TheTemptationNotJustifiedAReFinal (8 page)

“I
know enough. I know you’re an amazing actress and a liar, and I’m sorry I ever
laid eyes on you.”

Hurt,
Celeste struck back. “Well, you’re right,” she said with a flippant inflection
to her voice. “I’m a fantastic actress.”

He knew
right away what she was referring to, and his eyes narrowed on her face. She
raised one brow in a mocking salute to his ego.

“Is that
right?” he asked slowly.

His
grip on her wrist tightened, and she pressed her lips together to prevent a
cringe of discomfort. “Yes,” she confirmed.

Then
she realized what she’d done. She’d unwittingly issued him a challenge. His
gaze lowered to her mouth, and her heart redoubled its efforts. A prickly
sensation skittered across her chest and tightened her nipples. She gave her
wrist a sudden jerk, but his warm clasp didn’t budge.

“You
may be a liar and a cheat, but you’re not that good of an actress,” he said
with conviction. “There’s no way you could’ve faked it every time. In fact”—a
thoughtful look entered his eyes, and alarm pumped through her veins—“you
didn’t fake it even once.”

Lust
flickered in his eyes, and for tense moments they stared at each other, lost in
the memories of heated whispers and tangled sheets. Then, as suddenly as he’d
grabbed her, he dropped her arm like a hot coal.

“Derrick
doesn’t deserve to be lied to and made a fool of.” He stepped around her toward
the door.

Celeste
grabbed his forearm to stall his exit. “Wait, please.”

“Celeste,
I can’t do this.”

She
slipped between him and the door. She couldn’t be the reason for a
confrontation between the two brothers, and she couldn’t bear the humiliation
of Derrick finding out she’d slept with his brother the first night they met. “Please
don’t say anything to Derrick. I’ll stay out of your way. I promise. You won’t
even know I’m here.”

He looked
down at her hand, and she followed his gaze to where her fingers wrapped around
his arm. She withdrew them with haste. When her eyes found his again, desire
shimmied down her spine at the hunger she saw in his.

“That’s
not what I meant,” he said, his voice thick and low. “I can’t be near you.
You’re too much of a temptation. Maybe you can stay away from me, but I don’t
know if I can keep my hands off of you.” He slammed his palms against the door
above her shoulders.

Celeste
jumped, her eyes widening in shock. Shaken, she pressed back against the hard
door to distance herself from him. They were too close, and the instinctive
movement did little to protect her from the heat of sexual frustration
emanating from his pores.

His
chest rose and fell with each deep breath, and a storm brewed in his dark brown
eyes. “
What are you doing to me?
”

The
tortured question needed no answer. Even if she’d been obliged to respond, he
seized her mouth before she could, and his tongue thrust between her lips. The muscular,
dark cords of his arms encircled her waist and held her against his body,
crushing her soft curves into each hard contour of his.

Celeste
took the brutal assault without hesitation, savored it, moaning as she reveled
in the power and passion of the kiss. She thrilled to the rough scrape of denim
between her thighs when he pushed her legs apart with his knee and lifted her
off the floor by sinking his fingers into her fleshy bottom.

Her
arms locked behind his neck as their frantic kisses continued unabated, even
while he walked with her to the bed. When her back touched the mattress, he
lifted his head and focused on the tiny buttons of her blouse, which gave his
fingers pause. Before she guessed his intention, he yanked the edges apart,
sending a rush of unadulterated excitement crashing through her, while white
buttons scattered across the bed and onto the floor.

Celeste
whimpered and lifted her torso toward him. He dragged his palm down the valley
between her breasts before lowering his head to devour them—licking, sucking,
nibbling, creating an ache in her loins so acute it became a physical pain.
Each caress of his mouth sent shivers down the length of her body to the tips
of her toes.

One
hand caressed the soft flesh of her breast, a massage that forced her to arch her
back at an even sharper angle, giving him all he wanted, trying to assuage the
hunger racing through her at breakneck speed. The only sounds she dared issue
from her lips were muted noises of pleasure for fear someone else in the house
would hear them.

Celeste
pulled at Roarke’s shirt, tugging it up so her hands could glide across the
warm skin of his back. His deep-throated groan encouraged her. With utmost
pleasure, she continued her exploration, enjoying how the muscles rippled
beneath her touch.

“You
feel so good.” His fingers burrowed under the leg of her shorts and found their
way under the crotch of her panties to the plump flesh between her legs. “You
can’t fake this,” he breathed against the underside of her breasts, swiping his
thumb through the moisture.

Her
body jerked from the intimate contact as the fire between them burned out of
control. Her legs fell wider apart to make room for another finger to join the
thumb between her legs. She wanted his hands, his mouth, and his tongue to
cover every inch of flesh—flesh that had yearned for him during the longest
week of her life.

“Roarke,”
she moaned.

The
sound of her own voice resonated in the room like breaking glass, jolted her
senses, and dragged her back from the edge of full surrender.

She
recalled his harsh words. He wanted her, but he despised her at the same time
and had accused her of being easy.

Finally
having a moment of clarity, Celeste pushed against Roarke to free herself from
his hypnotizing touch. “Stop.” She shoved away his hand, but his mouth
continued to relentlessly suck her breast as if he couldn’t stop. “Roarke,
please,” she begged in a breathless struggle. She shoved hard against his
shoulders, forcing him to finally relinquish the throbbing nipple and roll off
of her, onto his feet.

Standing
beside the bed, he appeared shocked, maybe even a little disoriented. He
scrubbed the back of his hand across his lips. In turn, she grasped her ruined
shirt together with trembling hands, her body still in shock, trying to right
itself after such a sensual ambush. Under the weight of his confused stare, she
sat up, still clutching the edges of her shirt in a belated demonstration of
modesty.

