Page 41 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"You're not a fool for believing in commitment."

"Aren't I? Commitment requires two people, Dax. I was the only one showing up."

She's right. And the truth of it makes my anger at Miles burn even hotter.

"He doesn't deserve you," I say.

She looks at me, something vulnerable and raw in her expression.

"You don't know me well enough to know what I deserve."

"I know enough."

The words hang in the air between us. I should take them back. I should stand up, tell her to get some rest, and go back to my suite. But I don't move.

Scarlett stands abruptly. The champagne bottle slips from her hand and clatters to the ground, rolling away. She's unsteady on her feet, swaying slightly. I stand too,reaching out to steady her. My hand closes around her arm.

Electric.That's the only word for it. The moment my skin touches hers, something jolts through me. Her eyes widen, and I know she feels it too. We're standing close. Too close. I can smell her perfume beneath the champagne and tears—something floral and expensive. I can see the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickens.

"I should go inside," she whispers.

"Should you?" My voice comes out lower than I intended.

Her eyes meet mine. Blue and devastated and burning with something that isn't just pain. She leans forward as if almost an involuntary reaction—and then she kisses me. It's desperate, seeking. Her hands come up to my chest, fisting in my shirt. Her lips are soft and taste like champagne and salt from her tears.

For half a second, I freeze. This is wrong. This is my brother's—

But then she makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and I'm lost. My hands move to her hair, tangling in the blonde strands that have fallen from her updo. I pull her closer, and she responds by pressing against me, the silk and lace of her wedding dress crushing between us.

My dick throbs in my pants as the kiss deepens and it becomes consuming. She's pouring everything into it—her pain, her anger, her need to feel something other thanthe devastation of this day. And I'm responding, giving her exactly what she's asking for.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her hands are still fisted in my shirt. Mine are still in her hair.

"Scarlett." I search her face, looking for doubt, for hesitation.

"You've been drinking—"

“—I need to feel something other than this," she interrupts, her voice breaking.

"I need you to make me forget. Please."

I should say no. I should tell her this is a mistake, that she's grieving, that we'll both regret this in the morning. But when I look into her eyes, I see the same desperation I'm feeling. The same need. The same pull that's been there since the moment I first saw her photo on Miles's phone.

"Come with me," I say.

I take her hand. It's small in mine, trembling. I lead her across the terrace to the door of my suite. We step inside. I close the door behind us. The lock clicks into place.

The room is quiet, save for the sounds of the city traffic through the open terrace doors and the faint echo of my pulse thrumming in my ears. I take the nearly empty champagne bottle that she's drinking and place it on the credenza next to the door.

Scarlett stands before me, her breathing uneven, her lips parted as she watches me with dark eyes. I step closer, my hand coming up to cup her face.

"Tell me to stop and I will," I say, my voice rough.

"Scarlett, if you want me to stop—"

"Don't stop," she breathes, cutting me off.

"Please don't stop."