drowned in the absolute hedonistic waters of his eyes and forgot all about her socks. Socks. Heavens. She looked down at her bare feet. She didn’t have on socks, did she? She shook her head free of lust. Not now. “Okay, here, let me button my shirt up wrong.”
She attacked her buttons, Avery now knocking politely but firmly at the door. Well, he could just wait. Very efficiently, she undid the tiny pearl buttons, popping them free. She pulled the stiff cotton material free of her skirt and made the rather huge mistake of looking at Joe.
Her fingers froze. His eyes were leveled on the black satin bra she wore underneath her shirt. Okay, her chest was a little small, but she liked to think of herself as pert.
The way Joe was looking right now, as if she were edible, she was beginning to like pert. Okay, she was beginning to love pert, but she really did need to move her fingers. Unfortunately, every bit of her was paralyzed.
Joe found his tongue, his voice a little hoarse. “You need to button up some of those buttons. I don’t think Avery needs to see you looking like that.”
She almost reminded him that that was exactly the point, but decided now was not the time to argue. She fumbled for a bit, but the button-loops had mysteriously shrunk two sizes too small, and her hands had grown much more clumsy.
With a muttered curse, he brushed her hands aside and began the task himself.
“Joe, you’re buttoning them up right!”
His hands froze. Right on top of her breasts. Oh.
He swore again. One of those fun New Jersey expressions, and then began muttering to himself. “Joe, concentrate. Joe, your brother is at the door.” His thumb brushed against her skin.
She jumped. “Joe, you’re talking to yourself.”
The doorbell rang, longer this time.
Joe looked up, eyes bright with lust. “Don’t talk to me right now. I need to just button these damn buttons. What do you have, a million of these tiny things? I told you I don’t handle celibacy well.”
“How long has it been?” she asked, trying to distract both of them.
“A week.”
She groaned.
He gritted his teeth and his finger brushed against her nipple.
She gasped.
Her nipples grew even perkier, clearly visible under the black silk. Joe’s breathing turned shallow.
Oh.
Not knowing what else to do, she apologized. “I’m sorry.”
He stopped messing with her buttons and focused on her face. A flush ran under his skin, and she noticed where the shadow of whiskers clung to his jaw. Her fingers lifted, wanting to touch.
“For what?”
She started to explain that she was apologizing for her nipples and his breathing problem, but realized this was not what a sultry, provocative seductress would do. That is, here she stood, her breasts in his hand, well, almost, and surely she could think of something.
And so she kissed him.
SHE WAS TRYING to kill him. All that silky white skin. And her mouth. Now he knew exactly what that wicked mouth tasted like. Sex. Damn, but if she didn’t kiss better than the best sex he’d ever had. He pulled her down on the couch and took over, letting his tongue explore the inside of her mouth. It was like a drug in his head, and he couldn’t breathe. His hands fumbled with the clasp at the front of her bra until it broke and feverishly he touched her bare flesh. He was going to die. He had to—
“Oh, Joe,” she sighed in his ear, and he was eternally grateful that at that moment he was named Joe and not—
The doorbell rang, accompanied by loud knocking. “Amanda! Are you all right?”
Avery.
Joe lifted his head. “Avery, go away!” He stared at Amanda’s face. Fine bones, so delicate. What was she doing with him?
Rational thought returned.
Avery.
He still couldn’t look away. She looked almost shocked, her blue eyes still off somewhere about two minutes ago.
He had so needed her to be the sane one. With her body underneath him—how had that happened?—he didn’t want to be the sane one. It was physically painful to move off her. “Amanda.”
She smiled a little crookedly and sat up. “Joe.”
“Amanda, we need to fix your shirt. Avery. I’m sorry.”
The fog in her eyes cleared, her focus getting sharper. “Oh.” She looked down at the bra now hanging uselessly, then looked up at him and grinned. “Tell you what—” he watched as she pulled the scrap of silk through her sleeves like a magician “—looks better without it anyway. Don’t you think?”
Her fingers recovered nicely and she buttoned up a few strategic buttons, but now the bright blue material covered places that he had just seen, conquered.
Unable to do much else, he sat.
Amanda walked to the door, but he ran after he and caught her before she could open it. This was important. There was one question he needed answered.
“Amanda, why did you kiss me?”
“Because…” She hesitated for a long moment and looked over her fingernails. Finally she looked up at him, eyes big, wide and full of desire. “Because I wanted to.”
The doorbell rang and Joe flung it open. Mad at his brother for interrupting, mad at Amanda for starting it and mad at himself for thinking the thoughts that were running in his head. Now he’d really messed up. Now he wanted her.
He look through the open doorway, not really caring about appearances anymore. Avery stood, elegant in a polo shirt and canvas slacks, looking ready for a day on the links. Next to him, in a tight leather miniskirt, scarlet fingernails, stiletto heels and a wisp of a blouse, stood Monique, looking ready to blow.
3
“HELLO AVERY, MONIQUE. I see you two have met.” Joe felt like he had an Aerobus engine lodged in his throat.
Avery glowered, a ruddy flush coloring his face. “Joe, I’ve been waiting ten minutes.”
“You’re lucky it was only ten,” Joe replied testily, then shrugged. Now wasn’t the time. “Well, come on in.”
Monique seemed to be carrying a pot of something that smelled pretty good, and although she tilted her chin in the direction opposite Joe, she followed Avery into the apartment, which seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.
Amanda curled up on the couch again, looking mighty comfortable. Avery sat next to her, and Joe noticed his eyes drifting toward Amanda’s cleavage every now and then. If not for Monique, Joe would have kicked him off the couch and told him to get his mind out of the gutter. Unfortunately, Joe had gutter thoughts of his own, and was in no position to throw stones.
He watched as Monique flopped into his favorite chair. With no other alternative, Joe opted to lean casually against the wall.
There was a long silence, Avery harumphing every now and then, his eyes still darting to Amanda’s shirt. Finally, Joe couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop it, Avery.”
The remark seemed to work and Avery took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.
Amanda held out a hand to Monique. “Hi, I’m Amanda.” Apparently that was more than Monique could handle.
“Joseph, you told me you were ill. You sounded so sick on the phone, all the coughing and sniffling. I thought I’d find you here, curled at your toilet, miserable, and dying.” She held up her