Thrill Seeker (Sinful in Seattle)

He didn’t even have an analogy for how different they were. She would. She always had a smart comeback or a sassy comment. Any guy unprepared around her would be left in the dust.

Rubbing his eyes, he fumbled through his texts. And saw Sara’s name.

When you get home, stop by my room.

His palm immediately dampened. How annoying. She made him feel like a teenager again, completely unsure of his moves. Worse, like he didn’t have any moves. Those girls at the bar didn’t make him feel like that. Yet he kept returning to the same damn well again and again.

Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was that her brain was as sexy as her amber eyes.

Or maybe it was the bikini.

Brad grinned and pocketed his phone as he stepped down from his truck. The bikini definitely weighed in.

He entered the house without making any attempt for quiet, forgetting it was heading toward eleven. His sister never stayed up too late unless she had a guy over. Since there were no strange cars in the drive, he guessed she was alone.

Sara never brought men home. After her assertion today about how much she’d seen and done—not a subject he wanted to dwell on overmuch—he had to think she was keeping her male friends away from the house intentionally. The question was why. It was her place too, for as long as she was staying there. She could have anyone over she wanted. He couldn’t guarantee the guy would leave in the same condition he’d arrived in, but she could’ve invited him anyway.

Except she didn’t.

If he were an optimistic sort, he’d think that meant maybe his preoccupation wasn’t one-sided. But she’d tossed enough disdainful looks his way he had to conclude she didn’t want to step on his sister’s toes.

She wasn’t shy. If she wanted him, she would’ve gone for it. For whatever reason, the sex bug that had nipped him in the ass the first time she’d smiled at him and announced herself as Dr. Carmichael hadn’t bitten her as well. And that was too damn bad.

He swung by the kitchen on his way up to Sara’s room and snatched two golden apples out of the basket on the counter. One thing he and Sara had in common was a fondness for midnight snacks, though their usual choices were greasy and laden with calories. But he didn’t really feel like digging around for a bag of chips or searching through his sister’s chocolate stash. The apples would suffice.

After a moment’s debate, he headed to his room first to change into his well-worn pajama pants. It was the same thing he wore when the three of them got together for movie night, and Sara had never blinked twice. Of course he’d never been alone with her in her room late at night either.

First time for everything.

He palmed the apples and headed down the hall, unsurprised to feel his heart thudding in his chest. Anticipation rose inside him, hot and irrepressible. What would she be wearing? Probably her usual bedtime outfit of boxers and a snug T-shirt. In theory, completely unsexy. On her, they made him stone-hard in seconds.

She had one hell of a sweet body. Long legs, nice breasts. Some guys might have seen her as average, but those guys sure weren’t him.

Brad knocked on her closed door, briefly wondering where his sister was. Not that it mattered. This would be a quick chat, not some sort of loud, erotic sexfest.

Unfortunately.

“Come in,” Sara called.

He stepped inside her spacious bedroom. The room appeared the same way it always did. Tidy and classically stylish, full of the antiques his mother had spent so many hours collecting at estate sales. The lights were low, casting a soft glow on the small woman huddled, sans book, surrounded by pillows in the center of the enormous bed. He’d expected her to be reading under the covers. More than once he’d walked past her open door and caught a glimpse of her with her face in a book, reading glasses perched on her nose. So cute. But tonight she hunched under the sheet, the high collar of a nightgown encircling her neck.

“Sara?”

“Don’t come closer.” She fumbled for a tissue from the box on the nightstand, getting it to her nose just as she sneezed. “Sorry. Sick.”

“Since when? I saw you this afternoon.”

“Must be some kind of tsunami virus or something. Knocked me on my ass at dinner.”

He set down the apples on her nightstand and reached for the light blanket tossed on the rocker beside the bed. Late August in Pennsylvania could be unpredictable, and tonight had turned cool. “Here,” he said, draping the blanket around her shivering shoulders. “Want me to turn up the heat?”

“No, you and Kim will roast. I’m fi

ne. God, what a pain.” She grabbed her glass of water, knocking off her box of cold meds in the process. “I can’t be sick this week.”

“Yeah, the sanctuary will have to close if you’re not there for a couple days.” He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed down the blanket, avoiding the temptation to keep touching her. Even through thick layers of cotton, her body proved almost too much for him. Her eyes couldn’t quite focus, her cheeks were pink with the beginnings of a fever and she’d pulled her long, brown hair up in the messiest topknot he’d ever seen. She was still the most beautiful woman he knew.

She sneezed again and rubbed her eyes, looking positively woeful. “It’s a super busy week. We have the big fundraiser coming up. Which is why I texted you, by the way.”