and stand abruptly. If he notices, he doesn’t show it, his attention fixed entirely on his screen.

I make my way to the buffet, my palms damp as I grab a plate. The spread is impressive…fruits, pastries, eggs, juices…but I barely see any of it. My hands move automatically, placing a small omelet and a few slices of toast onto my plate, my mind elsewhere. The glass pitcher of orange juice feels cool in my trembling grip as I pour myself a drink, the faint clink of glass on glass making me flinch.

When I return to the table, he still hasn’t looked up. I set my plate down carefully, easing myself into the chair, trying not to make any noise. My heart pounds, though I don’t know why. He hasn’t spoken to me, hasn’t even acknowledged my presence, yet I feel his energy filling the space between us.

I pick up my fork, my hand unsteady as I take a small bite of the omelet. The eggs are warm, fluffy, and should be comforting, but they might as well be sawdust for all I can taste. My nerves make every chew feel labored, my throat tight as I swallow.

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