Bedding the Wrong Brother(25)

The heavy thump of a fist against the door made her flinch, but he didn't call out to her. He did mutter a slow, steady stream of cuss words that would have amused her if she hadn't been so devastated. Rhys had plenty of surprises up his sleeves, including a kinky side and hot temper. Slowly, she sank to the floor, crawled under the open space of the double sink, and curled into a corner.

No matter what he said, he hadn't wanted her. That open box of condoms hadn't been for her.

And now she was stuck in this bathroom, with her overnight bag still on the floor outside, with no clothes. No pride. And no hope. She wasn't strong enough to risk this kind of hurt again. She wasn't ever going to be able to please a man, and that included Jamie. When Rhys left, she would get dressed and drive home. Then she'd throw herself into her work instead of silly dreams of a family and children.

Right after she killed Max.



* * *



His gaze never leaving the closed bathroom door, Rhys tugged on fresh clothes, cursing the whole time. She'd thought he was Max. When she'd offered to please him. When he'd kissed her. When he'd lain on top of her, played with her nipples, had his fingers and tongue inside her. She'd thought he was his brother.

Hurt and anger fought for supremacy. He wanted to rip his brother apart. Wanted to yell at her for daring to ask his brother for such a stupid, idiotic, lame-brained, ridiculous, personal, intimate favor.

She sucked in bed? She'd believed her * of an ex-boyfriend so much that she'd sought out tutoring lessons on how to pleasure a man? From Max?

Raking his hands through his hair, he stopped staring at the door long enough to pace. And his brother had agreed, only to back out in the end. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that, given their conversation at the theater and in the bar last night, he'd thought to pave the way for Rhys. He couldn't decide whether to beat the shit out of Max or kiss his feet in gratitude.

Pausing, he took a deep breath and sat on the bed. He eyed Melina's overnight case and knew she wouldn't come out of the bathroom until she thought he was gone. Grabbing the overnight case, he thought about throwing it down the hallway. Instead, he shoved it under the desk, out of view. He wasn't going to make leaving him easy for her.

Falling back on the bed, he stared at the ceiling and allowed himself to process things. He was upset, yes, but he was also thinking clearheadedly now, something he obviously hadn't been doing when Melina had been standing in her underwear in front of him last night.

His clearheaded thinking was one of the things that made the act with his brother work. Off stage, Max was clearly the more extroverted. His passion and enthusiasm for performing were what pumped up Rhys's genuine but more quiet interest in magic. Unlike his brother, Rhys wasn't impulsive. Ever. He thought things through, whether it was the believability of a magic trick, what position in the room gave him the best advantage when it came to illusion, or whether a woman was hitting on him for his fame rather than a true interest in the man he was.

While there were more of the former than the latter, that didn't necessarily mean he'd turn a woman down just because she liked the limelight. He just liked to know what he was getting into from the beginning. That way, he maintained control from beginning to end, just like with his magic.

He decided what people saw and didn't see.

He made things happen.

But not with Melina. He'd never had that kind of control with her, and that more than anything else was probably what had kept him away from her. If he couldn't even control his feelings for her, what made him think that if he ever had her, he'd be able to leave? And leaving was always what he and his brother did. It was in their blood. He couldn't imagine staying in one place, day after day, month after month, working the same job. Even for Melina.

Or, more precisely, he could imagine it, but he couldn't accept such bliss was actually possible. Not on his part. And not on hers.

The first thing he'd thought when she'd called him Max was, “Not again.” He loved his brother, but sometimes he felt like he lived in his shadow. That no one truly saw him for who he was because they were always a pair.

The only thing that stopped him from freaking out completely was the fact she'd said his name last night, right after he'd undeniably given her the best orgasms of her life. Her defenses had been down, and she clearly hadn't realized Max hadn't shown up.

But she'd still said his name.

That meant a lot. Right now, that meant everything.