Kelli Ireland - Wicked Heat

“Of course.” Ella gripped her shoulder and pulled, stretching, before repeating the same with the other side. She was wound so tight she couldn’t tell up from down, left from right, or brotherly concern from familial dissatisfaction. His answer struck her as a bit odd, though. Aggression created a solid foundation for every word he spoke. What was he willfully omitting?

The answer wasn’t right there for the plucking, but she’d figure it out. One thing was certain, however. He loved his sister and, like he said, she was the priority. At least they agreed on that much.

“About that drink?”

A shake of her head before she resumed the trek to the beachfront dive hut. “It’s best I don’t give in to temptation before hitting the water.”

The wind carried his response to her, soft and so sexually charged it seemed lightning should have struck. “On that, Ella, we very much disagree.”

Fighting to keep from visibly clenching her thighs at the impact of his words, she focused on retying the sarong around her waist. Her dive suit wasn’t skimpy, but it fit tight, and the thin neoprene did nothing but enhance every movement. So she’d suffer a little discomfort. It wouldn’t kill her.

Liam remained silent the rest of the walk, lagging behind just far enough that she felt his eyes caressing every line of her body, every inch of her bare skin.

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