Bedding the Wrong Brother(16)



That was the kind of thing she wanted to know. The kind of thing that Brian had ridiculed her for when she'd asked him. She'd ply Max with questions, and she'd try her best to make the experience a good one for him.

It wasn't like he could have very many expectations.

At least she knew she was a better kisser than she'd been at sixteen.

Closing her eyes, she opened herself to the memory of that long-ago night. Rhys had asked her to meet him in her parents’ gazebo the night of her sweet sixteen party. He had something special he wanted to give her, he'd said. And something important to tell her. Imagination going wild and hope soaring, she'd waited in that gazebo for over an hour before Max had come out to find her. When she'd asked about Rhys, Max had stalled. But Melina had kept pushing until Max finally admitted that Rhys was making out with Trisha James, the busty blonde cheerleader who lived next door and the one who Melina's parents had bullied her into inviting. She'd sobbed all over poor Max's shirt, and then, feeling sorry for her, he'd kissed her. Even then, she hadn't been ignorant of his skill. That slow, gentle, open-mouthed kiss still ranked high on her kiss-o-meter. By the time Rhys had shown up outside, Trisha by his side, Melina had been able to control her hurt and make a dignified exit.


She'd always been grateful to Max for his compassion that night. That's why she knew he wouldn't let her down now.

Another quick glance at the clock confirmed she had about twenty more minutes until he showed up.

She climbed on the bed. She tried out several come-hither positions, but only felt exposed and silly. Finally, she settled for getting under the covers, but not before putting the minibar bottles on the end table next to her, lined up like little shot glasses.

Just a little more whiskey courage, she thought.

She was on the last bottle, an enjoyable buzz simmering inside her, when she remembered Max's third request.

Her glasses. She took them off, stared blurrily at the fragile frames, and moved to put them on the nightstand. She hesitated. With a shrug, she tossed the glasses in the direction of the armchair, wincing when she heard them bounce against something hard.

No matter. She had a spare pair in her purse and more at home.

Tonight was supposed to be all about experiencing new things.

New sensations.

She was going to be a good little pupil.

She knew, however, that, like a shot in the arm that was for her own good, sometimes it was better to not see what was coming. Especially if it was of magnum proportions.



* * *



Rhys got off the elevator and moved wearily toward his hotel room. He was standing in front of his door and fishing his key card from his pocket when he suddenly froze. Head tilted back, he took a deep breath. He smelled lemon, a fresh, clean scent that he always associated with Melina because of the shampoo her mother had customized for her long, curly, brown locks. His gut clenched as he replayed his conversation with Max.

His brother had landed two blows over the course of two days. The first, by exposing his feelings for Melina. The second, by accusing him of hurting her. Both right on the mark.

He didn't want to hurt Melina. That's the last thing he wanted. But after over a decade of having what he wanted just within his reach but knowing he couldn't have it, he needed to move on.

Hell, he and Max were celebrities. Women threw themselves at him. The brunette he'd left at the bar had made it clear she was interested in more than his autograph and had seemed genuinely disappointed when he'd wished her goodnight.

Still, while one or two had managed to catch his attention for more than a night over the years, they'd never been able to make him feel the way he felt when he was with Melina.

As though a part of him had long been chopped off and magically reattached.

Like a deck of cards missing all its aces until someone slipped them back in.

It was a feeling that even the thundering applause of a packed theater in Caesars Palace couldn't compete with.

But it was an illusion. She'd already shown she preferred Max's company by a wide mile. Plus, beyond physical attraction on his part and possibly on hers, they weren't compatible, and he didn't want to spend his life arguing with her or disappointing her just to be proved right.

Shaking his head, he slipped the key card in and entered the hotel room.

Immediately, he tensed, his sharp vision homing in on the woman lying in his bed, her eyes sleepily blinking open as she propped herself up on one elbow. He almost swallowed his tongue when the sheet slipped down her chest, exposing her graceful throat and bare shoulders and arms. Her hair, usually pulled back, tumbled around her face like a cloud of mink.

Virna DePaul's Books