Page 14 of The Wrong Brother

My mouth falls open.

“…confirming his engagement to longtime socialite Vanessa Beaumont. Sources close to the couple say wedding planning is already underway.”

I bolt upright so fast that the sheets tangle around my legs.

“What the fuck?”

Chapter 4

Ruslan

“What the fuck?”

I freeze at Emma’s words.

She’s sitting upright in my bed, staring at the TV, which I turned on at a low volume, thinking she’d be out cold for a while longer.

What the fuckis right. What the fuck is going on here?

For whatever reason, the stranger in my bed is having a visceral reaction to seeing my half-brother on television. That unexpected piece of information is fighting against the old rage that rose within me as soon as I saw Andrei’s face.

Her face is drained of color, her breasts free under the t-shirt I provided last night, nipples dark and soft.

I turn back to the television where Andrei stands beside some blonde socialite with a diamond ring on her finger and that polished political smile I have wanted to break since we were boys. The anger is hot and familiar, but it’s dulled by something sharper right now.

Slowly, her head turns toward me.

Our eyes lock.

Suddenly every instinct I possess wakes up at once.

Emma shoves the sheets aside so quickly she nearly tangles herself in them. “I—” she starts breathlessly, glancing around for something to wear. The dress, a red wine stain on the floor, is beyond repair. “I should go.”

I lean against the doorway between the bedroom and sitting area, watching her scramble for something acceptable. She snatches a pair of my boxes on the dresser, hurries into them, too fast. Panicked.

“You know him.”

It is not a question.

Emma freezes for half a second with one arm clutched against her chest, as if that’ll hide her luscious tits. “No.”

A lie.

Behind me, the television drones on about campaign donations and wedding venues while fury coils tighter and tighter inside my ribs. Andrei. After all these years, just seeing his face again is enough to drag the old version of me clawing toward the surface. The tiger I thought I’d locked away for a while longer, after last night.

But Emma—Emma has my full attention now.

She practically trips heading for the bedroom door, curls wild from sleep and sex. Yesterday she melted beneath my hands like she wanted to be ruined. Today she looks like a cornered animal searching desperately for an exit.

“What is your connection to him?” I ask quietly.

“Nothing.”

Another lie.

I push away from the doorway.

Emma’s eyes widen instantly. She searches the room, sees her phone and snatches it. Glancing up at me and down at the phone, her fingers tap away.