Free The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson Page A

sideways glance at her sister’s photo above the chest of drawers; a head and shoulders shot of Jan on her wedding day. She glowed with health and happiness in her exquisite ivory dress, hair upswept and scattered with tiny flowers, and smiled not quite at the camera. Fiona thought it much more likely she smiled at Christian as he stood waiting to join her for the group shots.  
    She dragged her eyes back to the harbor view.
    I’m not trying to steal him Jan, honest. He wouldn’t want me anyway. He wanted you. Why can’t you come back to us? I miss you so much.
    Sighing, she smoothed her hands over her belly, flinching with the discomfort it caused her arms as she eased the sash of her silk robe undone. She pushed it open so the summer air flowed over her mother’s thin cotton nightdress. Christian hadn’t attempted to draw the bedcover up and she was grateful. After reacting to his kiss the way she had, she felt hot enough to fry eggs on.  
    She laid her palms high on her thighs, massaging unconsciously up to her navel, down to her groin, up to her navel, down to her groin in a sensuous dreamy rhythm. Deep inside she yearned and burned.
    Twenty minutes later she decided no matter how comfortable the huge bed, no matter how luxurious the room, sleep was probably going to elude her. She’d inched her way restlessly over the sheets, seeking a cool place, a position where nothing ached or hurt. She’d managed to wriggle out of her silk robe and drop it onto the floor beside the bed. But just as she felt she might at last be able to relax, Christian returned.
    She jerked alert with a gasp of pain as his tall figure appeared in the doorway carrying her crutches. He propped them beside the bed, left briefly, and returned to lower a tray onto the chest of drawers at her bedside. Then he bent to retrieve her robe from the floor. He shook it out, raising his expressive eyebrows at the dramatic golden Chinese dragon decorating the black silk.
    “Not very feminine, maybe,” Fiona murmured. “But I love it. Got it at Stanley Market in Hong Kong.”  
    “On one of your cruises?”
    “My very first. Years ago. I was so easily impressed then.” She managed to position her aching arms to hide her breasts—her mother’s old fine cotton nightgown was almost transparent. “I’ll never forget the mad double-decker bus trip out to the market. The road had even more bends than the ones up the hill here.”  
    “Looks more my size than yours.” Christian continued to inspect the robe. He thrust his hands into the sleeves and turned to survey himself in the full-length mirror. Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. He looked magnificent, and the fact that it was her robe added an extra dimension to the moment. The shining embroidered dragon writhed over his shoulders and long back.
    “The emperor’s new clothes...” she suggested.
    “The emperor’s new clothes were his birthday suit as I recall.”  
    Fiona bit her lip and nodded. “So they were,” she agreed, trying very hard not to imagine Christian tall, dark and naked. His image drifted across her inventive brain. Gorgeous. Desirable.  
    A small nervous giggle escaped her. She was in no state to do anything about him should he suddenly appear like that.  
    He turned at the sound of her laughter, raised a sleeve to his nose, and breathed in her scent.  
    Fiona pulled a face. “Does it need a wash?”
    He shook his head. “Absolutely not. It simply smells of woman.”
    Something turned over, deep inside her.
    “You’re right,” she faltered. “It’s probably supposed to smell of man. It’s huge on me, but I loved it. I couldn’t understand the size label.”
    He pulled the robe off and checked. “Too faded to tell,” he said, laying it across the end of the bed. “I’ve bought you the water you wanted, and a token lunch.”
    He bent over her and slipped his hands either side of her ribcage as though she was Nicky’s age. “Hold your breath,” he