Cherry Adair - Slow Burn - Seducing Mr. Right / Take Me

“A ménage à trois? This is really sick, Luke.” Elizabeth scooped up her purse and held it in front of her like a shield. “I’m calling a cab.”

“She’s my sister, for God’s sake!”

“Oh, really?” No matter how beautiful, the woman had a nasty mind and an ugly sneer. Catherine narrowed her eyes at her. Elizabeth narrowed hers back.

“You have different last names.”

“Different mothers,” Luke said.

“Different fathers,” Catherine said at the same time.

“She’s my stepsister!” Luke strode across the room and wrapped his strong fingers around Catherine’s clenched jaw. “Siblings. Right, Cat?” His hand moved her head up and down to acknowledge the statement.

“Right.” Catherine gave Elizabeth the Wretch a tight smile and pretended that arrow hadn’t pierced her heart. “His sister.”

“That’s even sicker,” Elizabeth said coldly before storming out of the bedroom.

Catherine gripped the sheet tighter, a hard knot in her throat. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from Luke, and her face flamed hotly enough for her to damn her pale skin. His sister.

From six years old she’d dreamed, wished, prayed he’d accept her as family. When she’d been older that wish had come true. But by then sister was no longer the relationship she craved.

Usually pragmatic and sensible, Catherine had made a gigantic leap of faith in coming to Luke. This was not an auspicious start to her plan.

“I’ll take Liz home and be back in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be here.” If she didn’t take a cowardly leap from the balcony first.

He turned when he got to the door and glanced back. “Don’t go to sleep. We’re going to talk. Tonight.”

Did they have to? She checked his eyes. Absolutely.

“Be dressed when I get back.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Catherine saluted. The satin sheet glided like water over her naked skin, baring one breast.

She froze and stared at Luke.

White-knuckled, he gripped the doorknob.

A beat later he slammed the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

I’M IN DEEP, deep trouble here, Luke thought on his circuitous, I-need-more-time-to-think-about-this drive home an hour later. How in heaven’s name was he ever going to be able to forget the sight of Cat’s bare b— His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Oh, man...

His dad had married Cat’s mother nineteen years ago. So there wasn’t a drop of familial blood between them. Thank God. But Luke could never forget what a mean, nasty jerk he’d been to Catherine for years. It had taken even more years before he’d been forced to realize just what his cruelty was costing her, and he’d sworn to himself he would always love and protect her to make up for the years he’d done just the opposite.

The way he now felt didn’t negate the promises he’d made.

He’d sworn to his dad, just before he’d died, that he would take care of Catherine. More important, he’d made Cat a promise to be her big brother. He’d assured her he would always be there for her. To protect her, to keep her safe, to have him to depend on, for anything and everything. Luke considered these promises sacrosanct, unshakable and nonnegotiable.

Too bad his libido wasn’t as ethical as his brain. He reluctantly turned his decrepit Jaguar into the basement parking lot beneath his building. Just because his feelings had changed dramatically was no reason to disillusion her. He had to remember that to Cat he was no more than her big brother. Her safe, dependable big brother. End of story.

* * *

HER FACE STILL hot, Catherine speedily dressed the second the front door closed behind Luke and what’s-her-name. Her goal had seemed so simple and straightforward back home in Beaverton. Get Luke to see her as a desirable woman and act on it. Of course, she hadn’t planned on him seeing her naked in his bed. At least not yet!

Catherine padded into the living room and flung herself into the squishy black leather chair she’d bought Luke with every penny of her savings when he and their friend Nick had gone off to New York to become architects. The chair smelled like Luke. She snuggled her cheek against the skin-smooth leather and closed her eyes. She’d thought of little else but him for years. She could do this. She would do this.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, after all, that Luke had had a sneak preview....

* * *

WEARING JEANS AND one of his old Pratt Institute sweatshirts, Cat’s five-foot-ten frame was curled up in the big black leather armchair in the corner of the living room when Luke returned.

Thank God she’s dressed, he thought, and thank God she’s tamed that hair. Catherine Anne Harris had the reddest, wildest, most touchable hair he’d ever seen. It had a life of its own.

Seeing her naked in his bed with that electrified mane, like living flame gone berserk, had almost given him a coronary. He wasn’t quite so tempted to bury his hands in it when she had it scraped back in her usual French braid. And if he concentrated very hard for the next three or four hundred years, he might forget how the light had sculpted, in shadows and highlights, the satin sheets on Cat’s naked body. And the sight of one plump, perfect, pale freckled breast. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sauntered into the living room.

“Hi.” Cat sat up and rubbed sleepy hazel eyes, her cheeks flushed under a generous sprinkling of cinnamon-colored freckles. She pulled her bare feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Even her slender toes had cinnamon dots.

There was a short, strained silence. “She seems like a nice woman,” Cat commented, offering a hopeful smile. Luke was caught by the humor in her eyes and the lushness of her wide, soft mouth.

He shook his head. “Not particularly.” He sat on the edge of the coffee table facing her. Thank God she had no inkling how much it cost him to sit this close and not jump her bones.

Cat frowned. “I don’t get it. If you don’t like her, what were you doing sleeping with her?”

“A, I hadn’t slept with her. Yet. B, I like Elizabeth just fine. C, don’t change the subject. Not that you aren’t welcome, Catwoman, but what are you doing here?” he asked mildly.

“I thought you’d gone to New York this week.” She rested her chin on her bent knees. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her you have a warped sense of the ridiculous, but that basically you’re harmless.” About as harmless as dropping a centerfold into a maximum-security prison block.

“I was embarrassed. It was awkward for all of us. I guess I made it worse by trying to joke about it. I’m sorry to have put you in an uncomfortable position, Luke. Really. If you want me to call her—”

“There’s no need, Cat. Don’t worry about it.” Elizabeth had the sensitivity of a newt. Anyone else would have seen Catherine’s embarrassment. “I came home from New York early.”

She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see her full breasts move gently as she shifted. He frowned. “Don’t distract me, answer the question. What are you doing here?”

Cat yawned, then rubbed the tip of her nose with her palm. “I was in a rut in Oregon. I needed a change, so here I am.”

“You aren’t going to stop day trading, are you?” Luke asked, horrified. Self-taught, Cat had become a market wizard. She enjoyed the challenge of figuring out which stocks were about to go up, and buying and selling them on the same day to immediately profit on the stock’s rise in value. This enabled Cat to multiply her money many times over the course of a day. Plus she’d been able to do it from home, on her own computer, while she took care of his dad. With her canny knowledge of the stock market, and uncanny intuition, she’d made a bundle of money trading stocks for Luke over the years. If it wasn’t for her, he and Nick would never have been able to afford to open their own architectural business so soon. The business was doing well enough to afford them the luxury of owning their own building.