TEMPTING MY SISTER-IN-LAW

Maliyah

A pressure headache the size of Texas throbs behind my eyes and I breathe uneasily through one clogged nostril, resisting the urge to sneeze. A box of Kleenexes lies near my hand and I side eye it and the used ones decorating the floor of my apartment.

Disgusting doesn’t begin to cover how I feel, slouched against my stiff, Ikea-branded futon.

“You owe me, Andi,” I grumble under my breath, a laptop balanced on my abdomen as I click around, analyzing spreadsheets.

I ignore the small kernel of pride blooming under my ribs, however, from Andi taking a day off to be with her man—I mean, intern.

Get that dick, girl.

Wyatt certainly has the walk of a guy with big dick energy, and who am I to judge?

Reaching for the Kleenex, my eyes twitch, and I grab it in time to hack up mucus and saliva, pain blossoming in my chest.

“Fucking hell,” I mumble, wiping my stained face.

Being sick sucks.

I close the laptop and shove it to the foot of the futon, pausing as I hear pounding on my front door, the thin wood vibrating under the strength of whoever the fuck is disturbing my germ-infested tomb.

It certainly feels like I’m dying at times, with the inability to breathe freely.

“Coming!” I shout, staring daggers at the cheap door.

Does being Andi’s senior assistant pay more than the average nine to five?

Yes. But this economy sucks and my boxcar apartment costs easily a thousand dollars a month.

A girl gotta do what a girl gotta do.

Trembling legs carry me the short distance to the door, my heart thumping rapidly as it works harder due to my clogged sinuses.

Flicking the locks, I yank the door open unceremoniously, uncaring of who’s on the other side, risking their health to visit me.

I didn’t ask anyone to stop by, so it’s their problem if they get sick, too.

But nothing could’ve prepared me for the searing grey eyes lancing through me from the opposite side of the door. My mouth drops open, saliva pooling as I take in the imposing figure of Andrew Simmons, scowl firmly in place and dark brows hanging low over his eyes in a frown.

He rarely smiles.

And it’s breathtaking to behold, I can attest to that.

“You moved,” he accuses, narrowing those tempestuous eyes on me. Dumbfounded and struck mute, I drink in his thick, dark hair peppered with grey streaks, the white button-down shirt clinging to a muscled torso, tucked into a pair of beige slacks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, finding my voice and commanding my body to quit tingling under his glare as he runs it assessingly over me.

“You’re sick. I brought some things.” He holds up a large brown paper bag, bulging with unknown items. “You going to let me in?”

Shaking my head, trying to clear the pressure and the absurdity of Andrew fucking Simmons standing at my threshold, I’m at a loss for words.

“Wait,” I catch on to his earlier statement. “How the hell do you know my address? Or where I used to stay?”

He cocks a brow, a patronizing expression flitting across his severe features.

He’s not classically handsome by any means, but the way he crowds forward, grey eyes darkening, sends pulses of electricity racing straight to my pussy.

“Step aside, Lia,” he says, using the nickname reserved for friends and family.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about us not doing that thing again? You know, the thing where you scream my name as I pound into you,” he growls in a low voice, breath fanning my face.

We can’t.

Fuck.

Flushing for a reason other than being sick, I step back, letting the multibillionaire I swore to never sleep with again after discovering his brother was marrying my sister, into my humble, tiny apartment.

The walls shrink around me, leaving me gasping for air as I put more distance between me and the man taking up space, dwarfing my little entryway.

His eyes sweep across the futon, crumbled Kleenexes, and bottles of cough syrup decorating my living room. Without a word, he strides toward the kitchen island, setting the bag down and pulling out his bounty. I watch him in silence, clutching the hem of the nightshirt falling to mid-thigh.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he says, plastic containers creaking as he lets them thump to the marble surface.

“It’s not really any of your business—” His eyes cut to me, stormy and swirling with agitation.

Andrew Simmons does not like being told no.

“You’re my sister-in-law. What would I tell your sister if something happened to you while working for my company?” His brow lifts again, and I silently curse his logic.

I’ve avoided him for the very reason he just listed. Technically, we’re family now. Pursuing any type of relationship with someone who not only signs my checks but is intricately tethered to my personal life outside of work is not wise.

It’s a recipe for disaster.

“Andi knows—” He huffs a breath, shaking his head, sending dark hair brushing his forehead. It lends a roguish air to him, and I bite my lip, clenching my shirt tighter, and forcing myself to remain out of touching distance, or I’d do something stupid, like stroke the hair off his face.

“Yes, she told me at the gala.” His glare returns, thin lips pressing into a slash.

Woah, I didn’t think he’d care if I missed the damn charity function.

But the look in his eyes says he’s pissed about my absence.

