Free The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson

forgetting we had the whole en suite tiled,” he said. “It’s one huge shower, really. I’ll drag in an outdoor chair and you can sit down in there.”
    “I can’t get my arms up, Christian. I’d never manage to wash it myself. I’m not great yet.”
    “You’re not in any shape to go to a hairdresser to get it washed, either. I’ll help. We’ll manage somehow.”
    Fiona nodded mutely, lashes still cast down.  
    “I’ll leave you to rest. Water? Orange juice? Lunch?”
    “Water maybe.”  
    She must have sensed him moving, because she opened her eyes. Right in time to discover him bending low over her, his lips drawn together to settle a kiss on her brow.
    She uttered a small cry—the tiniest noise of distress—and he drew back far enough to focus on her face.  
    “No,” she protested.  
    “What did you think I was going to do?”
    “Leave me.”
    “I’m just going,” he said, misunderstanding.
    “No!” she repeated, eyes huge in her pale face. “I don’t want you to leave me.”  
    Total silence hung between them for a few seconds.  
    “Fiona?” His voice was barely audible.  
    “Stay. For a little bit. Please, Christian.” He saw she was trembling all over now, seemingly horrified at her plea, but with strange elation in her expression too.
    He gazed down at her, only inches away. With a sigh of intense regret and resignation, he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers. He intended only the merest of touches, a butterfly brush, a tantalizing light caress of flesh past flesh. But one pass became two, then three. And her lips parted under his so he sank into a much deeper, more intimate kiss than he’d planned.  
    He ripped his mouth away from hers with a groan, realizing what he’d done.  
    “Rest Fiona,” he grated. He rose and turned before she could notice the obscene bulge at his groin, then strode through the doorway and pounded up the half-flight of stairs to Nicky’s room. Pushing the doors to the terrace wide open he flung himself down onto one of the outdoor chairs, legs apart, shoulders tensed, head pressed back into his interlocked hands. He clenched his eyes shut against the glare of the sun and gulped in air.  
    Where the hell had his self-control disappeared to? Surely it ought to be possible for him to carry an injured woman into a bedroom without making a grab for her? Fiona must still be disoriented from her concussion. He couldn’t imagine she’d seriously wanted him to stay.
    He blew out a frustrated breath and then swore savagely, rocking on the balls of his feet so his heels bounced again and again on the hard paved surface. His long calf and thigh muscles slowly relaxed, but the hard swollen ache in his groin remained.  

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Fiona lay still as stone on her sister’s bed. The feel of Christian’s hands caressing her face...the warmth of his breath...the taste of his lips on hers...each sensation burned into her memory.    
    Thank heavens he’d turned away, although why he’d been kissing her in the first place, she couldn’t imagine.  
    Well she could, of course. Christian would only have intended a little ‘welcome home from hospital’ kiss. Or a ‘sorry you’re hurting’ kiss. An innocent quick nothing peck.  
    To Fiona’s fevered brain it hadn’t felt like nothing. It had felt full of delicious possibilities, drenched with desire, wicked and wonderful.  
    And of course impossible to take further.  
    Now embarrassment swamped her. Why had she responded like that, forcing him to turn it into a proper kiss? Her wistful dreams had morphed into reality for those few seconds. But how could she not react when the man she’d secretly wanted for years was finally so close?
    The shame of what she’d done washed over her in hot waves of regret.
    I need to somehow jam the brakes on my imagination so it doesn’t keep running away like this. I’m stuck here now and I have to make the best of it.
    She cast a guilty