Bedding the Wrong Brother(61)

But if she was going to take risks, she wasn't going to be the only one. Rhys had allowed himself to be vulnerable when he'd let her tie him up, but things had gotten significantly more complicated since then. If she was going to strip herself bare for him, then he was going to do the same. Only then would she believe the depth of his feelings for her.

With newfound resolve, Melina walked into the store.



* * *



That night, after rehearsal was finally over, Rhys practically speed-walked back to his hotel. He was exhausted. Hungry. Grumpy. None of that compared to the desperate need he had to see Melina and confirm that things were okay between them.

When he'd noticed her at the back of the theater, her eyes on Max and the topless assistants, he'd felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. She'd looked so sad. Defeated. Nothing like the woman who'd been gamely trying to adjust to the foreign world she'd been shoved into.

He'd been a mess after that. Distracted. Edgy. But when she'd shown up for practice, Melina had seemed to be back to her regular self. She'd laughed when he'd teased her, and she'd given him a nice, long kiss before she'd left the theater, saying she'd have a surprise for him back at the room.

Now, two hours later, all he wanted was to crawl into Melina's arms. He wasn't even nervous about tomorrow's show. Whatever the outcome, he just wanted to know what his future with Melina had in store.

He was going to do what he should have done a long time ago. He was going to give Melina a choice—home and hearth, or him. And it didn't matter whether it was fair or not, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she chose him.

When he opened the door to their suite, he did so quietly, in case Melina was sleeping. Sure enough, the bedroom was dark, quiet except for the steady buzz of the air conditioner. He shut the door, then flicked on the bathroom light so he could undress. When he saw Melina, he froze.

“Melina?”

Music with a slow, hip-thrusting beat began to play. From her seat in the corner, Melina stood and walked toward him, her hips swaying exaggeratedly, her steps keeping time with the music. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw the crisscrossed laces running between her plumped-up breasts. Was she wearing a corset?

She was. It wasn't just any corset, either. It was made of soft black leather that molded itself to her curves. She wore a matching dog collar and wrist bands; no spikes, thank God, just silver eyelets that matched the ones on her chest. Makeup, more makeup than he'd ever seen her wear, layered her face, making her look like a stranger. A beautiful, tempting, lustful stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

She looked at him challengingly, crooked her finger, and urged him closer.

He didn't move. “Where'd you get that?” he asked hoarsely.

“There are plenty of shops around.” Spreading her legs wide, she planted her fists on her hips, a cocky, Superwoman stance that called attention to the four-inch spike heels she was wearing. “What do you think?”

What did he think? Not much, since all his blood had rushed straight to his dick. “You look...” He paused, knowing “like a stranger” wasn't the right thing to say. “Hot. You look hot. But you'll be even more hot when you're naked.”

She pouted and shook her head. “Nice of you to say, but I'm not the one who's going to be stripping down. You are.”

“Oh, am I?” He couldn't help but think of the night he'd walked into his Sacramento hotel room and found her waiting for him. Other than the unexpectedness of it, that had felt right. Something here was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.


“Yep.” Pulling out a chair, she slowly turned it until she could straddle it, her legs spread wide, the bottomless crotch of her outfit revealing that tiny strip of hair that drove him mad. He hissed in a breath and started jerking at buttons.

Whatever the hell was going on here, they'd deal with it. Afterward. Ripping off his shirt, he stalked closer.

“Stop,” she commanded.

He did, even as he clenched his fists and sucked in air like a locomotive.

“Perform for me. Strip for me.” Her voice sounded harsh. Demanding. A little bitchy. Even as his erection lengthened, a part of him resisted.

“It's been a long night, baby. I don't think I'm up—”

“Oh, you're up, all right. And you're going to stay up. For as long as I want you to be. Now strip.”