He stalks toward me, and I quickly backpedal, my back meeting the wall. A shark-like grin spreads across his face as he cages me in, bringing heat and something else—something primal—with the press of his body into mine.

“Why are you avoiding me, Lia?” he murmurs in a low voice, and if I didn’t know any better, there’s a layer of hurt in his words.

“You’re my brother-in-law,” I point out.

“And? We’re adults.” His nose skates across my cheek, and my eyes threaten to close from his nearness, from the sheer magnetism of his presence.

Fucking Kryptonite.

“It’s not a good idea, Andrew—”

“Drew,” he corrects, lips hovering above mine.

This is madness, and I need to stop it. I’m sick.

“You’re going to get sick,” I warn.

His lips twitch, a dangerous twinkle entering his gaze.

“I’m a multibillionaire, remember? I know doctors. If I get sick today, I’ll be fine in three days tops. And it’d be fucking worth it,” he growls the last part, closing whatever imaginary distance remains between our bodies, letting me feel the erection straining his pants.

“I’m sending Taylor over here tomorrow to bring you to the house. The family’s coming by. Nina and Hudson are returning from their honeymoon, and I know everyone will want to see you, Lia.”

I tell myself I hate the way he rolls my name around in his mouth, turning it into something sinful, a name Nina christened me as a child, as she was unable to fully say Maliyah.

“Drew—”

“I have a proposition and I want to tell it to you tomorrow. Say yes. If I send Taylor to fetch you, say you’ll come and hear me out. Or at least come see your sister.” His eyes twinkle again, and I know the next words he’ll say will be diabolical.

“Michelle will be there, too, and you know she adores you,” he says, referring to his sixteen-year-old daughter.

He is not fighting fair.

It’s becoming harder to think, to remember why I’m saying no, the longer he keeps his body pressed into mine, warming me and chasing away the chill brought on by my illness.

I’m afraid to admit just how sick I was, a cold that hit me out of nowhere.

“You can’t keep doing this, Drew,” I gasp, scolded by the hand landing on my thigh, tracing upward and shoving my shirt out of the way.

“Quit saying no,” he growls, fingers tracing the seam of my panties.

Fuck. I want to moan from the faint caress, but not willing to give him the satisfaction. He knows how he affects me, weaponizing it.

One fucking night with Andrew Simmons and he’s like a damn drug I can’t kick. Oddly, he appears nearly as infatuated with me, lacking the reservations I have about getting involved with someone who’s related to his brother’s wife.

“Fine,” I grit out, aiming a glare at the hand lazily stroking my pussy through my underwear.

“Stop.”

He does, slowly stepping away, letting cool air sweep between us and clear some of the haze of lust.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he affirms, lifting a brow.

Shakily, I nod, sliding to the left, gaining more distance and clarity without his nearness infecting my senses.

“Take the antibiotics and steroids. It’ll knock that cold right out. And the soup is a home remedy from one of my nannies. She swears by it. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” His gaze runs up and down my body, heat simmering there, but he nods once before striding to the door. He gives me a final glance, then walks through it.

Adrenaline and arousal drains from me, leaving me trembling with weakness.

Listening to my elders for once, I stride to the kitchen to take the medicine he brought. Tomorrow, I’m going to need my strength.

###

Andrew

I’m not a monster.

But I am an asshole, I think as I electronically sign the transfer-of-ownership documents as Taylor drives me home, cementing myself as the owner of Maliyah’s apartment building.

My upper lip twists with disgust as I eye the dirt clinging to the bricks, tires crunching over gravel before leveling out on asphalt.

It’s not worth the one hundred thousand dollar asking price, but I wasn’t in the mood for negotiating it lower when Lia was within my grasp with only the wave of a pen.

As refreshing as her disinterest in my income is, it’s also a nuisance when she’s not so easily impressed.

Everyone has a price.

But would I ache for her as much as I do if she could be bought?

My cock jerks behind my pants, answering for me, reminding me how heavy my balls feel, unsated and fucking full to bursting.

One night wasn’t enough, and if I’d known it was all I’d get before she began dodging me, I would’ve bribed my brother into pushing back the wedding for more time with Lia.

A smile tugs at my lips, remembering her barely concealed flash of annoyance when I insisted on using her childhood nickname.

No, winning her over won’t be easy, but it’ll be fucking worth it.

Anything worth having doesn’t come easy. And so God help me, I will have Maliyah Wilson. No other woman will do, and I’ve thought of little else since our drunken night together.

She’s a fucking affliction, plaguing me night and day, disrupting my focus, made worse by her firm decision to avoid me.

But no more.

Fly while you can, little dove, but you will be mine.

What Andrew Simmons wants, he gets.