Wrong Brother, Right Man. Kat Cantrell

burst of will that she hoped never to have to muster again, she stepped away.

      The tension should have been severed instantly. But no. Her skin prickled with a strange, shivery sort of heat that made her restless. She could not stop her muscles from flexing. Rationally she recognized it as a fight-or-flight adrenaline response pumping through her body, but that didn’t make the experience any easier.

      Nor did she believe for a moment that, if Val closed that distance, fighting him would be her first instinct.

      “If we’re going shopping, we should leave,” she told him hoarsely and cleared her throat. “The faster we get that done, the faster we can move on.”

      “I’ll drive,” he offered, and it was so not fair that he had the capacity to sound normal when her insides were a quivering mess. Over a touch of their hands that lasted less than a half a second, no less.

      She had to pretend everything was kosher. “Whatever. That’s fine.”

      It turned out that being wedged into Val’s SUV gave her none of the reprieve she’d been hoping for. The vehicle was roomy enough, but he drove with his elbow on the center console and, when he turned corners, his arm drifted over into her space. She spent the entire drive trying to make herself smaller so he didn’t accidentally graze her, which was enough of an indicator that she should have been adamant about not going on this shopping trip.

      The exclusive shopping center he’d selected near Grant Park had the right qualifications for the type of look she’d envisioned for him. They walked into the suit shop, which had maybe five of its wares on display, and her brain had just enough functional cells left to figure out that he’d brought her to a place that custom-made suits, as opposed to selling ready-to-wear. Of course, that was what a man built like Val needed. He was tall, with a wiry frame that matched his brother’s pretty well, and that was literally the last thing she needed to focus on at this inopportune moment.

      The sales clerk or tailor or whatever title people held in a place she had no business being in rushed over to start working his magic on Val. Sabrina hung back, seriously thinking about slinking to the car. What value would she have at this point, anyway? Her job was to ensure he crossed the finish line, which was way off in the distance.

      That’s when Val motioned her forward to introduce her to the clerk. “This is my companion. She’s going to make sure I’m dressed appropriately.”

      So that was it then. She’d been dragged into the entire process, bless him. “I thought I was just here to pay.”

      A giggle almost burst free of its own free will. How was that for a nice reversal? The clerk probably thought he was the gold digger and she’d brought him here to get him clothed for her world. In that scenario, he’d definitely be trading sexual favors for the privilege.

      “You’re also here for moral support,” he told her, and the clerk whisked him away to a fitting area to take his measurements, which no one seemed to expect her to participate in, thank God.

      She took the reprieve and sank into one of the plush couches near the bay windows, phone in hand so she could read the slew of emails that had stormed her inbox in the hour since she’d last checked it. The joys of being a team of one. There was no assistant to take care of the minutiae, which normally she enjoyed since it meant she was the only person accountable for ensuring her success.