Chapter 2
There it was. The look she was hoping for.
She saw his slack-jawed expression, the flicker of want crossing his eyes, the breathless tone of his voice as he said her name.
She almost stumbled over the last step, cursing inwardly. Because what a grand entrance that would have been when she would have fallen flat on her face? Very ungraceful.
But she tightened her fingers around the railing, and regained her balance, her mouth curling up into a smile she knew from experience dazzled men speechless as she walked towards him.
"Killian." She leaned up on her tiptoes as she reached him, pressed one hand against his shoulder and brushed a kiss over his cheek.
She felt him shiver under her fingers. It was a harmless peck. A peck a sister would give her brother. But of course it wasn't supposed to be harmless. It was supposed to rattle him.
And it clearly did.
His eyes were boring into hers as she leaned back, and his hand was pressing against the small of her back. He had wrapped his arm around her instinctively, and she could feel the heat burn through the thin fabric of her dress.
But then he snatched his hand away as if he had been burned and stepped back. His eyes fluttered close for a second, and when he opened them again he had himself under control again. Teasing glint in his eyes, cocky smirk playing over his lips.
"Shall we?"
She just nodded and walked towards the door. She had only made a few steps when she felt his fingers ghost over her back again, and she smiled when he snatched it away again a moment later.
They didn't say anything on the way to his car, and he opened the door for her silently, going around the hood and slipping into the driver seat's without a word.
"So where are we going exactly?" she asked to fill the silence after a few minutes of driving.
"Regina Mills is giving a party. She is the owner of the newspaper I'm working for."
"And you asked me to accompany you so that the women won't jump your bones the moment you step through the door?" she questioned teasingly.
"Something like that," he replied in a gruff tone.
"So, am I supposed to be your girlfriend or ..."
"No!" he shouted, his hands curling tighter around the wheel, making her bite her tongue to avoid a big grin to spread out on her face. "No, you are not supposed to be my girlfriend. You are supposed to be the little sister of my best friend to whom I want to show the sparkling life of a hotshot journalist."
"I see," she replied nonchalantly, turning in her seat to face him, noticing his body stiffen even more. "You do know that I don't have to pretend to be the little sister of your best friend. I am the little sister of your best friend."
"I know," he barked, his knuckles turning even whiter around the wheel, and she wanted to laugh out loud.
This was definitely more fun than she expected. And maybe it would be way more easier to seduce him. Apparently he was already on the end of his rope only because she was wearing a dress and high heels.
She hadn't even started flirting with him. Her mouth tilted up into a lopsided grin, and she shifted on her seat again, seeing him tense even more beside her.
This would be fun. This would definitely be a lot of fun.
-/-
She was killing him.
Where was the lanky teenager he remembered? Where was the teenager with limbs too long for her body, and eyes too huge for her face? When did she change from an ugly duckling in this dazzling swan?
God, Jones. You are pathetic. Dazzling Swan?
He scoffed and his fingers tightened around the scotch in his hand. He lifted the tumbler to his mouth, drinking it all at once, all three fingers of the admittedly very good Scotish scotch. But he didn't savor the rich taste of it, just wanted to get drunk as fast as possible.
She was amazingly beautiful, and when he closed his eyes he could see her coming down the stairs. Her lean body, the dress hugging every curve of her, her hair being swept up on her head in a hairdo that looked as if it would unravel at the slightest tug, showing off her neck, and the tulle over her cleavage … when the hell did she turn into this gorgeous woman?
He hadn't been prepared for this attack. Not in the slightest. And then she had walked over to him and kissed him. Granted it had been only a quick peck on the cheek, nothing romantic or passionate about it. But her scent had enveloped him, and her breasts had brushed against his arm, and lust had burned through him. So suddenly, so hot, so unexpected that he had almost staggered backwards.
The drive to the party had been pure hell. He had noticed every little shift of her beside him, and he could swear her skin had glowed in the soft light of the street lamps. He had needed to concentrate all his will power on driving while trying to ignore the pounding of his cock that had increased with every shift of her beside him.
He signaled the bartender and held up his tumbler. He needed more alcohol. Way more alcohol.
He sensed her before he even saw her, or maybe it was her perfume that wafted around him before he felt her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
"What are you drinking?"
Did her voice change too? He could swear her voice alone was a lethal weapon. Did he only imagine it or was it all smooth and husky at the same time?
God, he was going insane.
"Scotch," he mumbled, lifting the glass and downing it in one gulp without even looking at her.
"I'll take the same please."
Her voice was intoxicating, and a jolt snapped through his body as her fingers fell on his hand. "Do you want another one?"
"Aye," he rasped, pulling his hand out of under her fingers. His skin was burning where she had touched him, and he suppressed the urge to rub over it to extinguish the sensation.
The drinks were put in front of them and she grabbed her tumbler, her slender fingers wrapping around the glass, his thoughts immediately jumping to her fingers wrapped around something else and he wanted to hit his head against the bar.
She is Emma. Emma Swan. She is like a little sister to you.
"Sláinte mhaith!" She clinked her glass against his, her green eyes sparkling as her mouth closed around the rim of the glass.
"Sláinte mhaith!"
She had pronounced it perfectly, her voice shooting shivers down his spine and making his pants grew uncomfortably tight.
He was going to hell. She was the little sister of his best friend, and all he wanted to do was drag her into the next free room, and kiss her senseless and tear the dress off her body.
He wanted to feel her nipples burn holes into his palms. He wanted to suckle and nip at them until they were hard and stiff. He wanted to slide his hand between her legs. He wanted to find out if she was burning for him as much as he was burning for her.
He almost groaned out loud, his fingers twitching as he imagined her wet and hot core, imagined her head falling back in ecstasy when he pushed his fingers into her, imagined her moans when he thrust them deep into her tight sheath, imagined her cries when he went down on her, and fucked her with his tongue and fingers until she couldn't take it any longer.
Sister. Sister. Remember she is your little sister, Jones.
But she wasn't his sister. She was a siren. A blond siren with a body to die for. A body he wanted to feel writhing in passion under his own.
"Let's dance." Her voice yanked him out of his lewd thoughts and made him face her again.
"What?" he croaked out, his mind still occupied with clearing his head off any dirty thoughts he had about her.
"Come on, Killian. I wanna dance."
No!
He wanted to scream it out loud. Because he couldn't dance with her. He couldn't feel her body pressing against his. He couldn't feel her hands on his body. He couldn't.
"Emma, I ..."
"Don't be a spoilsport." She cocked her head, and wrapped her hand around his, her bottom lip jutting out into a mock pout.
He was doomed. He was so doomed.
And before he could say anything else she dragged him onto the dance floor.
He was in hell.