What
the hell is wrong with me?

With
his heart thundering in his chest, Roarke stared at the slender fingers of
Celeste’s hands clutching her shirt together. He’d done that—attacked her like
a wild animal, starving for a taste of silky brown flesh, desperate for a
chance to wrap his lips around the sweetest nipples he’d ever had the pleasure
of sucking.

“I’m
sorry,” he said. She didn’t move or make a sound, only stared down at her legs.

He
was too close to the fire. He stepped back in an effort to recapture his sound
judgment. His erection pressed insistently against his fly, anxious to break
free of his jeans and find its way back to her. Because, heaven help him, he
couldn’t rid his mind of how it felt to lie between those beautiful long legs.

What
the hell is wrong with me?

He
shouldn’t want her. How could he, when he knew she was a liar and a cheat? When
Derrick, his own brother, had brought her here, making her off-limits?

Because
her arousal brought him pleasure. He enjoyed getting her off, hearing her pant
for him, hungry in pursuit of an orgasm. He wanted to be the one to give it to
her. The only one.

“Stay
away from me,” he rasped, his chest tight with the difficulty it took to
breathe.

In that
moment, her pretty brown eyes rose to his face, and the look she sent him spoke
volumes, told him what he already knew—he’d made an unfair statement.
He
came to
her
room, and he initiated the kiss. But in his defense, she’d
touched him, and the simple, harmless act had been his undoing. Her touch
rendered him helpless, bound by his thoughts and reduced to base instinct, like
a dog in heat.

He
needed to think.

Roarke
spun on his heels and jetted out without another word. In his room, he closed
the door, swallowing down the guilt and self-hatred.

He
was scum. No, he was the slimy material under the belly of scum.

The
realization their night together had been a one-time occurrence, never to be
repeated because she was in a relationship, should have been enough to keep him
in check. Not so. Instead, all he could think about was getting her under him,
flat on her back. Without even trying, she had him and his morals tied up in
knots.

He
ran his hand down his face and caught a whiff of her arousal on his fingers,
and as impossible as it seemed, his body hardened even more. He stared at his
hand as if seeing it for the first time. Resisting the urge to run his fingers
under his nose to enjoy her scent again, he went back out into the hallway to
the bathroom.

He
pumped out the hand soap in large globs, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror.

He wasn’t
his father.

Several
times he washed his hands, giving them a rough scrub to eradicate any trace of
what he’d done.

I’m
not my father
.

Grinding
his teeth, Roarke finally faced himself in the mirror above the sink and didn’t
like what he saw. He didn’t pursue women in relationships, and cheating was never
an option. All his life he’d stuck to those principles.

Until
today.

Today,
he and his morals had been blown to bits by a stick of dynamite named Celeste
Burton.

Chapter
Seven

“What
are you doing up here?” Derrick asked, coming into Celeste’s room. “More of the
family arrived a while ago. Come on downstairs, and I’ll introduce you.”

Celeste
greeted Derrick’s words with the best smile she could manage. After a quick
shower and change, she’d hid in the room for as long as she could. When he came
to get her, she accepted she couldn’t stay there forever and let her mind dwell
on the confrontation with Roarke. She would do her best to steer clear of him
for the rest of the weekend, which was no easy task staying one door down in
the same house. At the very least, she would avoid being alone with him again.

“Derrick,
what’s the deal with you and Roarke?” Saying his name made the apex of her
thighs pulse.

His
gaze narrowed. “Why?”

Feigning
nonchalance, Celeste shrugged. “Just wondering. I know your relationship with
your family isn’t the best, and especially with your older brother.”

Derrick
paused for a minute, then closed the bedroom door.

“I
did bring you into the middle of all this, so I may as well tell you some of
what happened. You’ll get a better understanding of my relationship with my
family.” He took a deep breath. “You already know the Hawthornes are my half
siblings. We have the same father.”

Celeste
nodded. She remained silent and watched an emotion similar to pain flit across
Derrick’s face.

“The
Sperm Donor had an affair with my mother while married to Roarke’s mother, and
then, surprise!” He lifted his arms wide. “I came along. Roarke’s my older
brother by three months.”

“Derrick
. . .” Her heart ached for him. She saw the hurt in his eyes, even though he
tried to make light of the situation with sarcasm. “But why is there so much
animosity between you and Roarke?”

“That’s
easy to explain. The Donor’s wife made him choose. His mistress and his bastard
son or his wife and his legitimate son. He chose his wife and son.”

“Derrick,
I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t
feel sorry for me.” The words came out harsh, but she knew the anger wasn’t
directed at her. “I’m fine. I didn’t need him anyway. For years I never knew
this side of my family. After he passed away, they reached out to me. As for
staying away from my mother—well, he didn’t keep the promise he made, and
neither did she. Neither one of them cared about the people they could hurt.
They died together in a plane crash the year I turned eighteen. Even though he
continued to screw my mother for who knows how long, not once”—his entire body
tensed and the bitterness became even more apparent—“
not once
did my
father
come to see me. And Roarke Hawthorne Jr. looks exactly like him.”

He
spewed the last sentence past thinned lips. Hatred filled his eyes. Roarke,
with their father’s name and looks, had benefited from having his father in his
life growing up.

“Roarke
Hawthorne, Mr. Perfect,” he continued, “always playing the role of peacemaker,
sacrificing, raising his brother and sister while in college.” His mirthless
laugh filled the room. “Gimme a break. It’s all an act.”

Derrick
couldn’t seem to stop now he’d started, and Celeste hesitated to interrupt him.
The anger and loathing directed toward Roarke were clearly unjustified, but he
couldn’t see it. Inside, he remained the little kid whose father chose another
over him, and who’d lost out on the father-son relationship.